Dylan Thomas: A Poet in New York

MUFFLED PA ANNOUNCEMENT

Dylan!

Ah...my ministering angels.

Right on time.

Terrible flight. Terrible. There was this priest, you see,

got on the plane at Shannon,

fighting drunk, roaring drunk, he was.

They overpowered him, and then they closed the bar!

"Why? Why?" I pleaded with them, "My nerves are shattered," I said.

"We're so sorry, sir, but your safety is our priority."

They put him off at Gander.

Still no bloody drink.

So, tell me the plan. What's the plan?

Well, I've arranged a great itinerary for you.

A lot of readings, big audiences,

the first performance of Under Milk Wood.

You know it's not finished.

Liz will help you with that.

God, though, I love this ride. I love this fabulous, filthy city.

Thank you, John. Thank you, Liz, for making all of this possible.

You're welcome, Dylan.

I shouldn't have come, though. It's all wrong.

Heaven.

Forgive me, Dylan, but are you OK?

You don't look...well.

Well, I've never been awfully well, John, you know that,

but at the moment, apart from a spot of gout and the gastritis,

of course, and the asthma, and piles, warts,

boils and carbuncles, bit of cirrhosis, touch of TB,

brittle bones and an overwhelming sense of panic and terror,

I'm absolutely tip-top.

Anyway, I never planned to live to 40.

Do you think I could possibly

have another of these delicious golden drinks?

-Sure, Dylan, no problem.

-Wonderful.

Hello, you.

Everyone's so excited. You're going to have a great time.

And I'll be looking after you in absolutely...every way.

You're going to make lots of dollars.

Pay off all those tax bills.

Under Milk Wood is going to be sensational

and then you're off to California, to meet Stravinsky.

He actually asked for you!

Well, why wouldn't he?

The greatest living composer and the greatest living poet.

-What an opera that's going to be.

-Terrifying.

I got you a chaser.

Oh, that's so thoughtful of you, John.

-I was just saying to Dylan...

-Hmm?

-..this trip is going to be a triumph!

-Absolutely.

Well, I'll drink to that.

RETCHING

VOMITING

You'll have to tell them he can't go on, John.

No!

I've seen him like this before.

John, no!

APPLAUSE

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is John Malcolm Brinnin.

And tonight it is my privilege

to introduce the greatest living poet in the English-speaking world,

and perhaps the finest reader of poetry the world has ever seen,

and I am proud to say, my friend...

-You don't have to do it.

-..Dylan Thomas!

-I'll go out and tell them you can't.

-There's money in these things.

APPLAUSE

I wasn't always like this, you know.

I used to be such a lovely little boy.

LAUGHTER

HE COUGHS

This is a poem about then.

When I was that little boy.

And about the farm where I used to spend my summer holidays.

Now, as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green

The night above the dingle starry

Time let me hail and climb

Golden in the heydays of his eyes

And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

Trail with daisies and barley

Down the rivers of the windfall light

All the sun long it was running it was lovely

The hay fields high as the house The tunes from the chimneys

It was air And playing lovely and watery

And fire green as grass

And nightly under the simple stars

As I rode to sleep The owls were bearing the farm away

Oh, as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains Like the sea.

APPLAUSE

CHEERING

That was fantastic, I'm such a huge fan!

Jerry Hart, remember me?

Great performance this evening. Terrific. They loved you!

-Oh, were you there?

-No, but Sylvie was there,

Sylvie told me all about it. Sylvie!

-Hi Dylan, remember me?

-Come and meet Dylan!

-Dr Milton Feltenstein, call me Milt.

-Oh, yes, didn't you fix my arm

-that time?

-Just wanted to say, anything you need,

any pharmaceutical support,

I'm here for you any time. Liz has my number. Enjoy New York, Dylan.

Mr Thomas, it is a thrill and an honour to meet you.

Come with me and let's get a drink. You can tell me what you'd like.

Oh, if I were to tell you what I'd really like...

Hey, Dylan, can I get one more?

Thanks, Dylan.

Well, we're all Dylan fans here, aren't we?

I guess I prefer to think of myself as Dylan's friend and fellow poet.

Is that right, John? And is that how he sees you?

How do you think of John, Dylan? Friend and fellow poet?

John Malcolm Brinnin is my keeper, and I am his performing bear!

Can't you see the chain he's got round my neck?

He just has to give it a little jerk

-and I do my little dance!

-DRINK SPILLS

Oh!

Oh, bugger, I'm most frightfully sorry.

-Allow me to mop you down.

-No, no, please.

I absolutely insist.

-OK, then.

-The least I could do.

Well, I'm honoured.

No, no, the honour's all mine. We should continue this elsewhere.

Mr Thomas, my husband's just over there.

How inconvenient. And you must call me Dylan.

Why does he feel the need to humiliate me in public

when I've done so much for him and would do anything, he knows that.

He was desperate to come here again, desperate.

All I ask is a little bit of appreciation for what I'm doing.

He does appreciate you, John. He loves you.

I really think he does.

What no-one understands is I'm only a poet

when I'm writing the bloody stuff, and I haven't written

a bloody word worth reading for God knows how long.

Oh, come on, Dylan, please.

If you insist, one of my shorter works...

There was a young man from Australia

Who painted his arse Like a dahlia...

I suppose one should say "ass" on this side of the ocean. No matter.

At a penny a smell It went very well

But tuppence a lick was a failure.

Who is that, Jerry?

Er, Nadia something. She's a dancer. She's with the Kirov.

They're at the Met. But Dylan, I wouldn't go there.

Hello. I've fallen in love with you,

we must spend the night together, I absolutely insist.

SHE SPEAKS RUSSIAN

OK, Dylan, let's meet a couple of dear friends of mine. Come on.

HE WHISPERS IN RUSSIAN

Dylan, you have to realise,

not every woman in New York is dying to meet you.

She didn't even know who you were.

Oh, God, I'm sorry. You're quite right.

The poor creature looked absolutely terrified. I am so ashamed.

What a ludicrous buffoon I've become. What am I going to do?

Stop throwing yourself at anything in a skirt, that'd be a start.

No serious harm done, I guess.

But you must be exhausted, Dylan, we need to get you to bed.

-Long day tomorrow.

-No! We're going to the White Horse!

First night in New York, White Horse! Has to be done!

Count me out.

You are a quitter.

-I am very disappointed, John.

-You're disappointed?

What are you trying to do, Dylan? Kill yourself?

-So how much is that?

-Two bucks 50.

-Ho ho! Ernie.

-Hey, Dylan!

You remember Liz.

Lots of that.

You see, this is what I mean, Liz, this is a real pub.

A proper pub, like a Swansea pub, and these are real people,

real working men, not bloody culture vultures.

They don't give a toss about poetry or fame. You don't, do you?

And nor do I!

So you're a famous poet, is that it?

I am the squeezed-out, shrivelled husk of a famous poet,

and that's the truth.

Pretending I can still cut the mustard.

-What do you say to that?

-Come on, Dylan.

It's all a sham, you see.

There's nothing but the life you live and the death you die.

Nothing else to say, you see. That's all there is.

Well, I'll drink to that.

Come on, Dylan, let's get you back to the hotel.

No, wait, I want to show them something!

Look at this.

You'll never believe it.

"Boy, 12, wins mile race."

So that was you, then?

Proudest achievement of my life so far.

I was a good runner. Light on my feet.

No-one believes me, but there's the proof.

Well, you put on a bit of weight since then, my friend.

I have abused the temple of my body in every way known to man,

but I'm still bloody well here.

HE COUGHS

What am I doing here?

Why do you bring me here and make me stay up so late

when you know I have work to do?

Come on, then, bed for you.

COUGHING

Oh...

Oh, God.

What a pathetic excuse for a human being,

what a slobbering slug,

what a seedy old ham, what a posing pretence of a poet...

Hey!

Stop that right now.

You're a great poet.

And you did a great show this evening.

You've just had your first night binge.

Don't leave me!

Promise you'll stay.

You're all I've got now, Liz.

I think it's all up with me, Liz.

I can't write any more, I'm just faking it.

I can't drink any more like I used to. I can't fuck.

Yes, you can.

And Caitlin, she told me if I left her in Laugharne

and came here, we'd be finished, but I had to leave,

we were killing each other. I had to come. Why couldn't she see that?

She'll take you back. She always does.

You're the love of her life...

..and she's the love of yours.

Worse luck for me.

I give you a hard time, don't I?

My choice.

In the morning, we'll get Milt Feltenstein to come over.

Ah, Dr Feltenstein with his winking needle.

I love her so much, you know...

Yeah, I know.

I love you, too. You know that, don't you?

Come on, let's get you undressed.

Am I your lovely little chap, Liz?

Sure you are.

CAR HORNS BLARE

What are you looking for?

I can't wait to get to work on it.

How are you feeling?

Terrible. I can't breathe.

HE COUGHS

Well, come out from under there, that'd be a start.

Get my puffer for me, would you, Liz? It's in there somewhere.

HE CONTINUES TO COUGH

PUMPS AIR

That's better.

Tip-top now.

Let's have a look, then.

Was I very terrible last night?

You were pretty vile, yeah.

But you stuck it out.

Did we...

Did we manage to do anything?

By some miracle, we did.

I thought I remembered something. Not just a dream, then.

Well, this is excellent news.

Now if I could just have a beer and a little bit of bread and milk,

with salt on it, I might be able to bring myself to bear

on this steaming pile of Welsh whimsy.

-I'll see what I can do.

-Thank you, nurse.

HE COUGHS

SIRENS AND CAR HORNS

To begin at the beginning...

SEAGULLS CRY

SEAGULLS CRY

What do you think?

It's lovely.

Come on.

Where? Why?

Down here, and cos I say so. Race you!

Yes, all right, you win, you always win.

Oh, look at that.

Wouldn't you like to live there?

Yes, that would be very nice.

Why do we never have any money, Dylan?

People like us don't need money. What a vulgar thought.

-Shall we go inside?

-What? Breaking and entering?

-Come on, no-one will know.

-All right.

It's ours, Cat.

It can't be.

How? How is it ours?

Never mind that, it just is.

Shall we christen it?

GASPING AND MOANING

Lovely.

Come on, then. Tell me the truth.

What about?

This house.

If it is really ours, who paid for it?

It was that bloody Margaret Taylor, wasn't it?

-Possibly.

-I knew it!

Come on, how did you wheedle her into it?

I didn't have to wheedle. She offered.

She was eager to help us, Cat. No strings, no nothing.

-I don't believe it! You were up her, weren't you...

-No, I wasn't!

-..you dirty fucker!

-Not once! Not ever!

Her generosity was her tribute to my genius.

You bloody old liar!

I swear it.

Swear on our unborn baby's head.

I swear on our unborn baby's head I was never up Margaret Taylor.

All right.

I believe you.

You crafty little bugger.

I can't believe you're still doing bread and milk for him.

Well.

I know how he likes it.

And you know I don't believe she does,

even after all this time together.

And he knows I like to do it for him.

I'd do it for you if you asked me.

I don't want baby food.

Well, all right, then. Read your paper.

I was wondering if you could lend me five bob, Dad.

Ah, this is it now!

I was wondering what the purpose of this visit was.

It's just, I was expecting a cheque this morning and it hasn't arrived.

You expect me to subsidise your drinking

out of my hard-earned pension, do you?

You could come with me, we could do the crossword.

I wouldn't be seen dead in that place.

If I want a drink, I go to the Feathers.

But if I might give you one word of advice?

You've got a rare talent. A rare talent.

I don't like to see you frittering it away in Brown's hotel.

And I won't lend, or more likely give you, the money to do it.

-HE MOUTHS:

-Thank you.

Bloody bill, bloody bill, bloody bill.

Hello.

HE COUGHS

Oh, bugger me.

What?

Some fellow called John Malcolm Brinnin is inviting me

to New York to do some readings.

All expenses paid.

-Will you go?

-Well, I don't know.

What do you think?

'She let me come on my own,'

that first time, but she didn't like being left behind.

Well, who could blame her?

But then when she came with me, she didn't like it one bit.

Sulked the whole time. Sulked and shopped.

And so rude to everyone.

She's magnificent in her rage, you know, Liz.

You'd see what I mean if you met her.

I'm sure I would.

Ah, here it is.

-Wait a sec, have you got a biro?

-Of course.

New bit for Mr Pugh.

Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes

Mr Pugh minces among bad vats and jeroboams

Tiptoes through spinneys of murdering herbs

And mixes for Mrs Pugh a venomous porridge unknown to toxicologists

Which will scald and wriggle through her...

No, not wriggle.

Viper through her until her ears fall off like figs,

and her toes grow big and black as balloons.

And...

And...

Steam comes screaming out of her navel.

Genius!

-Two more, please!

-Oh...

-SHE MOUTHS:

-No.

-HE COUGHS

-It's all right, I'll drink them both.

In you go, then.

Aeronwy, out!

Flash, and the plumes crack...

And a black cap of jackdaws.

Sir John's hill dons.

And a black cap of jackdaws

Sir John's hill dons.

Sir John's...

just...hill.

Just hill.

AERONWY: Daddy!

Tell us again how you met Mam.

Well, I walked in the pub and there she was. The end.

No, tell it properly!

Well, this pub was like every other pub in London

and yet utterly unique. And it was called the Wheatsheaf.

And in you walked.

And in I walked and I stopped dead, thunderstruck,

because there, her golden curls caught in a shaft of sunlight,

was the loveliest girl I'd ever seen.

A girl as beautiful as an angel, and I fell in love, there and then,

on the spot, not a moment's doubt. I made up my mind

that this beautiful wild creature would be mine.

So you went over...

I went over and I laid my head in her lap and I said "My name's Dylan,

"I'm a poet and I've fallen in love with you."

And was she in love at first sight, too?

She says no, but she was, really.

-Cos you're bloody irresistible.

-Well, I was then.

Throw away your bedsocks and your Welsh wool knitted jacket

I will warm your sheets like an electric toaster

I will lie by your side like the Sunday roast.

I will knit you a wallet of forget-me-not blue

For the money to be comfy

I will warm your heart by the fire

So that you can slip it in under your vest when the shop is closed.

My-fan-way, My-fan-way

Before the mice gnaw at your bottom drawer, will you say...

Yes, Mog, yes, Mog yes, yes, yes...

And all the bells of the tills of the town shall ring for our wedding.

Mr Thomas?

Mr Thomas?

Dylan, please.

I was wondering...

My-fan-way?

Myfanwy.

The "f" is sounded like a "v", as in "fachgen fach",

but think nothing of it.

Your interpretation of the role is superb. Let's take a short break.

You are all excellent, by the way. Excellent.

I, uh...

THUD

-HE GASPS

-I... I...

GIRL: Poor little Cough. Isn't he extraordinary?

-He can't swim!

-He can't run!

-He can't bowl!

-He can't bat!

And I bet he can't even make water!

Yes, I can!

Come on then, show us!

No. I don't have to do it if I don't want to!

-There's posh, he is.

-Like Greta Garbo.

-And I can run.

-Come on, then. Show us.

-Yeah, come on, show us.

I don't have to if I don't want to.

Extraordinary, extraordinary.

BOTH: Extraordinary little Cough.

What's happening to me?

You had a blackout, Dylan.

I'm not well.

It's OK.

All done. DYLAN COUGHS

You should start to feel the effects almost immediately.

You are indeed a wondrous necessary man, Doctor Feltenstein.

How long have you been having these blackouts?

A little while.

And how long are you out for, generally?

I don't know. A minute, maybe?

Is that very bad? I can't let people down, Milt.

These should help. No more than six a day.

Now listen. You need to get plenty of sleep, eat sensibly,

and cut out the booze.

-Not completely.

-Completely. While you're on the medication.

Maybe the occasional beer. But no more.

Not sure I can manage that, Milt.

Well, try. This stuff can kill you, you know.

Yet we're all dying, aren't we?

Don't go out on the street any more than you have to.

The air pollution is lethal right now

for anyone with a history of breathing problems.

I was always a chesty boy.

-Take care. Call me any time.

-Thanks.

DOOR CLOSES

-Is he a real doctor?

-He was my family doctor.

-I wish we had doctors like that back home.

-How DO you feel, really?

Well, come here and I'll show you.

Dylan.

Well, he said not to go out on the street.

Come on, just to be cosy, just to be comfy.

Don't be mean.

OK.

-You'll take care of me, won't you, Liz?

-I'll try, Dylan. I'll try.

Mrs Dai Bread One and Mrs Dai Bread Two

Are sitting outside their house in Donkey Lane

One darkly, one plumply blooming in the quick, dewy sun.

Mrs Dai Bread Two is looking into a crystal ball

Which she holds in the lap of her dirty petticoat...

Feet up.

Hard against her hard dark thighs.

Dirty bugger.

"Cross my palm with silver

"Out of the housekeeping money

"Aah!"

-What do you think? It's good, isn't it?

-Yeah, yeah.

-Really?

Yeah, it's fine.

-Shall I go on, then?

-No!

-Yes!

No! I can't get anything done with you lot cluttering up the place.

I wish you'd just get the bloody thing finished and get paid for it.

Take him away, Aeronwy, take him for a walk, there's a good girl.

And not down the pub, either.

Come on.

-There you are. That's where they live.

-Who?

-Dai Bread and his two wives.

-He hasn't really got two wives.

Yes, he has.

In some countries it's quite common.

Men have two wives - three, even, if they can afford it.

If it's more than two, it's called a harem.

Would you like to have two wives, then?

No, no. One's enough for me.

I wouldn't mind if you had two wives.

Maybe the other one would like ME better than Colm.

Your mom doesn't love Colm more than you.

Yes, she does. You know she does. It's cos I take after you.

Not in every way, I hope.

Willy Nilly postman. Mrs Willy Nilly steaming open all the letters.

You spotted it, too.

Willy Nilly postman asleep up street

Walks 14 miles to deliver the post as he does every day of the night

And rat-a-tats hard and sharp on Mrs Willy Nilly.

Don't spank me, please, teacher!

Whimpers his wife at his side

But every night of her married life she has been late for school

Sinbad Sailors, over the taproom of the Sailors Arms

Hugs his damp pillow, whose secret name is Gossamer Beynon.

He's amazing.

If you'd seen him yesterday. I thought he was dying.

A mogul catches Lily Smalls in the wash-house.

Ooh, you old mogul!

What did Feltenstein give him?

A shot of cortisone. And he wrote a prescription, for uppers, I think.

-Was that appropriate?

-He's the doctor.

..a waterfall in a wood and waits there, raw as an onion

For Mr Right to leap up the burning tall hollow splashes of leaves

Like a brilliantined trout!

Call me Dolores like they do in the stories.

Lovely.

Let's take a break.

-Fabulous, Dylan. Fabulous.

-Ah, John.

Glad you could find a moment to grace us with your presence.

-Could we have a word, do you think?

-Of course, Dylan.

The thing is, John, I'm not sure your heart is really in this.

I... I don't understand.

Of course it is. I care more about this than anything.

We haven't seen very much of you, though, have we?

I didn't want to intrude. Liz looks after you so well.

And John does have other writers to look after on the programme,

besides his academic work.

But I'm always here for you, Dylan, you know that.

-Was there any particular concern?

-Money. As always.

Dylan!

Why didn't you say? How much do you need?

I'm not talking about my immediate needs.

Look, I might as well tell you,

I've been approached by one of the big lecture agencies,

and they're telling me I could be earning three times

-what I'm getting now.

-Which one?

-Gerstman.

He would take 50% and the schedule would kill you.

Well, you're killing me as it is, John.

I might as well get decent money for it.

-Believe me, Dylan...

-And it pains me to say this, but I believe

you've been holding back some of the fees, is that correct?

Dylan, I've always kept back a proportion to send direct to Caitlin,

-you know that.

-Did I ever explicitly instruct you to do that?

Dylan! I... I thought we were friends.

I invite you to stay in my home, you've even stayed with my mother.

My mother loves you, Dylan.

Everything I have done has been out of love for your work,

and love for you.

For God's sake.

You don't believe I'd try to make money out of you?

I don't know what to believe, John.

Jesus!

Then, I...

I don't know what to say to you.

Now what have you done?

Are you part of this conspiracy against me?

There's no conspiracy. John's trying to help you.

You haven't sent any money home, have you?

You wouldn't know how to do it, would you?

Christ sake, Dylan, can't you see John is your friend

and you've hurt him terribly?

Oh, God. I'm so sorry.

-I'll find him, I'll make it right with him.

-I'll come with you.

No, I'm too ashamed. I'll...

I'll see you later.

I guess that's it for today, people.

God, what am I doing in this bloody place?

What a mess, what a mess...

what a mess, what a mess.

SOFT JAZZ PLAYS

Bourbon, please.

Too much of it.

"Oh, Caitlin, Cat, my beautiful, my love, what am I doing here?

"I don't want to be in this nightmare any more,

"where no-one understands me,

"but everyone wants to bite little bits off me and swallow them.

"I want to be home in Laugharne and live quietly with you and Colm

"and noisily with Aeronwy,

"and I want to sit in my hut and write and I want to eat your stews,

"and I want to touch your breasts and your cunt,

"and I want, every night, to lie in love and peace,

"close, close, close, close, close to you,

"closer than the marrow of your soul,

"Caitlin, my wild, wise, wonderful woman,

"my lovely girl."

That's it!

Yes...

Exactly.

-CAITLIN:

-'Houdini, that's him. The great escaper!'

Do you know I have to lock him in that shed every afternoon

in the hope of getting a shred of work out of him?

Poetry's difficult, you know, Cat.

"Poetry's difficult." You're bloody impossible.

-I wish I'd never met him, I do!

-She doesn't mean that.

And now you're talking about dragging him off to America again.

It's not that I want to go, Cat.

Yes, you bloody do! You're dying to get away from me!

Get away from the bills, and the writing,

and bloody old Cat and her nagging,

and hello, eight weeks of whisky binges

and showing off, and infidelity!

And I know what you're up to, too, John Malcolm Brinnin Mephistopheles!

Well, we wouldn't want to scupper

the chances of a collaboration with Stravinsky.

The greatest living composer and the greatest living poet.

Don't let TS Eliot catch you saying that.

HE CHUCKLES CAT MOCKS HIS LAUGH

Eliot's best work is long behind him. Auden's too.

Whereas you, you're just coming into the full flower of your maturity.

If he decides to come...

you should come, too.

You know you have dear friends in New York who are longing to see you.

-That's so, isn't it, Rollie?

-Yeah. Sure.

God knows you deserve a holiday.

You're such a silver-tongued bastard, aren't you?

I mean every word, Caitlin.

And what am I supposed to do with the children?

Right! There you are!

You'd better carve, John, no use asking him to do anything like that.

I'll do my best, Caitlin.

I'm not sure I've ever carved wild duck before.

But, uh, I'm always open to new experiences.

They look a bit on the rare side, Caitlin.

They're supposed to be like that, you ignoramus.

Gwilym Price, who gave them me,

said the worst thing you could do with a wild duck is overcook it.

Well, you certainly haven't done that.

I cooked them exactly the way the bloody book said!

Why don't you learn to cook if you don't like the way I do it?

-Oops!

-Christ, can you do nothing bloody right either?

For God's sweet sake, Caitlin, take that bloody mess off the table.

Right!

I'm so sorry.

You bloody smug little patronising Welsh bastard.

How dare you apologise for me!

I'll bloody kill you, I will!

No, please, Caitlin! You're a great cook.

I'm going to spill his great poetic brains

and then I'm going to go down the pub and fuck every man in it!

See how he likes that!

Caitlin, for Christ's sake, stop!

How dare you try to manhandle me! Hardly chivalrous behaviour!

Did no-one ever teach you how to treat a lady?

Well, that's it. America's out.

DOOR SLAMS

She's a bit cross with me.

-She's just wonderfully furious, isn't she?

-Hmm.

-Well, that's one way of putting it.

-Maybe if you told her, Rollie.

She likes you, she trusts you.

Every other woman she thinks is after my body. If only.

But this rage that possesses her, it's tearing me to bits, John.

-I've got to get away.

-OK.

You can fix it?

No problem, if you can fix it with Caitlin.

People in New York are dying to see you and hear you.

And there's this Stravinsky thing.

-I think it's the right thing for you now, Dylan.

-Just me, not her.

OK. Caitlin stays here. You think she'll be OK with that?

She'll never be all right with any of it, John,

and nor will I, not really.

But she understands how it has to be, and for me,

these last months here, trying to work,

getting nowhere with it, it's been torture.

-I just need...

-I understand. You need a change of scene,

recharge the creative batteries with friends who love you, huh?

Ah, John.

My lovely co-conspirator.

So let's get it straight. You don't want to go to New York again, ever.

I'm advising against it, it'd be bad for your work.

Could be catastrophic for your health.

It will probably destroy your marriage.

But you're going all the same.

Like a bat out of hell, God forgive me.

Well, this is it.

Fern Hill.

It's strange.

After the poem, I thought it would be...

I don't know.

More, somehow.

Well, that's the transformative power of his poetic bloody genius,

isn't it?

-DYLAN CHUCKLES

-Come on.

That's great, thanks, Dylan.

Maybe we can get one here...

He's got some woman in New York, hasn't he?

Come on. I know he has. Just tell me who it is.

You've got it all wrong, Caitlin.

You bloody liar. You're all in it together.

-I never trusted you.

-Caitlin, on my word of honour,

on my life, there's no-one.

And if there ever was, it never meant anything.

You're the only one for him. You always have been, you know that.

You bloody liar.

I know why you want to take him away from me.

You're in love with him yourself.

That's so unfair.

Well, you can bloody have him, as far as I'm concerned.

We used to be so happy here.

A Polish countess, no less. And she's loaded. And gorgeous.

And, I'm led to understand, the most amazing fuck.

She sounds delightful,

but you have to understand I'm in love with my wife.

She's throwing a party after the show tomorrow in your honour, Dylan.

It would be churlish to refuse.

Well, I have always tried not to be churlish.

-Is she very, very beautiful?

-Heartbreakingly beautiful.

And her own heart would be broken if you turn her down.

We wouldn't want that, would we?

She's the fuck of the century, too.

You put it very persuasively, Jerry.

Did you know it's extraordinary the way your face keeps changing shape?

Have you always been able to do that?

I think you need another drink, Dylan.

Not sure you're right, but if you insist.

Oh, there's posh, he is! How do he talk like that?

It's quite extraordinary!

-Posh as piss, he is.

-Posh as pink panties.

With his little cough. Extraordinary, extraordinary!

Extraordinary, little Cough.

Little Cough's crying!

Crying for nothing!

HE GASPS FOR BREATH

I'm not!

-Little Cough's crying!

-Crying for nothing!

I'm not!

HE COUGHS AND GASPS

Dylan?

Dylan?

You should start to feel better in an hour or so,

but you have to remember - nothing I do for you is going to help you

if you're not going to look after yourself.

I know. I know. I've had a shock.

I've never felt so bad. Good boy from now on. I promise.

It's no good promising me.

You have to make the promise to yourself.

Oh, I have.

-OK. Just give me a call any time.

-Thanks.

Are you going to be OK for the performance this evening?

Have to see, won't we?

We could still cancel.

And refund the money? Absolutely not. I'll be fine.

Well, I'll be there, anyway.

If I'm too weak to speak, you could read in for me.

It's you they want to see, not me.

I could sit on your lap, like a ventriloquist's dummy.

-You, Jesus!

-What?

-How do you do it?

-What?

Come back from the dead like that?

It's wonderful stuff, this cortisone.

And Mr Waldo, drunk in Milk Wood

Hugs his lovely Polly Garter

Under the eyes and rattling tongues

Of the neighbours and the birds and he doesn't care.

He smacks his live red lips.

But it is not his name that Polly Garter whispers

as she lies under the oak and loves him back.

Six feet deep, that name sings in the cold earth.

# But I always think As we tumble into bed

# Of little Willy Wee

# Who is dead

# Dead

# Dead. #

The thin night darkens.

A breeze from the creased water sighs the streets close

Under Milk Waking Wood.

The wood, whose every tree-foot's cloven in the black glad sight

of the hunters of lovers

That is a God-built garden to Mary Ann the Sailors

who knows there is heaven on earth and the chosen people

of his kind fire in Llareggub's land

That is the fairday farmhands'

wantoning ignorant chapel of bridebeds

And to the Reverend Eli Jenkins

A green-leaved sermon on the innocence of men,

The suddenly wind-shaken wood springs awake

For the second dark time this one spring day.

APPLAUSE

CHEERING

-One down, five to go.

-Yeah.

Mr Thomas, welcome. May I call you Dylan?

Please do. May I call you Countess?

You're funny. I'm not a real countess, you know.

Well, by a curious coincidence, I'm not a real poet.

Naughty man. You are a genius, and we worship you.

But you know, I'm so happy to have you here in my house.

Happy to be here.

What will you have? Do you like whisky?

Unfortunately I'm not drinking at the moment for health reasons,

but, yes, please, I will take a small whisky.

With too many people, I am no good.

-I don't speak these languages too well.

-Mmm.

Would you like to see the rest of the house?

Come!

BEDSPRINGS CREAK

'The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

'Drives my green age

'That blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer

'And I am dumb to tell The crooked rose

'My youth is bent By the same wintry fever

'And I am dumb to tell The lover's tomb

'How at my sheet Goes the same crooked worm.'

I don't think there's any point waiting any longer for him.

-I'll hang on for a bit.

-OK.

John! So glad you came. Listen, I feel dreadful about the other day.

Are you very, very hurt?

Look, it's only money. We can still be friends, can't we?

I want that more than anything. But, look...

I know, I know. But all the rest, that's all stupidity, John.

Truly. All nonsense. All that is not love is nonsense.

You are my dear friend and I trust you. You, me, and Liz.

That's all that matters. That's forever.

You know that, don't you?

Ah, Dylan...

Forever.

Are we all right now?

Then for God's sake, let's have a bloody drink!

Ah, Liz, come on, what's the matter with you?

I just don't care to watch you drink yourself into oblivion again,

-that's all.

-Look, that woman just now, that wasn't anything.

She was just showing me her treasures from the old country.

Don't make it worse.

You've treated me as if I'm...

Who do you think I am?

Some floozy?

Your mother?

Some nurse you've hired?

You just don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, do you?

There was an old bugger named God

Who got a young virgin in pod

This appalling behaviour

Produced Christ our Saviour

Who died on the cross - The poor sod!

LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE

SOFT JAZZ PLAYS

I shouldn't be here.

And where should you be, then?

I escaped. But now I'm out, I wish I was back in.

-But where? Back in where?

-You're very beautiful.

-Oh, you think so?

-Are you coming back with me?

And why should I do that?

Because I'm frightened of the dark.

OK.

If you could have seen her when I first met her.

She's still beautiful now, but...so angry all the time.

She was a dancer, you know.

I've ruined her life, really.

God, I feel like death, I've got this weight on my chest, I can't....

Are you all right down there?

I guess I'm going to give up. This isn't working.

It's like trying to raise the dead.

How well you put it!

What a gift for words. Have you ever thought of writing poetry?

Fuck you!

No, really, I didn't mean to be offensive.

Please do carry on. it's most wonderfully soothing.

No, I'm going to cut my losses, I guess.

So, well, thanks for a wonderful evening.

HE COUGHS

Don't leave me.

I'm not well.

Jesus! You're a mess, you know that?

Oh, I do, I do.

I been with writers before, I've been with drunks before, but you...

you are something else.

Well, thank you.

You're welcome.

God forgive me.

DOOR SLAMS

I am such...

..a terrible disappointment, it seems.

To everyone.

Including...

..of course...

..myself.

COUGHING

DOOR OPENS

DOOR CLOSES

How are you feeling?

Like death.

There was a telegram waiting for you downstairs.

They didn't want to disturb you.

Ah...

Who's it from?

Caitlin.

"No word from you, stop.

"No money, stop.

"What do you want me to do - kill myself, or go on the streets? Stop.

"Hate, stop."

What am I going to do?

Look, she's not saying she's finished with you.

Neither of you could ever say that.

We're both scared to. But it's the truth, Liz.

I can't go back.

This contract guarantees you 1,000 a week, Mr Thomas.

Travel arrangements and accommodation will be covered, of course.

What sort of audiences will I be addressing?

Women's groups, mainly. There's a whole lot of people out there

who want to hear from the greatest living poet in the English language.

And that's how we'll be billing you.

America's a big country, Mr Thomas. Hundreds of first-class venues.

It could be years before you have to go round a second time.

I have some existing commitments with John Malcolm Brinnin.

Once you sign with us, our arrangement will be exclusive.

I guess John was always, how should I put it, an amateur in this field.

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT

So, OK. If you're ready?

Ready.

If you could sign...

..here, here and here.

PEN SCRATCHING ON PAPER

Gerstman Associates looks forward to a long and happy association.

DOOR CLOSES

Now I've really signed my soul away.

What are you going to say to John?

He'll understand. Won't he? I mean, it was never a business arrangement

between me and him, was it?

I think you should be prepared.

I think he'll see it as a betrayal.

How do you see it?

Not for me to say.

-Why does it all have to take so bloody long?

-What?

Dying.

Dylan's here.

-Did you want anything?

-Er, no. No, nothing.

Leave you together, then.

-How are you feeling?

-Oh, worn out.

-You're off to America again soon, I hear?

-That's it.

They seem keen to have me back, God knows why.

Don't sell yourself short, Dylan, you've written some fine poems.

Not many men can say that.

No-one ever asked ME to go to America.

Would you have wanted to go, though?

HE LAUGHS

Probably not. Must be gratifying to be invited, though.

My life on the whole has been a series of disappointments.

Senior English Master of Swansea Grammar, though.

-Generations of boys were terrified of you.

-THEY CHUCKLE

Married the wrong girl, between you and me.

Youthful concupiscence is not the best indicator of lasting happiness.

No, I suppose not.

But what else is there?

What, indeed?

Well, at least neither of us married for money.

HE GASPS

Does it hurt?

Well...you have to expect that, don't you?

Life's mostly boredom and then a bit of pain.

Fear to finish up.

Milton probably put it a bit more eloquently.

I'm proud of you, you know.

What you've done.

Collected Poems.

A real body of work.

I'd have been very proud to have achieved something like that.

Instead of wasting my life on drink and crossword puzzles.

Don't say that.

Look, you taught me everything I know about poetry.

Couldn't write it, though, could I?

Didn't have the gift.

Or the...

or the...

..application.

Tired now.

'Do not go gentle into that good night

'Old age should burn and rave 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.

APPLAUSE

# If your sweetheart

# Sends a letter of goodbye...

# It's no secret you feel better

# If you cry

# When waking from a bad dream

# Don't you sometimes think it's real? #

SLOW JAZZ PLAYS

MUSIC FADES, DISTORTS

SIREN WAILS

LABOURED BREATHING

HE COUGHS

DOOR CLOSES

I've just drunk... 18 straight whiskies.

I think that's the record.

Had enough, Little Cough? Had enough?

I... can't...

Had enough?

HE GROANS AND WHEEZES

Dylan? Dylan?

Had enough?

HE WHEEZES

BREATHING SETTLES

Wow. What was that?

It's morphine.

He should sleep peacefully now for a good four hours.

I'll come back and see him then.

DYLAN'S STRAINED BREATHING

They don't know what it is.

They're testing for a cerebral haemorrhage.

Feltenstein thinks it's liver failure.

John, I think...

..we're losing him.

He may be able to hear you.

Dylan?

Dylan, it's John.

Liz is here, too. Caitlin is on her way.

Try again.

Caitlin's coming, Dylan.

David's organised a flight for her.

FAINT GASP

Dylan?

Well, where is the bloody man? Is he dead or alive?

Oh, God, Dylan.

What have they done to you?

Mrs Thomas, you mustn't smoke in here.

Who are those people?

What are they doing here? Fuck off!

Dylan...

Dylan, it's Caitlin.

Can you hear me?

You're not to die, Dylan, do you hear?

I won't...

I won't have it.

Christ, I can't even find you in that lot!

Mrs Thomas...

Where's your hand?

-Mrs Thomas...

-Dylan...

Mrs Thomas, you mustn't do that!

Leave me alone, you!

BELL RINGS

DOOR OPENS

Mrs Thomas, please understand.

Mrs Thomas...

Stop.

Mrs Thomas, calm down!

Dylan!

Let go of me!

No!

Dylan! Dylan!

SHE SOBS

Dylan!

SHE SOBS

No! Dylan!

SHE WAILS

Dylan!

MUSIC PLAYS SOFTLY

WAVES CRASH

'Dylan!

'Where are you?'