Yesterday was the birthday of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas. It was the power of Thomas's poetry that snared me at seventeen. I've been lost in poems ever since. Now much older than he lived to be, I fool around at writing, but really, I'm just a great audience for real poets.
Kerry at IGRT reminded me of Dylan Thomas's birthday, so I blame her for this:
YOUNG AND EASY
on reading Dylan Thomas in October
And so,
The gifts that sift and fall
On fallow ground
Grow old and spotted
As October's rose
Or the hand that holds them now.
Unyoked, you plow plant reap
Fine wheat.
Too soon, too young
You scatter, seed, outrun
The dying sun.
No one has commented on this? For shame--it's as lovely a valedictory as I've read in some time, wonderfully visual and descriptive while being admirably tightly constructed. This is flat-out top-shelf stuff.
ReplyDeleteThank you, WK. I find comments come reciprocally, and as I am present on these sites sporadically, I don't have much company. Life, you know? Your comment lifts my spirit, though. I always consider the source!
DeleteNo one has commented on this? For shame--it's as lovely a valedictory as I've read in some time, wonderfully visual and descriptive while being admirably tightly constructed. This is flat-out top-shelf stuff.
ReplyDeleteWhen any young person dies, it really is hear breaking
ReplyDeleteWonderful tribute, Karen. Mine I posted too died young (younger than me), Lou Reed.
ReplyDeleteThe younger ones don't really get our regret at his passing. Do they?
DeleteReading aloud, I hear the music underlying all your words..
ReplyDelete