[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet. 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 violencesufferingbelieve 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 mouthssoundmen 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-franciscothinking Join the army and see the next world. Dylan Thomas cynicalarmyworld Love drips & gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores..." -Thomas, The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower. Dylan Thomas greenflowerblood Chastity prays for me, piety sings, Dylan Thomas blacklastswings Shall I let in the stranger, Dylan Thomas shipslonelinesshands 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 girleyesmoking A truly comic, invented world must live at the same time as the world we live in. Dylan Thomas comichumorworld Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think. Dylan Thomas whiskeyrecordsthinking Poetry is what makes my toenails twinkle. Dylan Thomas toenailspoetry-ispoetry I sang in my chains like the sea Dylan Thomas chainssea 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 gardenbabyfather Great is the hand that holds dominion over man by a scribbled name. Dylan Thomas businessmenhands In the beginning was the secret brain. Dylan Thomas thoughtfulsecretthinking 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 grieflyingart Let the dry eyes perceive Dylan Thomas eyelosslying In the beginning was the word, the word Dylan Thomas voidlightletters 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 weeklecturesdevelopment The function of posterity is to look after itself. Dylan Thomas functionlookspast
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