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Under Milk Wood: A Play for Voices by Dylan…
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Under Milk Wood: A Play for Voices

by Dylan Thomas

Other authors: See the other authors section.

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2,103244,496 (4.18)105
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» See also 105 mentions

Showing 1-5 of 24 (next | show all)
This is one of the most wonderful pieces of prose I have read, and every year or two I will pick up the book, or listen to one of Dylan Thomas' original recordings of a day in the life of this fictional Welsh town. The characters are all strange and entirely believable. Avoid the turgid Richard Burton recording if you do listen to it. ( )
  WayneTyson | Jul 31, 2018 |
I had been seeing a lot of this in different places, seeing all these fragments from the text that I liked, and seeing something about the film of it, and I thought I might as well take it out while it was near and read it. However, it strikes me that reading it is something of a mistake, because this is so much more meant to be heard. It brings me back to the old question of "reading" Shakespeare plays, especially when it comes to adding the book to Goodreads. If I've watched a Shakespeare play, does it count as reading? No, and yet, that's what it makes far more sense to do. The same is true for this book, which is a radio play and therefore meant to be listened to. It's almost hard for this to have resonance, I think, without the array of voices which are asked for through the long list of characters. It would make far more sense and I'd probably catch far more in the way of continued themes if I were hearing rather than reading. It's obvious that the language was wonderful, highly poetic, but I think I've got to listen to it before I can speak much further about it.
  likecymbeline | Apr 1, 2017 |
A pastoral play for voices which is best heard than read. The small Welsh fishing village of Llareggub lies asleep with its occupants’ dreams laid bare for all to see. Thomas’ descriptive language makes this book a requirement for lovers of the English language. ( )
  ShelleyAlberta | Jun 4, 2016 |
I’ll start with confessing this was purchased cuz it was cheap at my local used bookstore, and I had no clue what it was. Reading it as a normal play turned out to be a mistake as I couldn’t visualize. After 20–30 pages, I turned to Wiki for an intro and then it all made sense! Categorized as a RADIO drama, this charming, lyrical and (I can genuinely say) creative play takes the reader to Dylan’s favorite scenery: Welsh seaside small town, where their lives on one spring day in the fictional town of Llareggub unfolds – from before they wake via dreams, through narrators and conversations during the day, and to dusk when they head to bed and between the sheets.

The story is told via 63 voices with 2 narrators plus dead and alive characters; voices and narrators often finish each other’s sentences to complete the thought. These town folks beguile us – a postman who steams open a love letter between a couple who have never set foot in each other’s homes, a husband who cooks a poison brew for his nagging wife, horny men, an affair, a 17 old looking for love, a butcher who sells questionable meat, and many more. Characters whose names reflect their profession adds entertainment – Dai Bread the baker, Organ Morgan the church organist, Jack Black the cobbler, and Evans the Death, the undertaker.

Amazingly, Dylan worked on this play over the course of 10 years finishing only 1 month before he died at the age of 39 in 1953; this is his last gift to the literary world.

Some quotes:
On sexual innuendos:
“…Throw away your little bedsocks and your Welsh wool knitted jacket, I will warm the sheets like an electric toaster, I will lie by your side like the Sunday roast.”
And
“…Poor little chimbley sweep she said
Black as the ace of spades
O nobody’s swept my chimbley
Since my husband went his ways.
Come and sweep my chimbley
Come and sweep my chimbley
She sighed to me with a blush…”

On men-are-pigs or maybe lust:
“Gossamer Beynon high-heels out of school. The sun hums down through the cotton flowers of her dress into the bell of her heart and buzzes in the honey there and crouches and kisses, lazy-loving and boozed, in her red-berried breast. Eyes run from the trees and windows of the street, steaming ‘Gossamer,’ and strip her to the nipples and the bees. She blazes naked past the Sailors Arms, the only woman on the Dai-Adamed earth. Sinbad Sailors places on her thighs still dewdamp from the first mangrowing cockcrow garden his reverent goat-bearded hands.”
And:
“I’ll tell you no lies.
The only sea I saw
Was the seesaw sea
With you riding on it.
Lie down, lie easy.
Let me shipwreck in your thighs.”

On poisoning someone – interestingly, these were the funniest passages in the book:
“Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Mr. Pugh minces among bad vats and jeroboams, tiptoes through spinneys of murdering herbs, agony dancing in his crucibles, and mixes especially for Mrs. Pugh a venomous porridge unknown to toxicologists which will scald and viper through her until her ears fall off like figs, her toes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comes screaming out of her navel.”
And:
“…You should wait until you retire to your sty, says Mrs. Pugh, sweet as a razor. His fawning measly quarter-smile freezes. Sly and silent, he foxes into his chemist’s den and there, in a hiss and prussic circle of cauldrons and phials brimming with pox and the Black Death, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade, nicotine, hot frog, cyanide, and bat-spit for his needling stalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcracker wife.” ( )
  varwenea | Jan 17, 2016 |
Timeless. This must be one of the finest 'modern' plays. Great to listen to, great to act in, full of memorable quotes and songs. ( )
  bullfinch | Mar 12, 2015 |
Showing 1-5 of 24 (next | show all)
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» Add other authors (27 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Dylan Thomasprimary authorall editionscalculated
Albert Road Junior SchoolContributorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Brookes, OlwenActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Burton, RichardNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Claus, HugoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Cleverdon, DouglasProducersecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Curnock, RichardActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Davies, WalfordIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Evans, T. H.Actorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Garfield, DavidActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Gill, JohnActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Griffith, HughActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jenkins, MargoActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Johns, MervynActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jones, DanielMusicsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jones, T. JamesTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Llewellyn, RaymondActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lloyd-Davis, BettyActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Mort, PatriciaActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Petty, GwenythActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Phillips, DorotheaActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Powell, Buddug MairActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rees, DavidActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Richards, AubreyActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Roberts, GuinevereActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Thomas, RachelActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Thomas, TalfrynActorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Epigraph
Dedication
First words
To begin at the beginning: It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobble streets silent and the hunched, courters’ – and- rabbits’ wood limping invisible down to the sloeback, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles) or as blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows’ weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfounded town are sleeping now.
Quotations
And before you let the sun in, mind it wipes its shoes. Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard.// Willy Nilly postman.....downs his last bucket of black brackish tea and rumbles out bandy to the clucking back where the hens twitch and grieve for their tea-soaked sops.// Praise the Lord! We are a musical nation......Reverend Eli Jenkins.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Information from the Welsh Common Knowledge. Edit to localize it to your language.
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Amazon.com Product Description (ISBN 0811202097, Paperback)

Completed just before his death in 1953, this work gives the fullest expression to Thomas' sense of the magnificent flavor and variety of life.

A moving and hilarious account of a spring day in a small Welsh coastal town, Under Milk Wood is "lyrical, impassioned and funny, an Our Town given universality" (The New Statesman and Nation).

(retrieved from Amazon Thu, 12 Mar 2015 18:11:19 -0400)

(see all 4 descriptions)

"Music for the songs": p.100-107. Completed just before the author's death in 1953, this comical and dramatic work presents the tale of a single spring day in the lives of 53 characters in a small Welsh village.

» see all 7 descriptions

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