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You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!

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
Waiting
Blow
Wait
Sin

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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.
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... an ugly, lovely town ... crawling, sprawling ... by the side of a long and splendid curving shore. This sea-town was my world.
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My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose and all my grief flows from the rift of unremembered skies and snows. 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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Hands have not tears to flow.
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You wouldn't think such a place as San Francisco could exist. The wonderful sunlight there, the hills, the great bridges, the Pacific at your shoes. Beautiful Chinatown. Every race in the world. The sardine fleets sailing out. The little cable-cars whizzing down The City hills. And all the people are open and friendly.
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... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay.
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It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
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After the first death, there is no other.
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I have just had eighteen whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record.
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The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bend by the same wintry fever.
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Families, like countries, take their prophets unkindly, but a verse-speaker in the house is dishonor to be hooted.
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And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
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The closer I move To death, one man through his sundered hulks, The louder the sun blooms And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults.
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I sang in my chains like the sea
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And time cast forth my mortal creature To drift or drown upon the seas Acquainted with the salt adventure Of tides that never touch the shores. - I who was rich was made the richer By sipping at the the vine of days.
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This poem has been called obscure. I refuse to believe that it is obscurer than pity, violence, or suffering. But being a poem, not a lifetime, it is more compressed.
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I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, down throw and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression.
Dylan Thomas
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Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think.
Dylan Thomas
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Let the dry eyes perceive Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses By the curve of the nude mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
Dylan Thomas
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And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
Dylan Thomas