Childhood
He was born on October, 27, 1917 in Swansea, South Wales. David John Thomas, his father, was an English teacher at the local grammar school. Florence Hannah Thomas, his mother, was a seamstress. He had one sister, Nancy, and she was 9 years older than him. Although his parents both spoke Welsh they brought both of their children up to speak English. Their childhood was spent largely in Swansea, but they took regular summer trips to their aunts farm and the contrast between the rural trips and the town life of Swansea was a big inspiration for many of his pieces. In October 1925 he began going to the grammar school that his father taught at, and there he wrote his first poem. It was published in the school magazine, which he later became the editor for.
Career
At the age of 16 he left school to become a reporter for the local newspaper but left the job 18 months later under pressure to join an amateur dramatic group in Mumbles. He still continued to work at being a journalist for a few more years. Dylan Thomas saw some of his work in "The Listener" in 1934 and it caught the attention of two of the most well known poets of the time, T. S. Eliot and Stephen Spender. His well known first poems were published in a volume of 18 and won a contest run by the The Sunday Referee. This gained him new admirers from the London poetry world including Edith Sitwell. His poems had passionate musical lyricism that caused a sensation in this time of modernism.
Memorials and Death
He has many memorials including:
-A statue of him in the cities maritime quarter.
-The Dylan Thomas theater named after him.
-A monument to Thomas in Cwmdonkin Park.-A plaque unveiled in Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey.
There were many rumors about his death, because he was an alcoholic. Many people said that he had drunk himself to death. He actually died of pneumonia on November 9,1953.
Students Must Fear Summer's Bitter End
Students must fear summer’s bitter end
Freedom should win over teacher’s strict rule
Fight, fight or back to class they will send
Learning is a must the need won’t transcend
Fun is left to do ourselves we can’t fool
Students must fear summer’s bitter end
Good friends our fun they will upend
Things we have done our memories the tool
Fight, fight or back to class they will send
Wild adventures we hoped should happen again
Our carefree days our ventures a jewel
Students must fear summer’s bitter end
Journeys abound; problems we would mend
Unknowing of limits, from baseball to pool
Fight, fight or back to class they will send
Now friends a day our futures will depend
Shout with me now, your disappointment of school
Students must fear summer’s bitter end
Fight, fight or back to class they will send
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
