RSS

Tag Archives: Dylan Thomas

Daffodils for St David’s Day, News and A Poem

Happy St David’s Day to my friends and family.

Mini Daffodils for St David’s Day being blown about in the breeze

I am so excited! I have, this afternoon, taken eight of my glass pieces to The Craft Collective where they are now on display  and for sale!  I will show you a photo tomorrow when I visit the shop and try to be cool!

The Welshman, Dylan Thomas, is one of my favourite poets. Here is ‘Fern Hill’, a particular favourite.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
          Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
          Time let me play and be 
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
          And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
          And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
          The sky gathered again
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
     Out of the whinnying green stable
          On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
          I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
     Before the children green and golden
          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
          Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
          Time held me green and dying
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea
 
6 Comments

Posted by on March 1, 2019 in Photography, poetry, Postaday 2019

 

Tags: , , ,

Swans, National Poetry Day, Bumper Stickers and Kath

Waiting on the quayside to see our boat brought in for the winter, I watched a family of swans glide by. There are seven cygnets, one parent leading and the other bringing up the rear, but I could only catch the beginning of the line. It’s lovely to see that all seven have reached such a size safely. You can see five of them as fluffy babies if you click this link.

Swan family on their way by

There have been poems on the BBC all day to mark National Poetry Day. Over the years I have been writing this blog I have given you many of my favourites. Today, I give you the one that the lovely Mr Smith has chosen, Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas.

Fern Hill – Poem by Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Waiting later at the lights to leave the quay, I was behind a van with some bumper stickers that I liked so out came my camera!

Save the bees; AIDS awareness;Peace

This post is for my very Dear Friend, Kath, who died far too soon on this day in 2011 and in whose memory I write this Blog. Someone said that we die twice – once when we stop breathing and the second time when our name is said for the last time. Kath lives on, in my heart, in my memory and in my living. Cheers Kath, and thanks for your love.

 

Tags: , ,

Art Gallery, Dolly’s Tea Room and A Poet’s Birthday

I love Falmouth Art Gallery and today called in to see an exhibition called, Soil Culture: Deep Roots. Click on any photo in the gallery below for captions and detail. This art gallery is very child friendly always providing stimulating experiences for young people and valuing their work with proper framing and hanging.

Dolly’s Tea Room was our destination for lunch – such a charming place with smiley service and excellent food. Here is another gallery for you.

Dylan Thomas was born on this day in 1914. Regular readers wil know that he is my all-time favourite poet. Here is ‘Poem in October’ for your delectation.

Poem In October – Poem by Dylan Thomas

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill’s shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart’s truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year’s turning.

 

Tags: , , ,

Bee Stamps, Flowers and Favourite Words

Today some lovely new stamps have been issued, beautifully illustrating some of our native bees.

New stamps

New stamps

2   I was in Penryn today and their flowers are as lovely as ours in Redruth.

Flowers in Penryn

Flowers in Penryn

I love Dylan Thomas’ Play for Voices, ‘Under Milk Wood’. As a family we used to listen to it on a pair of 78s so I grew up with these wonderful words in my head and later I was able to choose it as a modern play to teach at GCSE. Here are the wonderful opening words:

FIRST VOICE [very softly]

To begin at the beginning:

It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters’-and- rabbits’ wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows’ weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.

Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen and the tidy wives. Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organplaying wood. The boys are dreaming wicked or of the bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrogered sea. And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wet-nosed yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.

You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.

Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep.

And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before- dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.

Listen. It is night moving in the streets, the processional salt slow musical wind in Coronation Street and Cockle Row, it is the grass growing on Llareggub Hill, dewfall, starfall, the sleep of birds in Milk Wood.

Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and bombazine black, butterfly choker and bootlace bow, coughing like nannygoats, suckling mintoes, fortywinking hallelujah; night in the four-ale, quiet as a domino; in Ocky Milkman’s lofts like a mouse with gloves; in Dai Bread’s bakery flying like black flour. It is to-night in Donkey Street, trotting silent, with seaweed on its hooves, along the cockled cobbles, past curtained fernpot, text and trinket, harmonium, holy dresser, watercolours done by hand, china dog and rosy tin teacaddy. It is night neddying among the snuggeries of babies.

Look. It is night, dumbly, royally winding though the Coronation cherry trees; going through the graveyard of Bethesda with winds gloved and folded, and dew doffed; tumbling by the Sailors Arms.

Time passes. Listen. Time passes.

 

And here, for your delectation, is the wonderful Richard Burton reading those words:

I shall be without any internet contact for the next few days as I am going into hospital to have my left hip totally replaced. I’ll be back soon and have scheduled a few posts for you to enjoy.

 

Tags: , ,

Window, Door and Plaque

This window is one of many on the Acorn Theatre building in Penzance where we have spent the evening being entertained by Tony Hawkes as part of the Penzance Literary Festival.

Stained glass window

Stained glass window

Walking through some mews we noticed this lovely door with a beautiful little wooden porch.

Door

Door

In this beautiful house, Dylan Thomas, my favourite of all the poets that I love, was married to Caitlin.

Beautiful house

Beautiful house

The plaque

The plaque

 

 

Tags: , , , ,

Cinema Space, Knitting and Birthday Poem

1   I loved this short film, Cinema Space Tribute, which is on Alex’s blog . This is a  journey through 46 years of space travel in film from 1968’s 2001: A Space Odyssey by director Stanley Kubrick, to 2014’s Interstellar directed by Christopher Nolan and all to a soundtrack of “Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas, my all-time favourite poet. Thank you so much Alex. Here is the link to the film http://vimeo.com/113142476

2    I am making a tiny pair of fingerless mittens for Grand-baby B. They are quite tricky, being so small, but I should finish them this weekend.

Nearly done

Nearly done

3   It is my lovely Sister-in-law’s birthday today and I give her this beautiful little poem from Robert Browning who died on this day in 1889.

Love

So, the year’s done with!
(Love me forever!)
All March begun with,
April’s endeavour;
May-wreaths that bound me
June needs must sever;
Now snow falls round me,
Quenching June’s fever –
(Love me for ever!)

 
6 Comments

Posted by on December 12, 2014 in Beauty, knitting, photography, Postaday 2014

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

National Poetry Day

The theme for this year is ‘Remember’.  I want to remember Dylan Thomas who was born 100 years ago this month. I love these words of his, not a poem but about poetry:

“Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toenails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.”

I hope you can find a poem today that will make you feel something of the above.

Dylan Thomas at the BBC

Dylan Thomas at the BBC

 
1 Comment

Posted by on October 2, 2014 in poetry, Postaday 2014, quotations, Words

 

Tags: ,

 
%d bloggers like this: