In The
Man Who Went into the West: The Life of R.S. Thomas (Aurum, 2006), Byron
Rogers quotes a letter written by a young teacher, Christine Evans, to the
Welsh poet-priest. Evans rather courageously included some poems she had
written. By Thomas’ customary standard, his reply is rather gentle. He opens
with these words: “These aren’t bad.” In Thomas’ world, that amounts to awarding
a Nobel Prize. He continues:
“I see the
sincerity in some of them, but here again you have a problem. You have an
attachment to this area [Aberdaron, Wales] and Bardsey; no wonder. And in so
far as you can put down some of the feelings it arouses in you, that’s fine;
they are sincere, and give you relief. But – they are to a large extent private.
Only the few of us, who know this area, really understand.”
A useful
observation. If you write too personally, your words, rather than fostering
understanding, turn hermetic. The revelations may be precious to the writer but
the reader is left baffled or bored. How does one balance the particular with
the universal? That’s every writer’s dilemma, and the answer can only be worked
out incrementally, word by word. Thomas writes:
“And to make
private and personal and dear things universal is one of the great tasks in
which only a few poets succeed . . . Have you tried suggesting, rather than
putting things patiently down? Try a course of Wallace Stevens. Words are so
important, as you know. It is words from which poetry springs, yet we will keep
trying to describe our mental states and emotions, thinking that will be
poetry. But it is words that are creative, arousing strange thoughts and emotions
in us. Rhythm, too, is important.”
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