I have just had eighteen whiskeys in a row. I do believe that is a record. Dylan Thomas More Quotes by Dylan Thomas More Quotes From Dylan Thomas 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. Dylan Thomas violence suffering believe I know in London a Welsh hairdresser who has striven so vehemently to abolish his accent that he sounds like a man speaking with the Elgin marbles in his mouth. Dylan Thomas mouths sound men But oh, San Francisco! It is and has everything - you wouldn't think that such a place as San Francisco could exist. Dylan Thomas san-francisco thinking Join the army and see the next world. Dylan Thomas cynical army world Love drips & gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores..." -Thomas, The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower. Dylan Thomas green flower blood Chastity prays for me, piety sings, Dylan Thomas black lasts wings Shall I let in the stranger, Dylan Thomas ships loneliness hands This world is half the devil's and my own, Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl and curling round the bud that forks her eye. Dylan Thomas girl eye smoking A truly comic, invented world must live at the same time as the world we live in. Dylan Thomas comic humor world Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think. Dylan Thomas whiskey records thinking Poetry is what makes my toenails twinkle. Dylan Thomas toenails poetry-is poetry I sang in my chains like the sea Dylan Thomas chains sea Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're looking up at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor little milky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than you should be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God? Dylan Thomas garden baby father Great is the hand that holds dominion over man by a scribbled name. Dylan Thomas business men hands In the beginning was the secret brain. Dylan Thomas thoughtful secret thinking 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 arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art. Dylan Thomas grief lying art Let the dry eyes perceive Dylan Thomas eye loss lying In the beginning was the word, the word Dylan Thomas void light letters 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. Dylan Thomas week lectures development The function of posterity is to look after itself. Dylan Thomas function looks past
