A memory of Kreisler once:
At some recital in this same city,
The seats all taken, I found myself pushed
On to the stage with a few others,
So near that I could see the toil
Of his face muscles, a pulse like a moth
Fluttering under the fine skin
And the indelible viens of his smooth brow.

I could see, too, the twitching of the fingers,
Caught temporarily in art’s neurosis,
As we sat there or warmly applauded
The player who so beautifully suffered
For each of us upon his instrument.

So it must have been on Calvary
In the fiercer light of the thorns’ halo:
The men standing by and that one figure,
The hands bleeding, the mind bruised but calm,
Making such music as lives still.
And no one daring to interrupt
Because it was himself that he played
And closer than all of them the God listened.

R. S. Thomas

4 Replies to “HE IS RISEN”

  1. Paul F. Ford says: Reply

    Utterly (or perhaps unutterably) glorious! Thank you!

    1. HEATHER KING says: Reply

      Blessings to you, Paul! So glad you liked this pairing…and Happy Easter.

  2. Bob Rueger says: Reply

    R.S. Thomas
    His poetry is wonderful!

    1. HEATHER KING says: Reply

      Isn’t it, Bob? I bought his Collected Poems 1945-1990 and have been reading one each morning before sitting down at my desk. This one came up yesterday and couldn’t have been more perfect for the Resurrection…There’s a great biography of him called The Man Who Went Into the West.

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