The Force That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower Comments

A powerful, profoundly poignant poem that deals with the paradoxical forces of creativity and destruction inherent in nature and the human condition.

Real men in the world

What a magnificent poem, full of dark paradox. Each stanza has at least one apparent paradox, usually more: The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind Hauls my shroud sail. Whose hand? ! A human hand can whirl the water in the pool, but who can stir the quicksand? (Takes a bigger than human hand, I think, that turns to the root of being, to the Deity. That ropes the blowing wind, again, invoking the prime mover, though, for contrast/comparison a human hand can haul his shroud sail. (Again, though, on a metaphorical level, that invokes The Great Hand.) The opening is unforgettable, but here's another stanza that could destroy the mind of a literalist: The lips of time leech to the fountain head; Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores. And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars. Wildly musical, this poem goes way beyond music to invoke meaning in sounds. Intellectually ambitious, it can tie your head in knots if you take it literally This poem goes way beyond religion to a profound sense of unity with all creation. And, yes, with death, or rather, beyond death.

Awesome I like this poem, check mine out

yo i aint get nuttin from dis ish

'The root of my trees is my destroyer', Oh what a stanza to analyze genetically He blames his bad genes destroying me, As, he enjoyed drinking heavily.

'The root of my trees is my destroyer', Oh what a stanza to analyze genetically He blames his bad genes destroying me, As, he enjoyed drinking heavily.

It's about time, and how its grip is inescapable. Very depressing.

I disagree Barry: You're half-right. The One-Ness of all things, but man isn't impotent to witness it. He IS it. He's impotent to COMMUNICATE it. He's witnessing it so strongly though that its nearly blinding. True: one of the greatest poems at least of the 20th century. Thomas is right up there with Pound and Eliot in my eyes.

I think that it's about a kind of condundrum: the one-ness of all things, and man as impotent witness to it all. This might be-as foolish as it sounds to say- the finest poem ever written in the English language.

what is this poem about?