Apologies for the rambling, I'm tired after a busy weekend (hangovers get worse as you get older...) seeing old friends and making new, it's Monday and with it comes all of Monday things and a lack of inspiration. Instead of my own words here's one of my favourite poems, it's early Dylan Thomas and I've always gone back to it after every break up I've ever had.
My parents took pride in their Welshness, I was brought up with Shirley Bassey (let me tell you, my mother, an ex ballerina with the Royal Ballet can still do a fabuous rendition of Big Spender) and Tom Jones, my summers were spent in the Valleys of Glamorgan and Carmarthenshire exploring castles and climbing mountains and every March 1st The Gorgeous and I were sent off with daffodils on our lapels for St David's Day.
So it was no wonder that when my modryb and ewthyr took me out to Laugharne when I was 13, the romantic and naive in me saw a kindred spirit. A drunken tortured soak, who fell in love with words, and with whom I have been half in love with ever since.
Mwynhau, cariad.
You Shall not Despair
You shall not despair
Because I have forsaken you
Or cast your love aside;
There is a greater love than mine
Which can comfort you
And touch you with softer hands.
I am no longer
Friendly and beautiful to you;
Your body cannot gladden me,
Nor the splendor of your dark hair,
But I do not humiliate you;
You shall be taken sweetly again
And soothed with slow tears;
You shall be loved enough.
Monday, November 14, 2005
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4 comments:
your welsh accent came out of your words right at me; we north americans have such a love for accents. sorry for the lowercase, but the babe is in my arms. can only type with one hand....
My accent is a bit nomadic, 22 years of West Coast Canadian, mixed with a year of Scotland, a little Irish, and 8 years of England...
which I always take full advantage of when I'm back in Vancouver!
Wow.. that's amazing.. love that..
I too am a great fan of Dylan Thomas, but without the benefit of having a Welsh background. Also, I quite liked the drama of his life, but realized later on that he was fun to read about, but I would have killed him if I had to co-exist with him!
The only poet who can come close to eliciting the same sort of feelings that I had for Dylan is Michael Ondaatje.
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