Especially When The October Wind

Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.

Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the cock.
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.

Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make you of the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.

by Dylan Thomas

Comments (13)

Lyric ballad! I like the style!
So much a Welsh poet; though his poems were written in English, to me they cry to be read by a Welshman (who is not Richard Burton with his dramatic inclinations) . I was drawn to the poems of Dylan Thomas for several reasons but one I cannot ignore nor would want to is his use of language in some unorthodox ways and the bringing of poetry to ordinary things by breaking the common cliches in half and sliding them into a different order (the man in the wind and the west moon) . This poem almost begins halfway into a thought without a clue as to its beginning and paints pictures of things, some of which I recall from my own experiences (with fists of turnips punishes the land) . Perhaps a person must be Welsh, or close to Welsh, to do this in such a way that it draws the eye but is only truly fulfilled by being spoken.
This poem goes deeper than the exprecion of words it flows with grace for it is truely one of many master pieces.
An outstandingly beautiful and clever poem that as a poet myself (I don't put much of my stuff on here,) I would be honored to have written something so deep.
''Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, '' - - (IN ITALIAN :) Specialmente quando il vento d'ottobre Con dita gelide mi castiga i capelli, .. beautiful opening.. really enchanting..
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