A Dylan Thomas thought

Here is an example of poetry as a celebration of language:  ‘Poem in October’* by Dylan Thomas.  I will only quote a few lines so that I do not break any rights rules:

  ‘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.’  

Oh and here is memory:

‘….

And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s

Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother

          Through the parables

                Of sunlight ….’

I love the image of walking abroad in the shower of one’s days: the walking through time, ageing, each day a raindrop that falls as far as the cloud will shed it–think of raindrops on people’s cheeks, raindrops on wooden houses, on the grass.  There is such a physical connection between the soul of the speaker and the soul of nature here, all embodied in this language that takes you flying. And then, I wonder, as I have young children, what’s it like for them to walk ‘through the parables/ of sunlight’?   What a blessing this poem is!

*(lines quoted from the Norton Anthology of English lit.*Vol. F)

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