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Quite Early One Morning
In England and America Dylan Thomas made his art and personality widely known through public readings, radio broadcasts and recordings. Many of the 25 short stories, autobiographical sketches and essays in Quite Early One Morning, a volume planned by Thomas shortly before his death, were read by him on such occasions. They are alive with his verbal magic, his intense perception of life, his gargantuan humor and with the very ring of his voice.
Included in this collection of prose pieces are such favorites as the hilarious “A Visit to America,” the account of a small boy’s marvelous day’s outing—“A Story,” and the memorable “A Child’s Christmas in Wales,” which has been called ‘the twentieth century Christmas Carol.’ Other pieces show Thomas’s power as a sensitive critic of poetry and as an exponent of his own intent as a poet.
Included in this collection of prose pieces are such favorites as the hilarious “A Visit to America,” the account of a small boy’s marvelous day’s outing—“A Story,” and the memorable “A Child’s Christmas in Wales,” which has been called ‘the twentieth century Christmas Carol.’ Other pieces show Thomas’s power as a sensitive critic of poetry and as an exponent of his own intent as a poet.
155 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1954
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About the author
Dylan Thomas
586 books1,409 followersDylan 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.
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.
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December 23, 201910/10 +
Quite early one morning in the winter in Wales, by the sea that was lying down still and green as grass after a night of tar-black howling and rolling, I went out of the house, where I had come to stay for a cold unseasonable holiday, to see if it was raining still, if the outhouse had been blown away, potatoes, shears, rat-killer, shrimpnets, and tins of rusty nails aloft on the wind, and if all the cliffs were left. It had been such a ferocious night that someone in the smoky ship-pictured bar had said he could feel his tombstone shaking even though he was not dead yet or, at least, was moving; but the morning shone as clear and calm as one always imagines tomorrow will shine.
Quite possibly one of the best beginnings to any story; unless of course it's the beginning to A Child's Christmas in Wales.
This is a perfect collection of Thomas's work, short stories and essays alike, that I've re-read often over the years, and that often coincides with my re-reading of A Child's Christmas in Wales at this season.
It brings such hope with it. Such boundless joy.
One of the best essays (tribute more than essay) that ever was written about Wilfred Owen lies hidden in the very heart of this volume; lies nestled in the core of it, to make its own statement as to what matters in life; what should matter most of all, are the words of a dead poet reaching out from beyond the grave. None has written it so eloquently as Owen; none has recognized it so viscerally as Thomas.
This is one slim volume in which I find myself again and again, time after time; where I find jewels hidden that once were lost; where, even after 25 years of reading, I find new meaning, new magic.
Not every story is a poem, but every thought is an act of poetry; some that are simply reminiscences, observations, commentary, on the more mundane aspects of literature become gush-worthy examinations of the most astute and biting:
And see too, in that linguacious stream, the tall monocled men, smelling of saddle soap and club armchairs, their breath a nice blending of whisky and fox's blood, with big protruding upper-class tusks and county mustaches, presumably invented in England and sent abroad to advertise "Punch", who lecture to women's clubs on such unlikely subjects as "The History of Etching in The Shetland Islands"; and the brassy-bossy men-women, with corrugated-iron perms, and hippo hides, who come, self-announced, as "ordinary British housewives", to talk to rich minked chunks of American matronhood about the iniquity of the Health Services, the criminal sloth of miners, the visible tail and horns of Mr. Aneurin Bevan, and the fear of everyone in England to go out alone at night because of the organised legions of coshboys against whom the police are powerless owing to the refusal of those in power to equip them with revolvers and to flog to ribbons every adolescent offender on any charge at all.
Such a superb collection which paints a perfect arc of Thomas's talent, magic, wisdom, life.
Quite early one morning in the winter in Wales, by the sea that was lying down still and green as grass after a night of tar-black howling and rolling, I went out of the house, where I had come to stay for a cold unseasonable holiday, to see if it was raining still, if the outhouse had been blown away, potatoes, shears, rat-killer, shrimpnets, and tins of rusty nails aloft on the wind, and if all the cliffs were left. It had been such a ferocious night that someone in the smoky ship-pictured bar had said he could feel his tombstone shaking even though he was not dead yet or, at least, was moving; but the morning shone as clear and calm as one always imagines tomorrow will shine.
Quite possibly one of the best beginnings to any story; unless of course it's the beginning to A Child's Christmas in Wales.
This is a perfect collection of Thomas's work, short stories and essays alike, that I've re-read often over the years, and that often coincides with my re-reading of A Child's Christmas in Wales at this season.
It brings such hope with it. Such boundless joy.
One of the best essays (tribute more than essay) that ever was written about Wilfred Owen lies hidden in the very heart of this volume; lies nestled in the core of it, to make its own statement as to what matters in life; what should matter most of all, are the words of a dead poet reaching out from beyond the grave. None has written it so eloquently as Owen; none has recognized it so viscerally as Thomas.
This is one slim volume in which I find myself again and again, time after time; where I find jewels hidden that once were lost; where, even after 25 years of reading, I find new meaning, new magic.
Not every story is a poem, but every thought is an act of poetry; some that are simply reminiscences, observations, commentary, on the more mundane aspects of literature become gush-worthy examinations of the most astute and biting:
And see too, in that linguacious stream, the tall monocled men, smelling of saddle soap and club armchairs, their breath a nice blending of whisky and fox's blood, with big protruding upper-class tusks and county mustaches, presumably invented in England and sent abroad to advertise "Punch", who lecture to women's clubs on such unlikely subjects as "The History of Etching in The Shetland Islands"; and the brassy-bossy men-women, with corrugated-iron perms, and hippo hides, who come, self-announced, as "ordinary British housewives", to talk to rich minked chunks of American matronhood about the iniquity of the Health Services, the criminal sloth of miners, the visible tail and horns of Mr. Aneurin Bevan, and the fear of everyone in England to go out alone at night because of the organised legions of coshboys against whom the police are powerless owing to the refusal of those in power to equip them with revolvers and to flog to ribbons every adolescent offender on any charge at all.
Such a superb collection which paints a perfect arc of Thomas's talent, magic, wisdom, life.
February 22, 2019
Having a little Welsh blood from my father's side, I remember reading a children's book by Thomas when I was a kid, and hearing a lot about him, but it wasn't really until reading took off as an adult that I truly started to explore his work, especially his poetry, and broadcasts. This was an audio CD, so didn't actually read the book, and was narrated by Thomas himself, which gives the readings a great sense of authenticity. He recalls his childhood in Wales through little stories, told with a passionate sense of fascination for the world around him. There is a strong feeling of nostalgia in his voice, with the memories of seeing things with young and vibrant eyes still felt strongly. It's Well worth checking out for the Dylan Thomas fan.
August 1, 2010
Astounding. The sort of book that follows you around, occupying space in your head as you steal glances at it lying on your living room table, seductively wishing to be read over and over. The prose pieces are fluid and smooth, expressing very much with very little. The essays, while they paint Thomas as rather snobbish, are highly persuasive, leaving one with the desire to become a snide commentator of false art, just as he is.
Some highlights include the collection's namesake, a brief account of a Welsh fishing village in the wee hours of the morning, the immortal "A Child's Christmas in Wales", and the sneering jab directed to J.D. Salinger, James Joyce, Arthur Rimbaud, etc., "How To Be a Poet".
Some highlights include the collection's namesake, a brief account of a Welsh fishing village in the wee hours of the morning, the immortal "A Child's Christmas in Wales", and the sneering jab directed to J.D. Salinger, James Joyce, Arthur Rimbaud, etc., "How To Be a Poet".
February 16, 2022
I picked up a 1974 edition, Aldine Paperbacks in near new condition.
Poems, Stories, Essays. This selection of BBC Radio Broadcasts were mostly for the Welsh region of the B.B.C.
Preface
Part 1
Reminiscences of Childhood (First Version)
Reminiscences of Childhood (Second Version)
Quite Early One Morning
Memories of Christmas
Holiday Memory
How to begin a Story
The Crumbs of One Man's Year
The Festival Exhibition, 1951
The International Eisteddfod
A Visit to America
Laugharne
Return Journey
Wilfred Owen
Walter de la Mare as a Prose Writer
Sir Philip Sidney
A Dearth of Comic Writers
The English Festival of Spoken Poetry
On Reading One's Own Poems
Welsh Poets
Wales and the Artist
Three Poems
On Poetry
Notes
Five stars alone for the first story I read, A Visit to America. An hilarious jibe at the number of British writers, poets and experts on obscure subjects that were enticed on lecture tours across America.
Poems, Stories, Essays. This selection of BBC Radio Broadcasts were mostly for the Welsh region of the B.B.C.
Preface
Part 1
Reminiscences of Childhood (First Version)
Reminiscences of Childhood (Second Version)
Quite Early One Morning
Memories of Christmas
Holiday Memory
How to begin a Story
The Crumbs of One Man's Year
The Festival Exhibition, 1951
The International Eisteddfod
A Visit to America
Laugharne
Return Journey
Wilfred Owen
Walter de la Mare as a Prose Writer
Sir Philip Sidney
A Dearth of Comic Writers
The English Festival of Spoken Poetry
On Reading One's Own Poems
Welsh Poets
Wales and the Artist
Three Poems
On Poetry
Notes
Five stars alone for the first story I read, A Visit to America. An hilarious jibe at the number of British writers, poets and experts on obscure subjects that were enticed on lecture tours across America.
February 15, 2019
In school we were tortured with serious poems like “rage against the dying of the light” and “the green fuse that lights the flower.” At last - to discover at this late date how absolutely funny and witty Dylan Thomas is. One of the greatest humor writers I've read. And yes, an unmatched gift for words. This volume presents a mixture of stories, poetry, and essays. You can pick and choose what interests you.
Part One of this book contains several charming short stories, including “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”, which I had always erroneously assumed would be smarmy nostalgia. In fact, like all the stories here, it is filled with unexpected moments and unpredictable characters. Videlicit: boys rushing to see the fire in Mrs. Prothero’s kitchen, Mr. Prothero waving a slipper in the smoke, and Miss Prothero offering the firemen something to read.
Part Two is made of essays, including knowledgeable pieces on Welsh Poets and Wilfred Owen and, in the challenger’s corner, hilarious treatises “How to Be a Poet, or, The Ascent of Parnassus Made Easy” and “How to Begin a Story.” The pièce de résistance, “A Visit to America,” five pages on the plight of an author making a tour of readings and book signings - a Must Read.
Part One of this book contains several charming short stories, including “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”, which I had always erroneously assumed would be smarmy nostalgia. In fact, like all the stories here, it is filled with unexpected moments and unpredictable characters. Videlicit: boys rushing to see the fire in Mrs. Prothero’s kitchen, Mr. Prothero waving a slipper in the smoke, and Miss Prothero offering the firemen something to read.
Part Two is made of essays, including knowledgeable pieces on Welsh Poets and Wilfred Owen and, in the challenger’s corner, hilarious treatises “How to Be a Poet, or, The Ascent of Parnassus Made Easy” and “How to Begin a Story.” The pièce de résistance, “A Visit to America,” five pages on the plight of an author making a tour of readings and book signings - a Must Read.
June 4, 2025
Like fine i guess… but cant i want more
November 15, 2021
3 3/4 stars
January 29, 2025
“Fish-frailed, netbagged, umbrella’d, pixie-capped, fur-shoed, blue-nosed, puce-lipped, blinkered like drayhorses, scarved, mittened, galoshed, wearing everything but the cat’s blanket, crushes of shopping-women crunched in the little Lapland of the once grey drab street, blew and queued and yearned for hot tea, as I began my search through Swansea town cold and early on that wicked February morning.”
Dylan Thomas was a great one for the linguacious stream, wallowing and luxuriating in cascades of words – especially when voiced out loud, as in this selection of his radio pieces.
Each was originally broadcast by the BBC, the autobiographical stories specifically for the Welsh Home Service. I vaguely remember listening to some of them as a child – particularly 'Memories of Christmas', in which “all the Christmases roll down the hill towards the Welsh-speaking sea, like a snowball growing whiter and bigger and rounder, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find; holly or robins or pudding, squabbles and carols and oranges and tin whistles...”
He had an eye for both the ordinary and the odd and conjures them together in a rich and satisfying way. Wonderful stuff. But it’s a book of two halves. Part Two contains (as the introduction says) “talks of a more didactic nature, together with extracts culled from radio discussions”. It’s a recipe for a comparatively damp squib – and sadly that’s what we get.
Great writer – but not a great selection of his work.
Dylan Thomas was a great one for the linguacious stream, wallowing and luxuriating in cascades of words – especially when voiced out loud, as in this selection of his radio pieces.
Each was originally broadcast by the BBC, the autobiographical stories specifically for the Welsh Home Service. I vaguely remember listening to some of them as a child – particularly 'Memories of Christmas', in which “all the Christmases roll down the hill towards the Welsh-speaking sea, like a snowball growing whiter and bigger and rounder, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find; holly or robins or pudding, squabbles and carols and oranges and tin whistles...”
He had an eye for both the ordinary and the odd and conjures them together in a rich and satisfying way. Wonderful stuff. But it’s a book of two halves. Part Two contains (as the introduction says) “talks of a more didactic nature, together with extracts culled from radio discussions”. It’s a recipe for a comparatively damp squib – and sadly that’s what we get.
Great writer – but not a great selection of his work.
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July 15, 2013I'm just going to highlight some really nice quotes from the book (some parts of poems, and some parts of his prose):
"...the shape of another country lies so near,
the wind on Dover Cliffs could touch it with its finger.
And from this island-end, white-faced over the shifting sea-dyes,
a man may hear his country's body talking, and be caught
in the weathers of her eyes." --Our Country
"You cannot generalize about age and poetry. A man's poems, if they are good poems, are always older than himself; and sometimes they are ageless. We know that the shape and the texture of his poems would always be restlessly changing, though the purpose behind them would surely remain unalterable; he would always be experimenting technically, deeper and deeper driving towards the final intensity of language: the words behind words."
"Seldom drink wine, and yet sometimes do, lest being enforced to drink upon the sudden you should find yourself inflamed. Be courteous of gesture and affable to all men, with diversity of reverences according to the dignity of the person: there is nothing that winneth so much for so little cost. Give yourself to be merry, for you degenerate from your father if you find not yourself most able in wit and body and to do anything when you be most merry: but let your mirth be every void of all scurrility and biting words to any man." --Sir Henry, a letter to his son.
"Poetry, to a poet, is the most rewarding work in the world. A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe, helps to extend everyone's knowledge of himself and the world around him...
What's more, a poet is a poet for such a very tiny bit of his life; for the rest, he is a human being, one of whose responsibilities is to know and feel, as much as he can, all that is moving around and within him, so that his poetry, when he comes to write it, can be his attempt at an expression of the summit of man's experience on this very peculiar and, in 1946, this apparently hell-bent earth."
"...the shape of another country lies so near,
the wind on Dover Cliffs could touch it with its finger.
And from this island-end, white-faced over the shifting sea-dyes,
a man may hear his country's body talking, and be caught
in the weathers of her eyes." --Our Country
"You cannot generalize about age and poetry. A man's poems, if they are good poems, are always older than himself; and sometimes they are ageless. We know that the shape and the texture of his poems would always be restlessly changing, though the purpose behind them would surely remain unalterable; he would always be experimenting technically, deeper and deeper driving towards the final intensity of language: the words behind words."
"Seldom drink wine, and yet sometimes do, lest being enforced to drink upon the sudden you should find yourself inflamed. Be courteous of gesture and affable to all men, with diversity of reverences according to the dignity of the person: there is nothing that winneth so much for so little cost. Give yourself to be merry, for you degenerate from your father if you find not yourself most able in wit and body and to do anything when you be most merry: but let your mirth be every void of all scurrility and biting words to any man." --Sir Henry, a letter to his son.
"Poetry, to a poet, is the most rewarding work in the world. A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe, helps to extend everyone's knowledge of himself and the world around him...
What's more, a poet is a poet for such a very tiny bit of his life; for the rest, he is a human being, one of whose responsibilities is to know and feel, as much as he can, all that is moving around and within him, so that his poetry, when he comes to write it, can be his attempt at an expression of the summit of man's experience on this very peculiar and, in 1946, this apparently hell-bent earth."
July 22, 2016
Allow me say how I enjoyed reading the poem "Hunchback in the park". I could picture the old man in my mind. Him sitting on a bench in a park I imagined, with his back facing me (Or rather Dylan Thomas). Everyday. I loved the author's lines. His childhood memories, trip to America, and his view on Welsh Poets is what stood out for me in the book.
This is a nice pick for lovers of poetry. I loved the arrangement of the text and style of writing. I’d recommend it to anyone, not just poetry lovers. There’s more than a handful to know about Welsh poets. You can read and share so much in this book, and perhaps criticize if you feel like it.
This is a nice pick for lovers of poetry. I loved the arrangement of the text and style of writing. I’d recommend it to anyone, not just poetry lovers. There’s more than a handful to know about Welsh poets. You can read and share so much in this book, and perhaps criticize if you feel like it.
March 6, 2013
A mash-up of autobiographical short stories, radio broadcasts and lectures: a collection of short prose pieces with much poetry quoted (as well as poetical prose) by a literary and linguistic giant. Loved it when he referred to "the bilingual sea" off the Welsh coast.
December 24, 2014
'A silent hullabaloo of balloons.'
April 27, 2021
Completely blown away, I started this a couple of years ago and got distracted by other books but I found myself thinking of the school yard and truant boy a lot. Glad I read the rest of it.
(not sure i read this exact copy as mine was a 1974 publish that included Preface
Part 1
Reminiscences of Childhood (First Version)
Reminiscences of Childhood (Second Version)
Quite Early One Morning
Memories of Christmas
Holiday Memory
How to begin a Story
The Crumbs of One Man's Year
The Festival Exhibition, 1951
The International Eisteddfod
A Visit to America
Laugharne
Return Journey
Wilfred Owen
Walter de la Mare as a Prose Writer
Sir Philip Sidney
A Dearth of Comic Writers
The English Festival of Spoken Poetry
On Reading One's Own Poems
Welsh Poets
Wales and the Artist
Three Poems
On Poetry
Notes
Thank you for the person who typed all that out and in the reviews for this already, glad to keep note)
(not sure i read this exact copy as mine was a 1974 publish that included Preface
Part 1
Reminiscences of Childhood (First Version)
Reminiscences of Childhood (Second Version)
Quite Early One Morning
Memories of Christmas
Holiday Memory
How to begin a Story
The Crumbs of One Man's Year
The Festival Exhibition, 1951
The International Eisteddfod
A Visit to America
Laugharne
Return Journey
Wilfred Owen
Walter de la Mare as a Prose Writer
Sir Philip Sidney
A Dearth of Comic Writers
The English Festival of Spoken Poetry
On Reading One's Own Poems
Welsh Poets
Wales and the Artist
Three Poems
On Poetry
Notes
Thank you for the person who typed all that out and in the reviews for this already, glad to keep note)
April 19, 2020
For a master of commas and hyphens, a man whose commentary on the social world is largely unrivaled in the 20th Century, this particular collection is so disjointed and scatterbrained as to leave me disappointed not in Dylan Thomas as much as the choice he and others made, near the end of his life, to gather up this particular set up of essays into one volume. As always with a Thomas work, there are priceless passages that warrant an underline, but they come so few and far between as to merit a few yawns of distracted readership.
June 16, 2024
I loved A Child’s Christmas in Wales, of course. The last fifty pages or so consisted of lot of disjointed extracts and articles by Thomas that felt sort of haphazardly cobbled together. so I skimmed. Only really worth reading if you already take particular relish in Dylan Thomas, which I don’t, I think, beyond Child’s Christmas and famous poems. His writing style sort of makes my brain feel like a dice being shaken about inside a cup, or like I’m at work, standing at the register, feverishly checking out more random items to a person than my mind could ever individually process.
June 15, 2018
There’s some interesting and varied stuff in this book, but nothing extraordinary.
November 16, 2019
This collection contains A Child's Christmas in Wales, which was great. The rest is a bit of a rag tag of transcripts from readings and odd pieces of journalism.
March 11, 2020
Parts I loved but some bits had little impact
April 2, 2020
I gave this book when I was 15 years old to my dad for his birthday- the memory of mornings in Palmyra Road - the beauty and richness and melancholy of what I've must read - sweeps over me
May 26, 2023
"The fierce religious speakers who shouted at the sea, as though it were wicked and wrong to roll in and out like that, white horsed and full of fishes."
- Reminisces of Childhood, 1943.
- Reminisces of Childhood, 1943.
January 8, 2024
Bro really likes listing stuff .. same!
July 5, 2021
Bought this because I hadn't read anything by him before and the only other books I could find by him were entire poetry collections. I can't think of many poets or authors that have such a command and awareness of rhythm and sound in poetry/prose, and it was interesting to read his own accounts of what poetry should be in some of the essays near the end. That said, I was a bit underwhelmed by his range of topics and I was not overly impressed by his short stories.
January 24, 2014
Dylan Thomas was a word drunk before he was a beverage drunk. His superb verbosity is a delight to read. Moderns are obsessed with succinctness, spareness and the less-is-more philosophy. Dylan Thomas would have nothing to do with such silliness as it applied to his writing. And the succinctness-is-all attitude can be silliness. Poetry and the prose of a poet should be an overflowing of passion. His love of words is evident throughout "Quite Early One Morning." I was hooked on the work's first sentence:
"I was born in a large Welsh industrial town at the beginning of the Great War: an ugly, lovely town (or so it was, and is, to me), crawling, sprawling, slummed, unplanned, jerry-villa'd, and smug-suburbed by the side of a long and splendid-curving shore where truant boys and sandfield boys and old anonymous men, in the tatters and hangovers of a hundred charity suits, beachcombed, idled, and paddled, watched the dock-bound boats, threw stones into the sea for the barking, outcast dogs, and, on Saturday summer afternoons, listened to the militant music of salvation and hell-fire preached from a soap-box."
Thomas's reminiscences of Swansea and other parts of Wales are wonderful. I loved his memories of a Swansea park. His other essays cover great writers (Wilfred Owen, Philip Sidney and not-so-well-known-as-Thomas Welsh poets, among others), academic stuffed shirts and other topics. I loved the essay "A Visit to America." He prods European academics for their frivolousness and their American listeners for the same thing.
A couple of Thomas's poems are included in the volume. Unlike his essays, Dylan Thomas's poetry is something that eludes me. His poetry's strongest notes are violence and powerfully suggestive obscurity. A superficial reading is not enough to digest Dylan Thomas's poetry. They must be studied and contemplated.
"I was born in a large Welsh industrial town at the beginning of the Great War: an ugly, lovely town (or so it was, and is, to me), crawling, sprawling, slummed, unplanned, jerry-villa'd, and smug-suburbed by the side of a long and splendid-curving shore where truant boys and sandfield boys and old anonymous men, in the tatters and hangovers of a hundred charity suits, beachcombed, idled, and paddled, watched the dock-bound boats, threw stones into the sea for the barking, outcast dogs, and, on Saturday summer afternoons, listened to the militant music of salvation and hell-fire preached from a soap-box."
Thomas's reminiscences of Swansea and other parts of Wales are wonderful. I loved his memories of a Swansea park. His other essays cover great writers (Wilfred Owen, Philip Sidney and not-so-well-known-as-Thomas Welsh poets, among others), academic stuffed shirts and other topics. I loved the essay "A Visit to America." He prods European academics for their frivolousness and their American listeners for the same thing.
A couple of Thomas's poems are included in the volume. Unlike his essays, Dylan Thomas's poetry is something that eludes me. His poetry's strongest notes are violence and powerfully suggestive obscurity. A superficial reading is not enough to digest Dylan Thomas's poetry. They must be studied and contemplated.
January 11, 2011
Was quite excited for the rest of this book after I finished the first story and saw that the table of contents promised essays about reading one's own poems, how to write poetry, on poetry and etc, but then between the first and second sections, I lost interest from how often Dylan Thomas feels like he needs to play with a phrase to make it interesting or something—
"And of what has gone I know only shilly-shally snatches and freckled plaids, flecks and dabs, dazzle and froth; a simple second caught in coursing snow-light; an instant, gay or sorry, struck motionless in the curve of flight like a bird or a scythe; the spindrift leaf and stray-paper whirl, canter, quarrel and people-chase of everybody's street; suddenly the way the grotesque wind slashes and freezes at a corner the clothes of a passer-by so that she stays remembered, cold and still until the world like a night light in a nursery goes out; and a waddling couple of the small occurrences, comic as ducks, that quack their way through our calamitous days; whits and dots and tittles."
Not to say I don't like that sentence a lot. Not at all.
The essays on poetry are my favorite, as well as
the first few stories on childhood and holidays.
"And of what has gone I know only shilly-shally snatches and freckled plaids, flecks and dabs, dazzle and froth; a simple second caught in coursing snow-light; an instant, gay or sorry, struck motionless in the curve of flight like a bird or a scythe; the spindrift leaf and stray-paper whirl, canter, quarrel and people-chase of everybody's street; suddenly the way the grotesque wind slashes and freezes at a corner the clothes of a passer-by so that she stays remembered, cold and still until the world like a night light in a nursery goes out; and a waddling couple of the small occurrences, comic as ducks, that quack their way through our calamitous days; whits and dots and tittles."
Not to say I don't like that sentence a lot. Not at all.
The essays on poetry are my favorite, as well as
the first few stories on childhood and holidays.
September 9, 2025
I read this a long time ago. Quite Early One Morning stands out as the precursor to Under Milk Wood but it is the short essay on the International Eisteddfod at Llangollen that is astonishing. It is a lesson in essay writing and should be read be all those who have an ambition to write and express themselves.
July 3, 2009
There is no writer like Dylan Thomas. His lyric prose are as good as his poetry. Not only does his stuff show the richness of the soul of Wales, but it stirs the souls of the Irish, British, and even us Americans.
July 24, 2015
Nothing could be more unfashionable to contemporary writing style than all these ebullient, alliterative, inventive, cascading adjectives. The first half is a collection of short character pieces. I can read this part again and again. The second half is poetry criticism.
January 11, 2008
Good thus far. I'm about half-way through.
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March 16, 2009rereading again and again and again... thomas is my constant influence to the beauty of language
March 8, 2010
The story "The Enemies," is one of my favorite things in the world.
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