[Thomas Dylan 100] 威尔士诗人 狄兰·托马斯（1914-2014




今年 2014年， 有很多纪念活动， 一战100周年， 莎士比亚诞辰450周年  还有威尔士诗人 狄兰·托马斯诞辰100周年。 他的诗吸引了我这个诗盲， 不懂诗， 但可以感受， 就如 感受音乐一样

诗歌真是灵魂散步，游历时落下的声音？

夜幕下的篝火？

是帐篷里飘出的笛烟？


也很好奇100年前和几百年前的人和事, 喜欢 听他们美丽的思潮， 还有那些手工味很浓编织的声音和文字




狄兰·托马斯（Dylan Thomas，1914年10月27日－1953年11月9日），威尔士诗人、作家。生于英国南威尔士，其父是一位中学校长。托马斯很早就表现出对于文学的特殊兴趣，他中学的时候曾担任学校刊物的主编，并发表了一些诗作。1931年，17岁的托马斯离开了家乡前往伦敦开始他的写作事业。20岁那年，托马斯发表了第一本诗集《诗十八首》，当时的评论界并没有特别关注这位年轻的诗人。但是美国的一些出版商却很看好他，把他之前所出的三本书做成一部合集《我生活的世界》在美国发行，这部合集后来为他赢得了威廉·福亥尔奖金。第二次世界大战期间，托马斯为英国广播公司服务，战后他仍为该公司的一套文艺节目写稿播音。1946年，托马斯发表了他最重要的一部诗集《死亡和出场》，这部诗集为他带来了名誉和作为诗人的地位。评论界普遍认为托马斯是继奥登以后英国的又一位重要诗人。托马斯的诗作大体属于超现实主义流派，其诗中所蕴含的内容较具有梦幻色彩，通过对于意象的描绘堆砌，托马斯所创造出来的诗境往往引人入胜。另外，托马斯很注重押韵，其诗以善于朗诵闻名。除了写诗，托马斯也写过一些短篇小说发表在诗文集《爱的地图》中，并写了几个电影剧本，如《三个怪姐妹》等。1953年，托马斯在切尔西旅馆逝世，享年39岁。

  • 《诗十八首》（1934年）
  • 《诗二十五首》（1936年）
  • 《爱的地图》（1939年）
  • 《我生活的世界》（1940年）
  • 《新诗集》（1942年）
  • 《死亡和出场》（1946年）
  •  





  • Dylan Marlais Thomas (27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953) was a Welsh poet and writer whose works include the poems "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "And death shall have no dominion", the "play for voices", Under Milk Wood, and stories and radio broadcasts such as A Child's Christmas in Wales and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog. He became popular in his lifetime and remained so after his premature death in New York. In his later life he acquired a reputation, which he encouraged, as a "roistering, drunken and doomed poet".[3]

    Thomas was born in Swansea, Wales, in 1914. An undistinguished student, he left school at 16, becoming a journalist for a short time. Although many of his works appeared in print while he was still a teenager, it was the publication of "Light breaks where no sun shines", in 1934, that caught the attention of the literary world. While living in London, Thomas met Caitlin Macnamara, whom he married in 1937. Their relationship was defined by alcoholism and was mutually destructive.[3] In the early part of his marriage, Thomas and his family lived hand-to-mouth, settling in the Welsh fishing village of Laugharne.

    Although Thomas was appreciated as a popular poet in his lifetime, he found earning a living as a writer difficult, which resulted in his augmenting his income with reading tours and broadcasts. His radio recordings for the BBC during the latter half of the 1940s brought him to the public's attention and he was used by the Corporation as a populist voice of the literary scene. In the 1950s, Thomas travelled to America, where his readings brought him a level of fame, though his erratic behaviour and drinking worsened. His time in America cemented Thomas' legend, where he recorded to vinyl works such as A Child's Christmas in Wales. During his fourth trip to New York in 1953, Thomas became gravely ill and fell into a coma from which he did not recover. Thomas died on 9 November 1953 and his body was returned to Wales where he was buried at the village churchyard in Laugharne.

    Although writing exclusively in the English language, Thomas has been acknowledged as one of the most important Welsh poets of the 20th century. Noted for his original, rhythmic and ingenious use of words and imagery, Thomas' position as one of the great modern poets has been much discussed, though this has not tarnished his popularity amongst the general public, who find his work accessible.

    (wiki)


     

    Deaths and Entrances

    On almost the incendiary eve
    Of several near deaths,
    When one at the great least of your best loved
    And always known must leave
    Lions and fires of his flying breath,
    Of your immortal friends
    Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust
    To shoot and sing your praise,
    One who called deepest down shall hold his peace
    That cannot sink or cease
    Endlessly to his wound
    In many married London's estranging grief.

    On almost the incendiary eve
    When at your lips and keys,
    Locking, unlocking, the murdered strangers weave,
    One who is most unknown,
    Your polestar neighbour, sun of another street,
    Will dive up to his tears.
    He'll bathe his raining blood in the male sea
    Who strode for your own dead
    And wind his globe out of your water thread
    And load the throats of shells
    with every cry since light
    Flashed first across his thunderclapping eyes.

    On almost the incendiary eve
    Of deaths and entrances,
    When near and strange wounded on London's waves
    Have sought your single grave,
    One enemy, of many, who knows well
    Your heart is luminous
    In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
    Will pull the thunderbolts
    To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
    And sear just riders back,
    Until that one loved least
    Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.
     

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