Dylan Thomas - Lament
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- Опубліковано 3 жов 2024
- Dylan Thomas - Lament
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of bitches),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
He made my life. I became a writer because of him.
When I was a young man I discovered Dylan Thomas via a play by the University of Maine players in Bar Harbor, Maine, where I had a leather shop named "The Cuckoo's Nest". I then came across a recording of him reading his poems (this was back in 1971) I then found and bought his book of poems and managed to commit a couple of them to memory, Lament being one and Fern Hill the other and through out the decades they have remained with me. I wish I could tell Bukowski, who I met in my youth, that I finally found a poet I could relate to, but of course he's long gone.
There is nobody quite like Thomas. Wonderful
Exquisite. Love how Thomas changes his voice for each of the five "ages."
He does it with the verbs as well.
this poem relates to the care free attitude of youth, making hay when the sun shines, through the development of maturity and responsibility via family and finally succumbing to the soothing of religion as death becomes inevitable.
I recently found a stack of 8 poems typed by Dylan Thomas for a recording of “Dylan Thomas Reading Dylan Thomas” volume II. This was the first poem of volume II side 1. He could really write passionately and his passion, being real, is reflected in his voice. I love Death Shall Have no Dominion!
Golden voice, absolutely.
Poetic voice, absolutely.
You, Sir, changed my life.
Mine, too. And many others no doubt.
Learned about this on the Greenthink album. Love it.
ETERNO DYLAN!!! AÚN TU VOZ NOS LLENA EL ALMA!
WHAT a voice!
One of my favorite Dylan Thomas poems, one of the last he ever wrote. I can picture him booming it out, after many pints in a Llareggub pub, before being carried off to his bed where he snored all night like a brewery.
Bugger all
I often think of this poem as age gets the better of me.
Wow
a perfect piece of poetry,.. in my opinion
Sublime. I love that at 2:18 you can hear a large, multi-engined prop plane in the background. It adds to the performance.
Dylan Thomas Lyrics
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on the donkey's common,
And on seesaw Sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of bitches),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-dipping moon
And drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling beds of the town cried, Quick!
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-black night,
I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said.
Oh, time enough when the blood seeps cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was a half the man I was
And served me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers).
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
Official Dylan Thomas website: www.dylanthomas.com
search amazon for Lament mp3 download
Browse other artists under D: D2 D3 D4 D5 D6 D7 D8 D9 D10
9 Nov 2021
You are still much remembered, boy.
Reading a biography of him and after several mentions of how he won over many ladies with his voice searched youtube to hear it myself.
Has anyone noticed that he changed two works from the official version given above?
The Dylan Thomas centre said I have a little trait of Dylan thomas in my poetry
I wish I had had all these audios when I was writing my thesis on Dylan Thomas" Notes of poetry: "I in my intricate ima ge"
Call me,
also dying of blisters,
from finger page turning,
Dylan...
I discovered and memorized this poem in high school, 55 years ago, and have been reciting or reading it to friends and possible partners, and mates ever since. In many ways, it became a kind of roadmap for my own life for many years. But this is a different age, and my last chapter is 170 degrees from the Lamentor. I've wondered if Thomas' alcoholism made him half the man he was....before.
Dylan Thomas is Shakespeare's Son
I sidle lowly slowly away
with my teeth
but most probably not..... ✝️
Predicted future
Are there still poets? Any suggestions? Thomas is my favorite...this is amazing
+MICHAEL Penc Jared Paul
Eliot ? Auden ? still Eliot still Auden..
Banjo paterson
One of the Clancy brothers recited this in “No direction Home”
I heard it, and grew fascinated.
I always dug the delivery..... turns out he stole it entirely from this reading lol
provincial poet...but visit Swansea... beautiful
i agree, Swansea is great- but also Carmarthenshire, Laugharne, Browns hotel for a pint of beer in Dylan`s seat.
Thank you for the upload Food 4 thght When today's modern art, poetry, music, even movies have aloooot been inspired by past influence. how do u know what is original? thoughts on where these thought reaaaaly came from
Speaking with nothing but the blood of life..Oh dear no digital bollocks here..
sigh
no springtailed tom in the red hot town with every simmering woman his mouse but a hillocky bull in swelter of summer come in his great good time to the sultry bidding herds, i said.
Hello, can you explain me that profile picture?
Regards
What.
The only person who can sing Dylan's poems properly is himself.
The pompous declamations of Burton for instance are stilted and breathless in all the wrong places.
And do not reflect the slightly tongue in cheek of Dylan's prose.
A lot more than slightly I think. He is chewing scenery like a champion here.