#WelshWriters
—"Poem in October," Dylan Thomas, Poetry, February 1945 As the story goes, the thirty—something Dylan Thomas would only get up in the morning if someone stuffed a beer bottle in his mo...
In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arm…
Sometimes the sky’s too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away’s too sharp a sun To nourish thinking of him. Why is my hand too blunt
The force that through the green f… Drives my green age; that blasts t… Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked… My youth is bent by the same wintr…
Why east wind chills and south win… Shall not be known till windwell d… And west’s no longer drowned In winds that bring the fruit and… Of many a hundred falls;
I fellowed sleep who kissed me in… Let fall the tear of time; the sle… Shifting to light, turned on me li… So, planing—heeled, I flew along… And dropped on dreaming and the up…
On no work of words now for three… bloody Belly of the rich year and the big… I bitterly take to task my poverty… To take to give is all, return wha…
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing… To you, my aunt, who would explore The literary Chankley Bore, The paths are hard, for you are no… A literary Hottentot
'Find meat on bones that soon have… And drink in the two milked crags, The merriest marrow and the dregs Before the ladies’ breasts are hag… And the limbs are torn.
Not from this anger, anticlimax af… Refusal struck her loin and the la… Bent like a beast to lap the singu… In a land strapped by hunger Shall she receive a bellyful of we…
I see the boys of summer in their… Lay the gold tithings barren, Setting no store by harvest, freez… There in their heat the winter flo… Of frozen loves they fetch their g…
The sky is torn across This ragged anniversary of two Who moved for three years in tune Down the long walks of their vows. Now their love lies a loss
Half of the fellow father as he do… His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow… Half of the fellow mother as she d… To-morrow’s diver in her horny mil… Bisected shadows on the thunder’s…
The tombstone told when she died. Her two surnames stopped me still. A virgin married at rest. She married in this pouring place, That I struck one day by luck,
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its k… Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple sea… The winder of the water—clocks
