Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog: Dylan Thomas

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Il poeta gallese Dylan Thomas racconta la sua gioventù rendendola mitica e magica, senza perdere la tenerezza. Di questi dieci racconti, almeno cinque sono bellissimi. In “Chi vorresti che fosse qui con noi?” Thomas e il suo amico Raymond, di dieci anni più vecchio di lui, partono per una lunga camminata. Raymond, nel giro di poco tempo, ha perso il padre, il fratello e la sorella; sua madre è immobilizzata su una carrozzella. style (instead of a prose extension of his verse, as in Adventures in the Skin Trade) and resulted in his best-known prose and drama. The autobiographical base is common to both works and to his poetry. No, no, said Athy. They'll both get it on the vital spot. Wells rubbed himself and said in a crying voice:

A traitor to his country! replied Dante. A traitor, an adulterer! The priests were right to abandon him. The priests were always the true friends of Ireland. He crouched down between the sheets, glad of their tepid glow. He heard the fellows talk among themselves about him as they dressed for mass. It was a mean thing to do, to shoulder him into the square ditch, they were saying.

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Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a good Irishman when there was no money in the job. He was condemned to death as a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that he would never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany. After Hank drives and drops Bobby off at Arlen Community College with some advisement, Bobby shows up for his first day of class with a blue wig, rubber nose, polka-dot bow tie, and oversized shoes. Upon entering the class and meeting some student who was excited about the class and love of comedy, the clowning class instructor, Prof. Twilley, imperiously declares "Great clowns are not born. They are made, right here. I make clowns." He tells those who wore wigs to class that unless they can explain humor as he expresses it in an algebra-like formula that they've earned after Bobby answers correctly until he didn't understand it, they should dispense with the props, much to Bobby's disappointment. When Twilley asked to name a funny part of the body, Bobby suggests "Leg" which is incorrect until one of the student named, Boris guess the answer correctly due to his 9th time of the class that had almost makes him a clown, to which he appreciates it. Bobby also suggests "armpit," an answer, which Twilley treats as incorrect. Prof. Twilley nonetheless compliments him on the pathos of his attempt. And can we not love our country then? asked Mr Casey. Are we not to follow the man that was born to lead us? Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and laughter. Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper through his father's face and voice, laughed. And the train raced on over the flat lands and past the Hill of Allen. The telegraph poles were passing, passing. The train went on and on. It knew. There were lanterns in the hall of his father's house and ropes of green branches. There were holly and ivy round the pierglass and holly and ivy, green and red, twined round the chandeliers. There were red holly and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. Holly and ivy for him and for Christmas.

Stephen looked at the plump turkey which had lain, trussed and skewered, on the kitchen table. He knew that his father had paid a guinea for it in Dunn's of D'Olier Street and that the man had prodded it often at the breastbone to show how good it was: and he remembered the man's voice when he had said:That skeleton is generally a private vice that is not too vicious and may be both comic and pathetic. From the first three stories, “The Peaches,” “A Visit to Grandpa’s,” and “Patricia, Edith, and Arnold,” readers learn that Dylan’s Uncle Jim is drinking his pigs away; Cousin Gwilym has his own makeshift chapel and rehearses his coming ministry there; Grandfather Dan dreams he is driving a team of demon horses and has delusions about being buried; the Thomas family’s maid, Patricia, is involved with the sweetheart of the maid next door. In the next pair of stories, “The Fight” and “Extraordinary Little Cough,” the pains and pleasures of boyhood begin to affect the hero, chiefly in finding a soul mate, a fellow artist. He also encounters the horror of viciousness in his companions. The remainder of the stories deal with young adulthood and are varied in subject and treatment—from the recital of a tale told to the narrator to the final story in which the narrator for the first time becomes the protagonist, although an ineffectual one. Most of the stories include an episode set at night, and it seems a pity that the best of Thomas’s night stories, the ghostly “The Followers,” could not have been included in the collection. Ez egy olyasfajta könyv, amit nagyon el tud rontani, ha épp rossz passzban kezdünk bele. Masszív költői képekkel dolgozik, amikhez szükségeltetik egyfajta optimális hangulat, és elég rövid ahhoz, hogy ha az első oldalakon nem találjuk meg az ívét, akkor ez a későbbiekben is így maradjon. Szerencsére én jó időpontban kaptam elő, minek következtében: tetszett. Dylan Thomas legnagyobb bravúrja, hogy a lírai eszközöket képes kombinálni a helyenként naturalista-realista ábrázolásmóddal, így színekből és szeretetből egy nagyon élményszerű Wales-képet épít fel. Mindemellett Thomas novellái úgy ábrázolják az átmenetet a gyermekkorból a férfikorba, hogy a gyermek által érzékelt idegen, helyenként ellenséges, helyenként pedig varázslatos világ az elbeszélések során egyre inkább kinyílik (bezárul?), és átalakul valami új minőséggé: a felnőttkorrá. Nagyon szép folyamatábrázolás egy igazán érzékeny írótól, aki hála Istennek megfelelő fordítót is kapott a kiteljesedéshez: Gergely Ágnest. Akinek külön köszönöm. Mr Casey pushed his plate rudely into the middle of the table and, resting his elbows before him, said in a hoarse voice to his host: Tartuffe was not the name of a dog character in commedia dell'arte; there was no such character. Tartuffe, however, was the name of the title character in the 1664 play "Tartuffe the Imposter" by Moliere. Stephen bent forward his head to hear. Wells looked round to see if anyone was coming. Then he said secretly:

Published when Thomas was in his mid-twenties, this is a series of 10 sketches, some of which are more explicitly autobiographical (as in first person, with a narrator named Dylan Thomas) than others. There is a rough chronological trajectory to the stories, with the main character a mischievous boy, then a grandstanding teenager, then a young journalist in his first job. The countryside and seaside towns of South Wales recur as settings, and – as will be no surprise to readers of Under Milk Wood – banter-filled dialogue is the priority. I most enjoyed the childhood japes in the first two pieces, “The Peaches” and “A Visit to Grandpa’s.” The rest failed to hold my attention, but I marked out two long passages that to me represent the voice and scene-setting that the Dylan Thomas Prize is looking for. The latter is the ending of the book and reminds me of the close of James Joyce’s “The Dead.” Stephen looked at the faces of the fellows but they were all looking across the playground. He wanted to ask somebody about it. What did that mean about the smugging in the square? Why did the five fellows out of the higher line run away for that? It was a joke, he thought. Simon Moonan had nice clothes and one night he had shown him a ball of creamy sweets that the fellows of the football fifteen had rolled down to him along the carpet in the middle of the refectory when he was at the door. It was the night of the match against the Bective Rangers; and the ball was made just like a red and green apple only it opened and it was full of the creamy sweets. And one day Boyle had said that an elephant had two tuskers instead of two tusks and that was why he was called Tusker Boyle but some fellows called him Lady Boyle because he was always at his nails, paring them.

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And they gave three groans for Baldyhead Dolan and three cheers for Conmee and they said he was the decentest rector that was ever in Clongowes. Simon Moonan and Tusker are going to be flogged, Athy said, and the fellows in the higher line got their choice of flogging or being expelled. His heart was beating fast on account of the solemn place he was in and the silence of the room: and he looked at the skull and at the rector's kind-looking face.

I know why, Cecil Thunder said. He is right and the other fellows are wrong because a flogging wears off after a bit but a fellow that has been expelled from college is known all his life on account of it. Besides Gleeson won't flog him hard. The bell rang for night prayers and he filed out of the study hall after the others and down the staircase and along the corridors to the chapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the chapel was darkly lit. Soon all would be dark and sleeping. There was cold night air in the chapel and the marbles were the colour the sea was at night. The sea was cold day and night: but it was colder at night. It was cold and dark under the seawall beside his father's house. But the kettle would be on the hob to make punch. The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table. Mrs Dedalus followed and the places were arranged. It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant and that he did not know where the universe ended. He felt small and weak. When would he be like the fellows in poetry and rhetoric? They had big voices and big boots and they studied trigonometry. That was very far away. First came the vacation and then the next term and then vacation again and then again another term and then again the vacation. It was like a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the noise of the boys eating in the refectory when you opened and closed the flaps of the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise, stop. How far away it was! It was better to go to bed to sleep. Only prayers in the chapel and then bed. He shivered and yawned. It would be lovely in bed after the sheets got a bit hot. First they were so cold to get into. He shivered to think how cold they were first. But then they got hot and then he could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Night prayers and then bed: he shivered and wanted to yawn. It would be lovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from the cold shivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm all over, ever so warm and yet he shivered a little and still wanted to yawn.Fleming knelt down, squeezing his hands under his armpits, his face contorted with pain; but Stephen knew how hard his hands were because Fleming was always rubbing rosin into them. But perhaps he was in great pain for the noise of the pandybat was terrible. Stephen's heart was beating and fluttering. All the people. Welcome home, Stephen! Noises of welcome. His mother kissed him. Was that right? His father was a marshal now: higher than a magistrate. Welcome home, Stephen! The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was standing at his bedside with a bowl of beef-tea . He was glad for his mouth was hot and dry. He could hear them playing in the playgrounds. And the day was going on in the college just as if he were there.