Quote

When logics die, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

Dylan Thomas

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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Dies
Dawn
Eye
Soil
Nature
Logic
Sun
Allotments
Waste
Halts
Blood
Jumps
Grows
Halt
Secret
Vitality

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[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
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My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.
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I used to think that once a writer became a man of letters, if only for a half hour, he was done for. And here I am now, at the very moment of such an odious, though respectable, danger.
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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, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
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I went on all over the States, ranting poems to enthusiastic audiences that, the week before, had been equally enthusiastic about lectures on Railway Development or the Modern Turkish Essay.
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You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!
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To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
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Rage, rage against the dying light
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After the first death, there is no other.
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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
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I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
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