Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
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Dylan wrote this poem at his Boathouse in Laugharne. It is owned by Carmarthenshire County Council and serves as a museum. There is a bust of Dylan once owned by Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. And the road on which it stands was originally called Cliff Road, but renamed to Dylan's Walk. Dylan ti godi'n hysbryd.
Thanks for this information Shaun. I love this poem in all of its surreal majesty!
! This poem is outstanding! The plethora of figurative language captured my heart! You should be extremely proud of this masterpiece!
So much a Welsh poet; though his poems were written in English, to me they cry to be read by a Welshman (who is not Richard Burton with his dramatic inclinations) . I was drawn to the poems of Dylan Thomas for several reasons but one I cannot ignore nor would want to is his use of language in some unorthodox ways and the bringing of poetry to ordinary things by breaking the common cliches in half and sliding them into a different order (the man in the wind and the west moon) . This poem almost begins halfway into a thought without a clue as to its beginning and paints pictures of things, some of which I recall from my own experiences (with fists of turnips punishes the land) . Perhaps a person must be Welsh, or close to Welsh, to do this in such a way that it draws the eye but is only truly fulfilled by being spoken.
This poem goes deeper than the exprecion of words it flows with grace for it is truely one of many master pieces.
An outstandingly beautiful and clever poem that as a poet myself (I don't put much of my stuff on here,) I would be honored to have written something so deep.
''Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, '' - - (IN ITALIAN :) Specialmente quando il vento d'ottobre Con dita gelide mi castiga i capelli, .. beautiful opening.. really enchanting..
O there is so much behind those dark-vowelled cry of birds, Dylan a child of nature, knew how to melt and mold himself into nature's very soul and spirit. This poem knows of his coming fury with what he has to perform on stages of America's adulation, knows the wreck of his tortured body, and understands the heart's call upon that windy hill of Wales, was sounding its death toll in the dark-vowelled cry of the birds. Another great poem by a truly great poet. Panmelys Panmelys
He takes me everywhere, to hidden daydreams, magical, interconnected somehow to my spirit. I love it.
Brilliant poem - surreal, strange, thought-provoking, innovative - Thomas to the the core.
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