Dylan Marlais Thomas (1914-1953) was a Welsh poet who wrote in English. Many regard him as one of the 20th century's most influential poets.
In addition to poetry, Thomas wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, with the latter frequently performed by Thomas himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his booming, at times, ostentatious voice, with a subtle Welsh lilt, became almost as famous as his works. His best-known work includes the "play for voices" Under Milk Wood and the celebrated villanelle for his dying father, "Do not go gentle into that good night." Appreciative critics have also noted the superb craftsmanship and compression of poems such as "In my craft or sullen art" and the rhapsodic lyricism of Fern Hill.
Previously, I’d only read a play by Dylan Thomas - which I found to be extremely poetic in style. So of course I had to experience his poetry (not only because of the Taylor Swift reference, iykyk)! I had thought that I was not familiar with any of his poems, and was surprised and delighted to realize that I knew the majority of “do not go gentle into that good night” by heart without ever connecting Dylan Thomas as the poet! I truly cannot even remember why I already knew the poem, but it is inarguably one of the most lasting and beautifully written of all time. I must admit it was my favorite of the collection, and much of the rest of his work paled in comparison. However - if you’ve struck genius only once, that’s still more than most can say! My four star rating is attributed primarily to my love for that poem, and for the enjoyable (if not particularly memorable) experience of the rest of the poems. I believe the collection is well worth a read for any lover of poetry!
Favorite poem: “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
It was very poetic and beautifully written, but because I read this before sleeping, I missed some meanings of the text. I was just too tired, and these poems do require more brain than I am used to.