Thomas centenary: happy birthday dear Dylan

Happy 100th birthday to you, Dylan Thomas! (newswales.co.uk)

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

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Stars join 'readathon' for Dylan Thomas centenary (BBC w/video)

"Love In The Asylum" is a favorite of mine.

The day I turned 24, my advisor hit me up in the hallway outside the grad *advertiser censored*'t offices, and recited

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.

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^^^ Awe-strike.

*exits WS; quests poetry by Dylan Thomas*

Time held me green and dying
........Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

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from Fern Hill

A favourite of mine, A Child's Christmas in Wales.
...It was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve, and I was in Mrs. Prothero's garden, waiting for cats, with her son Jim. It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats. Patient, cold and callous, our hands wrapped in socks, we waited to snowball the cats. Sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered, spitting and snarling, they would slink and sidle over the white back-garden walls, and the lynx-eyed hunters, Jim and I, fur-capped and moccasined trappers from Hudson Bay, off Mumbles Road, would hurl our deadly snowballs at the green of their eyes. The wise cats never appeared....

When I lived in London, Kilburn, I used to walk my dog in the park with a lady who regaled me with stories of how she used to drink with Dylan in Soho when she was younger.

O/T. I cannot resist posting this, nowt to do with DT (unfortunate initials) but to do with reminiscence and Christmas. Made me laugh...

[video=youtube;t9floPXNLjs]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9floPXNLjs[/video]