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Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas 1934-1952 (New Directions Book)

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Dylan Thomas wrote his verse in extremely strict forms that he himself devised, employing rhyme (though mostly slant rhyme) and the more subtle effects of assonance in the formalist tradition, exercising the rigorous control and discipline also inherent in that tradition, although his skilled use of repetition (e.g., "And Death Shall Have No Dominion", "Fern Hill", and, of course, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night") and his lines of varying, though strictly determined, length (as in "Fern Hill" and "Poem in October") achieve the musical qualities to which free verse aspires. In this way, Dylan Thomas represents the pinnacle of the formalists' craft and art, respecting, but not becoming bound by, the rules and metrics of tradition. Instead, he created his own rules and forms, to which he adhered with incredible strictness: his syllabic poems like "Fern Hill" are even more rigorous than the iambic line, which allows some freedom in the placement or substitution of other metrical feet. But DT's syllabic verse, though strict, does not govern the stresses in each line, allowing the natural rhythms of the language and phrases to flow, and the stresses to fall where they will, resulting in an incredible lyricism. Yet, DT also employed a regular meter when the building emphasis was needed, as in the anapestic final line of "Fern Hill": "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." That means/sea assonance demonstrates the subtle resonance that permeates his work, analogous to the final couplet in a sonnet. "Fern Hill" is music itself, but also meaning: the Welsh name "Dylan" means "the sea", and that final line is Dylan Thomas's signature on his own painterly-musical portrait of a place from his childhood. His best work ("Fern Hill", "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", "And Death Shall Have No Dominion", "In My Craft, or Sullen Art", and "Poem in October") more than makes up for his less accessible, less lyrical verse (e.g., "A Grief Ago"). The inspiration that the New Apocalypse group and the Beats drew from him--from his poems and his stage presence--probably annoyed him, and certainly the poets in the Movement, which formed in reaction against the New Apocalypse, were even more annoyed, but Robert Conquest, who, along with Philip Larkin, Elizabeth Jennings, and Kingsley Amis, established the principles of the Movement poets in the New Lines anthology, has stated that he has always admired Thomas's finest works. In fact, the Movement's manifesto, published in New Lines, was thought of as too harsh by Larkin, leaving Kingsley Amis as one of Dylan Thomas's only absolute detractors. But many other poets, such as Theodore Roethke, Richard Hugo, and John Berryman, regarded Thomas as a master. The Collected Poems are uneven and at times erratic and obscure, but the brilliance of his words, their music and their magic, cannot be denied. His verse, as disciplined as that of Richard Wilbur, yet in a different way, is verse that rages, unlike Wilbur's elegant and elegaic poems: Richard Wilbur is the bright air, Dylan Thomas the brilliant fire. And yet he is not always in a bardic transport: the blinding whirlwind of his poem "Author's Prologue" is the opposite of the subdued, mixed feelings of hope and grief in "Poem in October", a work of restraint. Thomas himself lamented the fact that his verse would most likely be read, not by real people who live and struggle and die, but by pedantic academics, like the old men in Yeats's "The Scholars". As said in his poem, "In My Craft or Sullen Art", his poems are his letters to you:

"...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."

i won't attempt a scholarly review as another person already has. i am disappointed that so fe people have reviewed this book-- has no one read it? it is a shame that people shun poetry. i try to introduce these poems to people i think will appreciate them, but so few are willing to devote the time, energy, imagination, or focus required to truly appreciate great poetry. but these poems, more than any others for me, are the pinnacle of artistic achievement. the surge of excitement and understanding that coursed through me when i finally began to understand the meanings and intricacies of "lament" (on an airplane, incidentally)cannot be described, nor can the awe i felt at first reading the line (in "after the funeral"): her fist of a face died clenched on a round pain

dylan thomas, despite the glowing and scathing platitudes poured upon him, shines through as a complete individual and a genius of language. and if you buy this book, invest in a copy of the 2 cassette package entitled "dylan thomas reads his poetry" as well. many of his poems take on entirely different lives when heard through his magnificant voice. my favorites: after the funeral, death shall have no dominion, do not go gentle, ceremony after a fire raid, refusal to mourn, among those killed in the dawn raid..., fern hill, over sir john's hill, lament, elegy

The question is, do you get this book for cheap, or the brand new POEMS OF DYLAN THOMAS [WITH CD] for not cheap. That depends on your wallet and your love of Thomas.

If you are new to Thomas, perhaps coming here intrigued after reading the often-anthologized "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night," I heartily recommend this book. These are all the poems Thomas wanted to live on in his name. They are excellent across the board, with a lot that I personally really loved. Thomas in some ways reminds me of Auden or Yeats (or even Blake) in terms of his mysticism and commitment to sound and form. I also think of Poe, who is often criticized by literary types, but much loved by the general public. There's a reason Thomas is popular. Even his most fantastical lines have a way of resonating. Many are unforgettable:

"Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?"

For those who already know they love Thomas, the new book + CD is a worthy investment. There's nothing wrong with this one though. It fits in a (coat) pocket and contains everything Thomas wanted, plus the posthumous "Elegy." It is tragic he died young, but he left some great work behind. This is it in a nutshell. Highly recommended, 5/5 stars.

This reader has had the first 52 lines of Dylan Thomas's "Author's Prologue" memorized since the age of sixteen, and has a semi-firm grasp of the remaining 50 lines of the poem. In the absence of unforgettably solemn liturgies or a culture immersed in scriptural cadences, Thomas's poems fulfilled for this reader the same function than the Authorized Version of the Holy Bible fulfilled for many previous generations of English-speaking poets: making us fall in love with the sound of the word.

Thomas is not always clear and comely, rarely dulcet and decorous, raucous oftener than reverent (he sometimes manages to be both!), but he is never hackneyed and almost impossible to forget. Some of the effects in "Poem On His Birthday" and "Over Sir John's Hill" are as lovely and intricate as anything by Gerard Manley Hopkins, e g: "this sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave" or "flash, and the plumes crack, and a black cap of jackdaws Sir John's just hill dons." In the earliest eighteen poems, we have a kind of 20th-century retelling of the Book of Genesis (there is a poem called "In the Beginning"), with William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience and perhaps Auden, Lawrence, and Freud as tributary influences.

The later lyrics of nostalgia, "Fern Hill" and "Poem in October," exert an undeniable charm, and the wartime elegies ("A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London" most notably) have a furious splendour. The villanelle, for better or for worse, is immortal.

The flaws in Dylan Thomas's aesthetic are somewhat obvious -- making the sound of the language into a kind of religion is not the most prudent course. And the failures, when they occur ("Once Below a Time") are crashingly abysmal. But we retain our familial loyalty to Dylan Thomas, who sang to the best of his love as the flood began, the moonshine-drinking Noah of the bay who sings still in these ineffaceable poems, around the globe from Laugharne to Lesotho, from Swansea to Sandusky -- wherever his books are found, opened, and cherished.

Spoiler!: anyone looking for an academic, objective and critical analysis of Thomas' work, please read no further and go ahead and hit the unhelpful button.

Dylan Thomas verbally creates a magical equivalent of a lightning fused marriage of William Blake (poetry and painting) and Jackson Pollock. His madly brilliant ability to fuse language into spirit makes him a radical voice able to transcend the written page and flash fire across the stormy night.

He shows no fear in his "blazing like meteors" of imagery, sound and style. His utter passion for language and all its power vibrates like the Oceanic fury which crashed against his childhood home. Like all great poetry, Thomas should be read aloud and with a great burning green fury. His poetry is metaphor to live by. Filled with all the experience of the total human being, Thomas teaches us to value, treasure and drink deep the glorious well of creation.

Like many great artists, his life was far too brief. But his lines remain immortal. This is a volume I hold close and sacred to my very heart.

I have for years found a physical reaction - the hairs on my head standing to attention - when I read the line 'In the heart of my upgrowing days'. If you want to read it in context then look for the early poems, before alcohol and the frustrated performer began to consume this boy from the west.

When I first read The Collected Poems I was struck by the possiblities described in the foreward. I have been searching the web for a transcription of this foreward, but alas I cannot locate it. It is late and I am consumed by the spirit of the wild Welsh wish-monger. In that foreward he spoke of a shepherd honouring the moon from a fairy circle of flint stones. When Thomas asked why he did this, the shepherd replied - 'I'd be a damn fool if I didn't.' I'm sure that was the meaning but it has been many years. If you know the anecdote please pass it on. I can't afford to buy the works this month etc etc etc.

But if you can afford this extraordinary work (my first copy was stolen)then buy it now and prepare to change your view of most things. If I had to choose just one poem it would be the elegy to his father: Do not go gentle into that good night. All of us should pledge to rage, rage against the dying of the light. Farewell and embrace your present tense like this child of light always did for honour, stupidity, excitement and love.

There are great lines and even great poems in the work of Dylan Thomas. "Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage rage against the dying of the light" " And Death Shall have no Dominion" Into the Zion of the water- bead and the synagogue of the ear of corn" And there is a music and power in his poems unsurpassed, especially when he is reading them. His life in a sense conformed to the image of a romantic poet, wild and raging and dissolute and self- destructive . He drank himself to death. And yet in his short life he managed to produce a handful of poems which are present in almost every anthology of modern poetry, canonical poems of great power and beauty.

"Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas 1934-1952" is the poet's own 'best of' collection. He picked all of the poems except for the posthumously chosen and edited "Elegy."

Every poet writes hundreds, even thousands, of poems. Some are experiments with form or message, others might be intended only for a small audience. Sometimes, the poet pens some that, when looking back, just stink. A good, humble poet knows this when collecting the ones worth remembering. Thomas' "Collected Poems" has strained out his weaker verse, avoiding the temptation of ego to overwhelm us with every line in the almost twenty-year period from which he draws.

Thomas hand-picked these gems. Any beginning student of poetry will know "Do not go gentle into that good night." They might also know "And death shall have no dominion."

Thomas was what few poets were. He was a poet's poet, yet entirely accessible by the average reader. He managed to construct poems that appeal aesthetically to nonpoets, with layers to be appreciated with each new look. He could be studied for his technique and craft, and enjoyed at face value in a public reading.

Unlike many poets, Thomas does not rely on obscure literary allusions requiring extensive footnotes, as T. S. Eliot sometimes seemed. Instead of giving us a lesson in vocabulary, he used ordinary words and phrases enriched by their juxtaposition and careful choice to exalt his messages. Even his somewhat glum "The tombstone told when she died," I find myself reading aloud:

She cried her white-dresses limbs were bare
And her red lips were kissed black,
She wept in her pain and made mouth,
Talked and tore though her eyes smiled.

Nicely presented, you'll find poems start on a new page rather than stream them one after another. This leaves white space, and provides for a cleaner look at the individual poem. I prefer this method because the poem seems to begin better, as it is set apart from the others.

I fully recommend "Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas 1934-1952" by Dylan Thomas. It is a fantastic study of modern English language poetry and what a poet can do with ordinary words.

Anthony Trendl
http://anthonytrendl.com

Certainly, if you like poetry at all. Open the book at random and start listening to the sound as you read. OK---in my case, it's fallen open at page 39:
Shall gods be said to thump the clouds
When clouds are cursed by thunder,
Be said to weep when weather howls?
Shall rainbows be their tunics' colour?
So on one level, this is poetry for mouthing and savouring and enjoying like music. Technically, it's tight as a drum. See how the vowels are juxtaposed and notice the assonance and shape-rhymes at the end of the lines. Then comes the meaning. Dylan Thomas is not the simplest poet to understand, but he always has a strong, strident, moving argument to make that you can't forget, even if you don't agree. I first met Dylan Thomas's poems when I was 14, at a stormy, angry, poetry-writing age. That's a good moment to encounter a great poet and find out what else can be said and considered and felt. If it's Dylan Thomas, there's a strong chance he'll stay with you for the rest of your life. This is a book to leave around casually for others to find, especially if they're at a stormy, angry, poetry-writing age. If only more of us were, more of the time.

The sound and rhythm of his poetry is so lovely, he could have written perfect nonsense, and I wouldn't notice. I had to read many of the poems several times before I was able to focus on the content, rather than the wondrous form in which it was conveyed. However, the words proved to form equally profound pictures.

He used language and sound in a way uniquely his own. While others struggle to fit their poems into some rigid prescribed boundary, or toss their words carelessly on a page, Thomas's poetry grows naturally according to its own rules and boundaries. This produces a wild, rhythmic sound, like the sound of waves rolling in, then receding from the shore.

Dylan Thomas's poetry is nothing less than amazing, and this collection is quite nearly perfect. I have read it ten times or so and intend to read it many more.