Welsh Journals

Search over 450 titles and 1.2 million pages

Deacon at Bethany HOST with the bowler hat Under the sycamore tree, Why do you laugh like that And laugh so long at me ?" O pious public man, Deacon at Bethany, Be solemn as long as you can Before you dance with me. For with me under the boughs You'll rattle your bones in glee At the way you walked from your house To the chapel after tea. And your hat will be on your head In comic memory Of the things you did and said In the chapel called Bethany." To John Gwilym Jones (Acting) AND all the time it was you, your voice Borrowed by another dimension and order, All the fragmentary gestures littering the years Beaten into an image by the power of art. They fell, inflected voice, inflected foot and hand Into position in their temporal score Like John Sebastian's figures or The elegant grace notes of mathematics. It was an ocean confined into a narrow pool, An impression of sulphurous fires struck from a match, Universal homicide and megalomania Compressed into an individual murder. IDRIS DAVIES.