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Thread: Starless And Bible Black

  1. #1
    Join Date
    Jan 2003
    Some of you may know that this is the name of a King Crimson Album.

    However it is originally from Under Milk Wood, by Dylan Thomas. A genius welsh poet, who drank himself to death by the age of 39.

    It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the
    cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courter's-and-rabbits' wood limping
    invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing
    sea. The houses are are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the
    snouting, velvet dingles) or 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 dumbfound town are sleeping now.

    Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and
    pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the
    fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen
    and the tidy wives. Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with
    rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the
    organplaying wood.  The boys are dreaming wicked of the bucking ranches of the
    night and the jollyrodgered sea.  And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep
    in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wet-nosed yard;
    and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on
    the one cloud of the roofs.

    You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.

    Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow,

    And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before-dawn minutely
    dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and
    the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales
    tilt and ride.

    Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and
    bombazine black, butterfly choker and bootlace bow, coughing like nannygoats,
    sucking mintoes, fortywinking hallelujah; night in the four-ale, quiet as a
    domino; in Ocky Milkman's lofts like a mouse with gloves; in Dai Bread's bakery
    flying like black flour. It is tonight in Donkey Street, trotting silent, with
    seaweed on its hooves, along the cockled cobbles, past curtained fernpot, text
    and trinket, harmonium, holy dresser, watercolours done by hand, china dog and
    rosy tin teacaddy. It is night neddying among the snuggeries of babies.

    Look. It is night, dumbly, royally winding through the Coronation cherry trees;
    going through the graveyard of Bethesda with winds gloved and folded, and dew
    doffed; tumbling by the Sailors Arms.

    Time passes. Listen. Time passes.

    Come closer now.

    Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in the slow deep salt and
    silent black, bandaged night. Only you can see, in the blinded bedrooms, the
    combs and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth,
    Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird-watching pictures of the
    dead. Only you can hear and see, behind the eyes of the sleepers, the movements
    and countries and mazes and colours and dismays and rainbows and tunes and
    wished and flight and fall and despairs and big seas of their dreams.

    From where you are, you can hear their dreams...
    It is said that he would spend days getting the words for a line of a poem, or a description of something he saw just right. He would agonise over every nuance and under-current of the words he placed on paper.

    I know it is not the same scale, but the principal is the same. Do you ever write and re-write a piece of work. Perhaps an e-mail, a report or a post on a forum. Just because you want it to reflect exactly what you mean.

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  3. Lounge   -   #2
    chalice's Avatar ____________________
    Join Date
    May 2003
    Mostly, I dither. I type out a post, hover, delete it, retype it and then ultimately scrap the whole idea and go back to reading posts.

    If I posted a fraction of what I almost post, I'd overload the server.

    I do love Dylan Thomas, though. For whatever reason, I've always read him with Elliot in mind as a kind of antithesis. Perhaps I read the two of them around the same time and found them to be almost at loggerheads.

  4. Lounge   -   #3
    NoX's Avatar Poster
    Join Date
    Mar 2003
    bible black? thats some kind of shemale hentai series . Do a search for it on kazza.

    Elisha Is My Wife, DONT TOUCH! (LP FAN - Fort Minor Sucks BTW) oh and forgot i use the alias NoX here.. lol

  5. Lounge   -   #4
    i think this is the original dylan thomas version

    sundown dazzling day
    gold through my eyes
    but my eyes turned within
    only see
    starless and bible black

    old friend charity
    cruel twisted smile
    and the smile signals emptiness
    for me
    starless and bible black

    ice blue silver sky
    fades into grey
    to a grey hope that oh years to be
    starless and bible black

    actully im just bumping jpol


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