(Tŷ Newydd at 30)
“edges are where meanings happen” – Christopher Meredith
Here we can retreat from the world;
in the marchlands of soil and surf,
in an ancient house hemmed by history,
embraced by the edge of the woods.
We come here as sociable hermits
to explore our secular souls,
to recalibrate our senses,
to sink into writing’s rhythm…
The refectory tables
are a rolling boil of ideas;
stories rise like loaves to break our fast;
small-beer poems slake our thirst.
We meditate then in a greenhouse of words,
weeding our sentences,
thinning and replanting lines,
(it’s not always easy)
In the library, we join in song
with those who’ve taken their vows;
we sanctify the hours with prayers of ink
and then we retreat…
to seek the edge of our selves,
to try and net the divine,
in a word…
It’s to this psychedelic convent we come,
to nurture our faith;
to be elevated, before we enter our cells
and dare to dream – and maybe fail –
and then fail better,
until we prevail…