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Shards of Light
Shards of Light
Shards of Light
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Shards of Light

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Shards of Light is a collection of previously unpublished poems by Emyr Humphreys. Now in his hundredth year, he has been described as Wales’s foremost novelist of his generation. This newly discovered collection of poems has all the sharpness and incisiveness of thought as if they had been written today. Humphreys scrutinises life with a wry humour, coloured by the experience of his great longevity and grounded in Wales. With a sharpness of thought and a sparseness and frugality of expression – a hallmark of his work – the poems contain a profundity which challenges us to think more deeply about the nature of our being. They fearlessly ask difficult questions of ourselves as to the nature of being within the vastness of creation. The subjects are as varied as is man’s experience, from the vastness of time, space and God’s power, to musings on everyday life leading to old age. Ultimately the reader will find the experience entertaining yet deeply felt, satisfying and rewarding.


LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 15, 2018
ISBN9781786833532
Shards of Light
Author

Emyr Humphreys

During a remarkable career spanning over seventy years as a writer, Emyr Humphreys has published more than two dozen novels (many of them prize-winning), as well as several collections of short stories.

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    Book preview

    Shards of Light - Emyr Humphreys

    WE ARE OLD AGE

    We are old age, look

    At us closely and study

    Your reflection precise

    As bank statements your years’

    Accounts are registered in our

    Wrinkles – fruit in store

    Shrinks unless eaten

    The past is to be consumed the

    Future has vague promise but

    Less nourishment.

    Death is like the stars

    It lives in darkness hovers

    Above our heads with patient

    Benevolence like a farmer

    Who feeds his animals

    With a fatherly affection

    And sighs when the time comes

    To carry them to the slaughterhouse.

    SCRATCHES ON STONE

    Poetry begins and ends in a cellar

    Nothing I have written was worth writing

    Say the scratches on the stone

    The battle raged the guerrillas won

    And in a matter of weeks turned their guns

    Against each other who could the

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