I like that a lot- plenty of atmosphere. Interesting to think how his talent developed on the radio and how he influenced Louis MacNeice at the BBC.
In a previous poem (Anno Dylani 1969), I alluded to how Dylan Thomas made me want to write. When Wendy and I flew to New York to celebrate our 45th wedding anniversary, I wanted to walk in the footsteps of my hero. In 1953, on his fourth tour of the United States in less than three years, Dylan Thomas was not a well man. The people who were supposed to be taking care of him…tour manager…lover and doctor all failed him spectacularly and Dylan died of oedema, fatty liver and bronchopneumonia in a New York hospital.
We visited The Chelsea Hotel, a haunt of the great and good in the New York artworld and Dylan’s home at the time of his death and a visit to The White Horse Tavern, arguably Dylan’s favourite haunt in Greenwich Village. Once there we had a drink in Dylan’s honour.
A DRINK WITH DYLAN…
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penwithlit 