The year 1953 was a tough one for Mom.

She was a newlywed, but her dear Hap was overseas, serving in the Army during the Korean Conflict. In one of her daily letters to Dad, she proclaimed, “After you get home, I don’t ever want to see a stamp again!” Of course, anyone who knew her is chuckling right now; Mom was a true and faithful letter-writer. She stayed in touch.

So imagine her heartbreak when one of her favorite poets died unexpectedly on November 9, 1953. Dylan Thomas was just 39 years old.

I can only guess how she found out. She worked at the New Haven Free Public Library, and surely had access to multiple news sources. No Internet back then, but lots of newspapers and radio reports.

Mom worked through her grief by writing the following poem. Her alma mater‘s literary magazine, Interpretations, included it in their alumna section.

For Dylan Thomas

The dark clock
after the surge of silver.

There were grey cranberries
and black eggs that evening.

Nor is the owl a solomon,
the jay a scamp.

Three witches grub beneath the bench
until the sculpture

of another fern shall sire;
a bolstered fox bequeath.

~ Joan Cassidy Vayo, upon the death of Dylan Thomas, 9 November 1953

I clearly remember learning – and appreciating – Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” back in junior high. And Mom played our recording of A Child’s Christmas in Wales each December. But my knowledge ends there.

I had a feeling that my middle brother, Dave, could help fill in the blanks.

He did not disappoint:

Dylan Thomas. He was clearly one of Mom’s favorite poets, and of course was only about a decade older than her, so he probably was inspiring to her as a younger role model. I sure hope she got to hear him live; there were also LP recordings of his readings that I’m sure she heard.

Besides Thomas’ own work, Mom had in her bookshelf a volume of tributes to him by, I imagine, fellow poets and literary scholars; you sent it to me but I haven’t had a close look at it yet. Recently I did read Quite Early One Morning, which was a fixture of Mom and Dad’s bookcases for as far back as I can remember. It’s a collection of short pieces, my favorite of which are short portraits of small seaside towns in Wales, the environment where he was rooted. Those pieces have no plotlines or character development to speak of; instead, they give a vivid and loving sense of what it felt like to be in a particular place at a particular time. The volume also included some satirical pieces, which for me fell flat;

Thomas’ true voice was the lyrical.

I imagine you know A Child’s Christmas in Wales, and his “Do Not Go Gentle” poem is probably his best-known. 

I love Under Milk Wood, a more extended Wales place-portrait that has more development of characters; indeed, it’s kind of like a Welsh Spoon River Anthology, and like that book was meant for dramatic reading. I’ve heard a recording of Under Milkwood read by Richard Burton, a Welshman, which was unforgettable.

Finally, Thomas is a sort of grandfather to the many boys, and some girls, in this country who have Dylan as their first name. Most of them are named after Bob, but he chose his stage name in honor of the poet.

Dylan Thomas is said to have helped popularize poetry readings in America by touring the country reading his work. Here’s a recording of him reciting “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”:

“For Dylan Thomas” © 1953 Joan Cassidy Vayo. All rights reserved.

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