■Works of Dylan Thomas

◇Translated by Wei Bai

◎Preface

In the last summer of God’s acceleration

In the orange-red sun tide

This day is being swept away by the wind,

In the house shaken by the sea

In On the precarious rocks lingering with birdsong and fruits,

foam, flutes, fish fins

and buoys

on the dancing feet of trees,

There, black crows, clutching the clouds

People kneeling to the net of the setting sun,

The geese near the sky, stabbed

Children, herons and shells

Tell of the endless ocean,

Eternal waves leaving

Filled with darkness

The city, whose towers

will cling to the pious wind

like tall stalks of hay,

in pitiful calm

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I sing to you, strangers (although

Singing is a burning, surging action,

because of my jagged, clumsy Songs

The fire of birds coils in the woods where the earth rotates),

Through the leaves of the great altitude

They will rise or fall

Like leaves, like

broken and immortal

will enter the sultry night.

Towards the sea, the orange-red withered sun slid down,

While I was chopping down this ghostly noise,

The silent swans struck In the name of melancholy

My gently unfolding bay dusk

As you know, I, a dizzy person

How can I be as glorious as a star, a bird

Roaring, Haiyin endured, people cried, and blood prayed.

Listen: I play the earth,

From swimming fish to leaping hills! Behold:

When the floods rise

With all my love

I build my roaring ark,

It comes from A source as red as fear, life and anger

melting, winding around the mountains to reach the stream

Sleep covering the pain

The sheep dyed the empty The Farm

Wales between my arms.

Ho, there, under the protection of the castle,

You kingly singing owl, your moonlight gaze

Swaying and slinking

The death of the furry deer in the glen!

Aha, above the vertical moss,

Oh, my frightened and circling dove

In the scornful cry, in the almost complete darkness

With the pious rook of Wales

cooing the praises of the woods,

whispering melancholy tunes in its nest

Spread to the flocks of curlews!

Oh, noisy Klansmen

Sorrow is like your lips,

On the chatting cape, suddenly stunned!

Hey, on the steep hill, capture

the flying hare! It hears,

There, the cunning light, the jingle of my flood boat

As I chop and strike

(A tumult And the random

beating sound of the anvil, the tone

like coming from a kind of rumbling puffball ①)

In God, it is rough and stumbling

The animals are as dense as thieves

(Cheers for the helmet crown on its head).

On the ridge, hush, the beasts sleep peacefully

and weakly! In a large body of water

An empty farm with piles of haystacks

Huddled together and cawing,

While on the roof of the barn the rooster crows the dawn !

Oh, in the adjacent place, the fins were cut off

The knocked down and impaled (creatures) splashed

I wore a patch on the ark, while the moonlight

sipped Noah nestled in the bay

with animal skins, fish scales and wool:

Only those who drowned Deep

The remnants of the noisy sounds of sheep and church bells

The poor tranquility is like the setting sun

And the dark sandy land connects everyone. A sacred field.

We will ride away alone, and then,

under the Welsh starry sky

Weeping bitterly, countless arks passing through

The land covered with waves,

love makes them alive, they

will move like wooded islands, from hill to hill.

Hello, I am as brave as a dove carrying a flute!

Aha, the old, sea-sweeping fox,

Tom Tit and Daley Mouse!

My ark sings in the sun

In the last summer of God's haste

In the flowers of this moment's torrential flood.

①The name of a plant

◎I know this evil bit of time

I know this evil bit of time;

It is a sour movement in the blood,

It is like a tree, rooted in you,

and sprouting in your body.

Every silver moment emits a majestic piano sound,

and I am still a little bird, maybe I can

Catch it in mid-air and hear it.

You have an restless, ticking heart;

I will be crazy about you, stuffing you

into me, I found

You are darker than ever.

Filled with blood, my love cannot flow in.

Suspension is unreal;

I want to capture the truth with my touch

No, just as a Symbols, stones,

statements or nothing,

and truth, I know its phonology

is a loop of sound rather than a pitch.

I hope to disappear;

Then I will disappear,

But I think that the passing seconds are mine.

I might be able to do something else with it.

Not for a moment,

unless I disappear or die.

◎Cold, oh, not cold at all

Cold, oh, not cold at all,

Sharp, oh, not sharp at all,

The high ground of your thinking thoughts

And the half-baked thoughts I said belong to you,

And when I took it back, it was even colder

And sharper, if I shatter

Every ice needle of illusion that has been thought over and over.

When I get an idea from you, (you have thrown it away)

How I rub that smooth skin

Know a The dream will make it dark,

At the same time, the taut strings and some metal dolls

are ravaged and broken,

How did I Licking and kissing, when the doll says "Master," her mouth is full of sawdust

And her tongue, lo and behold, falls off

,

It fell down,

It is so sweet that I can't help but want to understand it thoroughly.

But Creator, you can’t leave me;

Oh no, my thoughts are your purgatory;

You can’t leave unless I want to

My thoughts flow so hard

For them, the sea is far from being measured,

There are waves pressing against the waves everywhere,

Such a huge energy must have won

the specific meaning it contains.

You wish to stay in my prison

Shut up in the cells of your secret thoughts,

And I, your plunderer, use me Surrounded by love

so that you cannot fly away.