Friday, October 28, 2016

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower by Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

Another poem of which I am fond, in part because I used to enjoy the cheeseburgers at the White Horse Tavern on Hudson St. in New York, which is where Thomas drank himself to death by the age of 39.  He had written this poem twenty years before his death and it explores the themes he would re-work for the remainder of his career.  I suppose, too, it's because I find it typical of a young person's world view, but it certainly presents the sense of life and will that is particular to the maturing.