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When Dylan Thomas's work first appeared and made its immediate impact, in the mid-Thirties, it was at once assimilated to 'modernity' as the term was then understood: to the classic techniques of modern poetry from Le Bateau Ivre through The Waste Land, to the search for a language that acted in its own right rather than indicating action, and above all to Surrealism, which hit London in a wave of razzmatazz at just that time. This assimilation was largely mistaken, though it was no doubt inevitable, given the taste, preoccupations, and equipment of most critics. It was mistaken because it ignored the fact that Thomas was a Welshman—ignored it, that is, beyond an occasional nod in the direction of 'rhetoric' and 'intoxication with language.' In fact, Thomas's Welshness is very near the heart of his work.
Review, 2659 words
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