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Konrad
Veterano |
# ago/11 · Editado por: Konrad
Grande poeta galês. Alguém mais gosta? (Além do nobre Dylan Thomas, aqui do FCC?)
Curta biografia:
The Welsh poet Dylan Thomas has been hailed as one of the most important poets of the century. His lyrics rank among the most powerful and captivating of modern poetry.
Welsh childhood
Dylan Marlais Thomas was born in the Welsh seaport of Swansea, Carmarthenshire, Wales, on October 27, 1914. His father, David John, was an English teacher and a would-be poet from whom Dylan inherited his intellectual and literary abilities. From his mother, Florence, a simple and religious woman, Dylan inherited his mood, temperament, and respect for his Celtic heritage. He had one older sister, Nancy. He attended the Swansea Grammar School, where he received all of his formal education. As a student he made contributions to the school magazine and was keenly interested in local folklore (stories passed down within a culture). He said that as a boy he was "small, thin, indecisively active, quick to get dirty, curly." During these early school years, Thomas befriended Daniel Jones, another local schoolboy. The two would write hundreds of poems together, and as adults Jones would edit a collection of Thomas's poetry.
After leaving school, Thomas supported himself as an actor, reporter, reviewer, scriptwriter, and with various odd jobs. When he was twenty-two years old, he married Caitlin Macnamara, by whom he had two sons, Llewelyn and Colm, and a daughter, Aeron. After his marriage, Thomas moved to the fishing village of Laugharne, Carmarthenshire.
Begins writing career
To support his growing family, Thomas was forced to write radio scripts for the Ministry of Information (Great Britain's information services) and documentaries for the British government. He also served as an aircraft gunner during World War II (1939–45; a war fought between Germany, Japan, and Italy, the Axis powers; and England, France, the Soviet Union, and the United States, the Allies). After the war he became a commentator on poetry for the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). In 1950 Thomas made the first of three lecture tours through the
Dylan Thomas. Reproduced by permission of AP/Wide World
United States—the others were in 1952 and 1953—in which he gave more than one hundred poetry readings. In these appearances he half recited, half sang the lines in his "Welsh singing" voice.
Thomas's poetic output was not large. He wrote only six poems in the last six years of his life. A grueling lecture schedule greatly slowed his literary output in these years. His belief that he would die young led him to create "instant Dylan"—the persona of the wild young Welsh bard, damned by drink and women, that he believed his public wanted. When he was thirty-five years old, he described himself as "old, small, dark, intelligent, and darting-doting-dotting eyed ... balding and toothlessing."
During Thomas's visit to the United States in 1953, he was scheduled to read his own and other poetry in some forty university towns throughout the country. He also intended to work on the libretto (text) of an opera for Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971) in the latter's California home. Thomas celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday in New York City in a mood of gay exhilaration, following the extraordinary success of his just-published Collected Poems. The festivities ended in his collapse and illness. On November 9, 1953, he died in St. Vincent's Hospital in New York City. Some reports attribute his death to pneumonia brought on by alcoholism, others to encephalopathy, a brain disease. His body was returned to Laugharne, Wales, for burial.
Read more: Dylan Thomas Biography - life, family, childhood, death, school, mother, young, book http://www.notablebiographies.com/St-Tr/Thomas-Dylan.html#ixzz1URsRG51 a
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Konrad
Veterano |
# ago/11
· votar
Minha composição predileta: (lugar comum, mas tudo bem)
Ouvi esse poema pela primeira vez num enterro, há uns vinte anos.
FERN HILL
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
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Dav_Ness
Veterano |
# ago/11
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I don't speak english, only in portuguese, please.
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Bob Mauley
Veterano |
# ago/11
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este topico mostra que podemos descobrir coisas interessantes pesquisando o nick de alguns users do FCC no google...
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Konrad
Veterano |
# ago/11
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Dav_Ness
I don't speak english, only in portuguese, please.
Use o google translator. Ele tem estado bem mais preciso ultimamente.
Bob Mauley
De fato.
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Sedunk
Veterano |
# ago/11
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No american in may curriculum.
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J. S. Coltrane
Veterano |
# ago/11
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Konrad
recomendar google translator para poesia é um pouco demais
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Konrad
Veterano |
# ago/11
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J. S. Coltrane
recomendar google translator para poesia é um pouco demais
Achei que ele se referisse à biografia.
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Murillo Wendel
Veterano |
# ago/11
· votar
Nossa como eu sou idiota.
Me baseando pelo nick do usuário pensei que se tratava de uma mistura nerd de Bob Dylan e Thomas Edson
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Henry Chinaski
Veterano |
# ago/11
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Bukowski tem um personagem homonimo. Achei que era essa a fonte..
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-Dan
Veterano
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# ago/11
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Bob Mauley
este topico mostra que podemos descobrir coisas interessantes pesquisando o nick de alguns users do FCC no google...
Pesquise meu nick no google. VC encontrará absolutamente nada.
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Lord Cachaça
Veterano
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Esse post foi marcado como inapropriado mostrar
O autor recebeu uma advertência por publicar conteúdo contra as regras do fórum.
ago/11
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65h1.e9+qw83ryt4ij.9w5y47467.79ie*57y4j.s5rg4jhn65h1ket4i4st
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pulgadopc
Veterano |
# ago/11
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-Dan
Verdade, sô.
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Guitar_RdS
Veterano
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Esse post foi marcado como inapropriado mostrar
O autor recebeu uma advertência por publicar conteúdo contra as regras do fórum.
ago/11
Foda-se
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slow134
Veterano |
# ago/11
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Achei q era sobre algum usuario do fcc
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