Fleeting Observations Of A Poet

Cherry

By skinner_jennifer

Sun, 08 Aug 2021
  • 4854 reads
26 comments
 

 

A poem about my thoughts on one of

my favourite poets Dylan Thomas.

This is probably not a true picture,

but reading his work inspired me to

write my own feelings down.

 

 

Hushed silence fills the air for this poet in expression;

a free thinker was he, with thunderous bolts of both

confidence and powerful passion untarnished,

imposing...swathing audiences in dramatic metaphors.

Nevertheless: in later life this haggard intemperance,

wildly emanating a storm like rain bouncing off lakes

and rivers of emotion; had repercussions.

 

Could capturing peace deeply embedded in composed

nostalgia, harvest recollections that entranced? I don't

know much of his past, but I wonder! Did he write in

secret hideouts, receiving pleasure from observing like

myself? Maybe keeping diaries, a gathering of past

frequenters; speaking candidly of Welsh village life,

where ruffled curls whisper, a mother's goodnight.

 

His voice flies with birds, speaks to hills when

wielding pen with words, driving energy many have

heard; paddling renditions in his wistful memories;

where women with thirst for a man with Utopian

dreams wanted release from harshness, his haven

soaked in ink and parables, these females were

transfixed like bees to pollen.

 

Was there a boy's childhood wrapped in muddy woods,

with tremulous trees that exploited clear streams of

imagination? Were there bawls of tears from bloody

scraped knees? Did he battle monsters that were really

just in his mind with sticks from ramshackle dens?

Or were these just my own echoes, born energy from

distant memory.

 

Would charms persistence draw him under cockleshell skies?

Maybe conjuring a vision of struggling fishermen harnessing

mackerel in wrestled nets, as swell releases a tumbled bounty,

then with salty air at their backs; sail into ageless harbours,

where tiny bobbing boats massaged by tides are moored

patiently waiting, while gulls on wing command and battle

for their fishy stash.

 

Then up slipway again to sup at welcoming Inn

where steady crackle of fire warms the flesh,

before ambling home to bursting aromas rich in

smell and taste, fulfilled comfort of food with wife

and children, before they're all tucked up in bed,

once more those tired men can dream of crystal

oceans deep; that sparkle by moonlight.

 

 

Each recital performed increased ascending ideas,

climbing to fame, laced with duty to enthuse,

a platform formula plucked in frail anxiety; that

scuppered his dreams, till trapped in weary web

where danced compositions, that now forever

sleep in restful slumber; for us the reader to

treasure.

 

 

Pixabay free image to use.

Certificate PG
Poem
Poems
Biography
Love

Comments

Submitted by Nolan on

I loved his short stories too, like "A child's Christmas in Wales" the one I haven't read is a famous radio play "under Milkwood". He died young, shortly before his 40th birthday I think. We are the poorer off for it. A master of the English language.

I've got BBC tapes of him reading his own work. As the nights clinkling goes so the slurring does. I's a shame.

He was actually a bit of a mean character drunken brawls and seducing innocent woman. Running up bad debts. He wrote mostly of sex and death, Bob Dylan took his name.

Keep well Jenny!

 

Submitted by Kilb50 on

You've certainly captured the spirit and passion of Thomas in this poem Jenny. And these wonderful lines really seek out the essence of a poet's imagination:

'Was there a boy's childhood wrapped in muddy woods,

with tremulous trees that exploited clear streams of

imagination?'

Very well done!

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

Jenny, this is a MASTERPIECE.  Too wonderful to list every highlight, just needing to read again and again. 

 

Submitted by celticman on

I've not read a lot of Dylan Thomas, but his words burtst from the page. I guess that's what we all aim for. 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Nolan,

it's sad to think that on the day he died he was in New York drinking himself to death. I know he was selfish and a womaniser, but his poetry and stories came alive when reading. Dylan Thomas was a master of creating an atmosphere, for me that's what mattered most. I did try to capture some of his essence in this poem, but for me he was ahead of his time.

I never knew that Bob Dylan took his name from Dylan Thomas, so you've taught me something new.

 You should read Under Milkwood and A Child's Christmas In Wales, they are both enchanting to hear or read, even bringing his humour across at times.

Anyway thank you for your input. You take care and keep well too. 

Jenny.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi there Kilb50,

that you think I've captured Dylan Thomas spirit and passion in this poem has made my evening and put a smile on my face. smiley I couldn't wish for more.  Thank you so much.

Jenny.

 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Wow! Di, thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement. It was a pleasure to write and share, and I always appreciate your comments...especially this one. smiley

Many thanks again.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Jack,

yes you're right, I think we all aim to have our words burst from the page. Dylan Thomas was certainly a Master at just that. 

Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to let me know.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Many thanks for the cherries Editors. Made my evening and glad you enjoyed.

Jenny. smiley

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Hi Jenny,

This is lovely, Jenny. You have certainly captured some of the essence of the man. Have you read 'Fern Hill', one of his poems. It's about a wonderful childhood he had in the country when he wasn't in Swansea, where of course he was born in the Mumbles. You have a way with words just like him!!!

hilary     smiley

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Hilary,

funnily enough I heard him reading Fern Hill last night on youtube. His voice always captivates me, it's almost hypnotic, I can understand why he was so popular. 

You are so kind in your comment, it makes writing so worth while when I recieve words of encouragement.

Thank you so much and take care.

Jenny. smiley

 

Submitted by Nolan on

Yes his voice was exceptional. Hope tht's spelt right!

& Nolan

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

First-class poem. Jenny. It is impossible not to be inspired by that genius that was Dylan Thomas, whose essence you have captured so beautifully. Of his works, I adore Under Milk Wood, splendidly recited by Richard Burton and the villanelle Do not go gentle into that Good night. Keep up the good work.

Luigi xx

 

 

Submitted by jeand on

Hi Jenny

I liked the style you wrote this in, which I presume was how he wrote his poetry. Beautifully done.

Jean Day

Submitted by bhi on

This is such a rich and dense poem which evokes the man himself. This is one to savour again and again and allow the words to wash over. You should record this and it would be great to hear the cadence of you in this poem.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Nolan, yes his voice was exceptional, I believe his father sent Dylan and his sister for elocution lessons when young, which must have helped with his reading.

Thank you for coming back to let me know.

Jenny.

 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Luigi,

I also think Richard Burton reads Under Milk Wood with passion, capturing Dylan Thomas soul and imagination. 

It's nice to read Dylan's writing and be inspired. Glad you enjoyed reading this poem.

Thank you so much for letting me know.

Jenny. xx

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Wow! Jean, 

to be compared to the great man is such a compliment, though I don't think I come close, but it's so kind of you to say.

I found myself writing this one at all different hours of the night, some words would pop into my head, it would just be a matter of getting them down quick before they vanished.

Poetry writing is such fun, and to know it gives pleasure is the best feeling in the world.

Many thanks for letting me know you liked.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi there bhi,

your compliment is so appreciated. I did read this poem out loud to my partner, but I'm a bit bashful when it comes to reading to strangers out loud, my West country voice has a lot to be desired...she utters smiling. smiley But it's kind of you to let me know.

To say that you would read again and again, is so wonderful for me to hear and more than I could wish for.

Thank you so much for stopping by to let me know. Much appreciated.

Jenny.

 

 

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

Dear Jenny, if I can read my poems with an Italian accent and not be embarrassed, I think that a West Country voice is perfectly acceptable. Do join the next ABC reading even if you don't read; it might give you confidence.

All the best, Luigi xx

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Luigi,

wish I didn't get anxiety, but I do in bucket loads. Technology and myself do not go together. I only use the computer for abc tales and finding information, which took me so long to grasp.

Insert did offer to help, but I would prefer to just write and read on abc tales.

But thank you for your kind encouragement.

Jenny. xx

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

Jenny, if it is about technology, I understand, as I am the same, BUT  if it is because of your accent, please think again!

It is a wrong and terrible thing that the south east of england accent might be considered by ANYONE  to be the voice of the English Language! That would mean writers only come from the south east, or change their voices? And that isn't true! Where you come from enriches your thoughts and flavours your words, it is a thing to be proud of - Clive James, or Ted Hughes, or Simon Armitage. Shakespeare was from the Midlands :0) Think of all the great writers from Scotland and Ireland, Wales. I have heard so many beautiful readings by writers from otherr countries on the radio, too? It is sad, for me, that Thomas had elocution lessons, that the wings of his words were tied down even as they flew from his mouth. Your images are shaped by the landscape in which you grew up, the words spoken by those around you. Accent is like ore in the rocks under your feet as you walk, and you are ther blacksmith, hammering it into lines of writing? We have got rid of the tyranny of the RP accent and replaced it with the tyranny of the media accent. Be a pionneer! Say your poems with praise for the land where you grew up and the poems with you! 

 

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hello Di,

yes it is partly about technology. I have no idea how to get set up to take part in the readings, and I haven't got the right equipment to get on line. My son normally helps me, he set up everything for me and puts the computer right when things go wrong, but he's not around at the moment, so I'm pretty much stuck, and my partner knows even less than I do.

You never know in the future I might pluck up courage to take part, we'll have to see. But to be honest I'm happy just writing and reading.

Anyway thank you so much for your vote of confidence in me, your very kind.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Trevor,

I will cherish your words, because they gave me faith in this tribute to Dylan Thomas poem. To be honest I wouldn't know where to start publishing.  Just being able to enjoy writing on abc tales because it's reliable is enough for me.

Your comment means a lot. Thank you so much.

Jenny. smiley

 

Submitted by marandina on

I knew there was something I meant to do today and it was to catch up with this poem. A thorough, complex and carefully woven tribute, so well done. Lots of nice comments on here, all deserved. Paul x

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Thanks so much Paul. It was fun to write this poem and also get to know Dylan Thomas a little more.

Much appreciate your feedback.

Thank you again.

Jenny.