Dylan+Thomas

Monica Gonzalez

** Dylan Thomas **

Dylan Thomas was born in Swansea in 1914 and died in New York in 1953. He was one of the most significant writers of the twentieth century, and his work continues to resonate in the popular imagination. Although both of his parents spoke fluent Welsh, Thomas and his older sister never learned the language, and Thomas wrote exclusively in English. He was still a teenager when he published many of the poems he would become famous for: "And death shall have no dominion", "Before I Knocked" and "The Force That Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower". His major theme was the unity of all life, the continuing process of life and death and new life that linked the generations, and his poetry is notable for its musicality. He is best known for his poetry and for the ‘play for voices’, Under Milk Wood, Thomas also wrote fiction (including short stories and novels), film-scripts and various radio broadcasts. He was also a prolific letter writer and performer of other people’s work. Even now, there is an award named after him, called "The Dylan Thomas Prize" which is the world’s top cash prize for young writers. Poems: **Sometimes the sky's too bright** Sometimes the sky's too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away's too sharp a sun To nourish thinking of him. Why is my hand too blunt To cut in front of me My horrid images for me, Of over-fruitful smiles, The weightless touching of the lip I wish to know I cannot lift, but can, The creature with the angel's face Who tells me hurt, And sees my body go Down into misery? No stopping. Put the smile Where tears have come to dry. The angel's hurt is left; His telling burns. Sometimes a woman's heart has salt, Or too much blood; I tear her breast, And see the blood is mine, Flowing from her, but mine, And then I think Perhaps the sky's too bright; And watch my hand, But do not follow it, And feel the pain it gives, But do not ache. **The Hand that Signed the Paper Felled a City** The hand that signed the paper felled a city; Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath, Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country; These five kings did a king to death. The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder, The finger joints are cramped with chalk; A goose's quill has put an end to murder That put an end to talk. The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever, And famine grew, and locusts came; Great is the hand the holds dominion over Man by a scribbled name. The five kings count the dead but do not soften The crusted wound nor pat the brow; A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven; Hands have no tears to flow.