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Under Milk Wood: A Play for Voices…
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Under Milk Wood: A Play for Voices (Everyman) (edição 1993)

por Dylan Thomas

MembrosCríticasPopularidadeAvaliação médiaMenções
2,363274,821 (4.18)110
Commissioned by the BBC, and described by Dylan Thomas as 'a play for voices', UNDER MILK WOOD takes the form of an emotive and hilarious account of a spring day in the fictional Welsh seaside village of Llareggub. We learn of the inhabitants' dreams and desires, their loves and regrets. The play introduces us to characters such as Captain Cat who dreams of his drowned former seafellows and Nogood Boyo who dreams of nothing at all. It is a unique and touching depiction of a village that has 'fallen head over bells in love'. The First Voice narration reveals the ordinary world of daily happenings and events, while the Second Voice conveys the intimate, innermost thoughts of the fascinating folk of Llareggub. There have been myriad productions of UNDER MILK WOOD over the years and Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, Elizabeth Taylor, Sir Anthony Hopkins and Tom Jones have all starred in radio, stage or film adaptations.… (mais)
Membro:Renabur
Título:Under Milk Wood: A Play for Voices (Everyman)
Autores:Dylan Thomas
Informação:Phoenix (an Imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd ) (1993), Paperback, 110 pages
Colecções:A sua biblioteca
Avaliação:****1/2
Etiquetas:Play, Welsh

Pormenores da obra

Under Milk Wood por Dylan Thomas

  1. 00
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    Howl and Other Poems por Allen Ginsberg (Sylak)
    Sylak: If you enjoy 20th Century poetry, give this a try.
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Mostrando 1-5 de 27 (seguinte | mostrar todos)
"Under Milk Wood" is a radio play and while I am used to reading plays and have also read a handful of radio/audio plays, I realized after a couple of pages that this one must definitely be listened to. My husband was sitting next to me reading his fantasy novel and I disturbed him every few minutes because I wanted to read a passage to him. These words and sentences simply beg to be read aloud, and I tried doing this in my head as well as I could, but I still think that the experience is only a fraction of what listening to it might offer. Every word carries meaning, there are so many puns and word plays, and I think that I read it far too quickly (because that is my pace even if I try to read more slowly) to even appreciate half of it.
The story is set in Wales in the small town of Llareggub (read that in reverse!) and we follow the inhabitants through their day - from their dreams during the night when we learn about their secrets, their desires and fears, until the next evening. It is funny, sad, disturbing, sometimes incomprehensible to me (I think that will get better when I listen to it), crazy and still so true to life in many aspects. There are so many characters that it is hard to keep up with them and to tell them all apart, but that is another aspect that I think will be better when one listens to it. ( )
  MissBrangwen | Apr 1, 2021 |
I've listened to the BBC recording of the audio play so many times. It has so much life and character in the language - definitely something that gets better when read aloud or listened to. ( )
  misterebby | Jul 5, 2020 |
Just a fun, quick read of a play that brings to life the day of a Welsh town. The prose and writing is enjoyable and trying to read the Welsh sayings, names, and things, in your head is one of the best joys of the work. I can only imagine what a proper reading of this would sound like, and it sounds like it'd be greatly enjoyable. ( )
  BenKline | Jul 1, 2020 |
Hate:

MRS PUGH

Give me the parcel.

WILLY NILLY [postman whose wife reads all the mail to him before he delivers it:]

It's for Mr Pugh, Mrs Pugh.

MRS PUGH

Never you mind. What's inside it?

WILLY NILLY

A book called Lives of the Great Poisoners.

[later:]

MRS PUGH

Persons with manners do not read at table,

FIRST VOICE

says Mrs Pugh. She swallows a digestive tablet as big as a
horse-pill, washing it down with clouded peasoup water.

[Pause:]

MRS PUGH

Some persons were brought up in pigsties.

MR PUGH

Pigs don't read at table, dear.

FIRST VOICE

Bitterly she flicks dust from the broken cruet. It settles
on the pie in a thin gnat-rain.

MR PUGH

Pigs can't read, my dear.

MRS PUGH

I know one who can.

FIRST VOICE

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.

MR PUGH

You know best, dear,

FIRST VOICE

says Mr Pugh, and quick as a flash he ducks her in rat
soup.

MRS PUGH

What's that book by your trough, Mr Pugh?

MR PUGH

It's a theological work, my dear. Lives of the Great
Saints.

FIRST VOICE

Mrs Pugh smiles. An icicle forms in the cold air of the
dining-vault.

[later:]

MRS PUGH

Persons with manners,

SECOND VOICE

snaps Mrs cold Pugh,

MRS PUGH

do not nod at table.

FIRST VOICE

Mr Pugh cringes awake. He puts on a soft-soaping smile: it
is sad and grey under his nicotine-eggyellow weeping
walrus Victorian moustache worn thick and long in memory
of Doctor Crippen.

MRS PUGH

You should wait until you retire to your sty,

SECOND VOICE

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 brimful 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.

MR PUGH

I beg your pardon, my dear,

SECOND VOICE

he murmurs with a wheedle.


Love:

FIRST VOICE

Captain Cat, at his window thrown wide to the sun and the
clippered seas he sailed long ago when his eyes were blue
and bright, slumbers and voyages; ear-ringed and rolling,
I Love You Rosie Probert tattooed on his belly, he brawls
with broken bottles in the fug and babel of the dark dock
bars, roves with a herd of short and good time cows in
every naughty port and twines and souses with the drowned
and blowzy-breasted dead. He weeps as he sleeps and sails.

SECOND VOICE

One voice of all he remembers most dearly as his dream
buckets down. Lazy early Rosie with the flaxen thatch,
whom he shared with Tom-Fred the donkeyman and many
another seaman, clearly and near to him speaks from the
bedroom of her dust. In that gulf and haven, fleets by the
dozen have anchored for the little heaven of the night;
but she speaks to Captain napping Cat alone. Mrs Probert...

ROSIE PROBERT

from Duck Lane, Jack. Quack twice and ask for Rosie

SECOND VOICE

...is the one love of his sea-life that was sardined with
women.

ROSIE PROBERT (Softly)

What seas did you see,
Tom Cat, Tom Cat,
In your sailoring days
Long long ago?
What sea beasts were
In the wavery green
When you were my master?

CAPTAIN CAT

I'll tell you the truth.
Seas barking like
seals, Blue seas and green,
Seas covered with eels
And mermen and whales.

ROSIE PROBERT

What seas did you sail
Old whaler when
On the blubbery waves
Between Frisco and Wales
You were my bosun?

CAPTAIN CAT

As true as I'm here
Dear you Tom Cat's tart
You landlubber Rosie
You cosy love
My easy as easy
My true sweetheart,
Seas green as a bean
Seas gliding with swans
In the seal-barking moon.

ROSIE PROBERT

What seas were rocking
My little deck hand
My favourite husband
In your seaboots and hunger
My duck my whaler
My honey my daddy
My pretty sugar sailor.
With my name on your belly
When you were a boy
Long long ago?

CAPTAIN CAT

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.

ROSIE PROBERT,

Knock twice, Jack,
At the door of my grave
And ask for Rosie.

CAPTAIN CAT

Rosie Probert.

ROSIE PROBERT

Remember her.
She is forgetting.
The earth which filled her mouth
Is vanishing from her.
Remember me.
I have forgotten you.
I am going into the darkness of the darkness for ever.
I have forgotten that I was ever born.

CHILD

Look,

FIRST VOICE

says a child to her mother as they pass by the window of
Schooner House,

CHILD

Captain Cat is crying

FIRST VOICE

Captain Cat is crying

CAPTAIN CAT

Come back, come back,

FIRST VOICE

up the silences and echoes of the passages of the eternal
night.

Read the whole thing here: http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0608221h.html

And should you ever be so privileged as to find Guy Masterton's rendition at a theatre, be thoroughly ashamed of yourself if you do not crawl over broken glass to get there. The Times in 1997 said "ONE OF THE MOST INVENTIVE, REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES OF THE DECADE." It deserves to be in capital letters. I saw it in the Adelaide Fringe a few days ago, it is back in the UK over the next months.

Listen to Guy performing part of Capt Cat's lament about Rosie here: http://www.theatretoursinternational.com/GMMP3s/MilkWoodCapCatRosieProb.mp3

It does speak for itself, but if you would like a review, I leave that to my betters: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/18224086 Trevor's done a great job.

( )
  bringbackbooks | Jun 16, 2020 |
Dylan Thomas wasn't wrong when he subtitled Under Milk Wood a play 'for voices', because in print alone this just doesn't work. The reader can't nail it down, or sift out the subtleties that I am told are there in its vocal performance. That said, even if I saw this performed, I don't think it would be my thing; it's a kind of verbose, artificially comic cornucopia that is not at all what I look for in plays. ( )
  MikeFutcher | Mar 1, 2020 |
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Dylan Thomasautor principaltodas as ediçõescalculated
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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.
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Commissioned by the BBC, and described by Dylan Thomas as 'a play for voices', UNDER MILK WOOD takes the form of an emotive and hilarious account of a spring day in the fictional Welsh seaside village of Llareggub. We learn of the inhabitants' dreams and desires, their loves and regrets. The play introduces us to characters such as Captain Cat who dreams of his drowned former seafellows and Nogood Boyo who dreams of nothing at all. It is a unique and touching depiction of a village that has 'fallen head over bells in love'. The First Voice narration reveals the ordinary world of daily happenings and events, while the Second Voice conveys the intimate, innermost thoughts of the fascinating folk of Llareggub. There have been myriad productions of UNDER MILK WOOD over the years and Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, Elizabeth Taylor, Sir Anthony Hopkins and Tom Jones have all starred in radio, stage or film adaptations.

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