Welcome back to The Daily Poem. I'm David Kern, and today is Tuesday, August 11th, 2020.

Today's poem is by a Welsh poet, who you've heard from once or twice on this podcast over the last

couple years. His name is R.S. Thomas, Ronald Stewart Thomas. He lived from March of 1913 to September

of 2000. He was, as I said, a Welsh poet, and he was also an Anglican priest, who over the second

half of his life became quite a popular and renowned poet, very well respected.

The poem that I'm going to read today is called I Was Vicar of Large Things.

It goes this way.

I was vicar of large things in a small parish.

Small-minded, I will not say.

There were depths in some of them I shrank back from.

Well, is that the word God fell into and died away,

and for all I know is still falling.

Who goes for water to such must prepare for a long wait?

Their eyes looked at me and were the remains of flowers on an old grave. I was there, I felt, to blow on ashes that were too long, cold.

Often, when I thought they were about to unbar me.

The draft out of their empty places came whistling so that I wrapped myself in the heavier

clothing of my calling, speaking of light and love in the thickening shadows of their kitchens. For my comments on this poem today i'd like to share part of r s thomas's obituary in the

guardian the unit the the uk newspaper this obituary was written in september of 2000 by byron

rogers it's quite a good obituary, lots of great information on his reputation

and on how his acclaim grew and that sort of thing.

Plenty on his cantankerousness as well.

But I wanted to read a few paragraphs from the second half of this obituary.

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