Sir Richard Burton rezitiert Dylan Thomas - Ausschnitte aus
"Under Milk Wood". _{"With words good enough to eat..."}

Michael Brook unterlegt die Worte mit "seiner" Musik.
Der Titel: DarkRoom.
Ein Tonbeispiel ist unter diesem Link zu finden (die Qualität ist nicht schlecht).
RockPaperScissors Michael Brook
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It is spring,
moonless night in the small town,
starless and bible-black,
the cobblestreets silent
and the hunched courters'-and-rabbits' wood
limping invisible down to the sloeblack,
slow, black, crowblack,
fishingboat-bobbing sea.

The houses 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,
asleep.

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...
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Die CD von Michael Brook wurde hier schon einmal präsentiert.
Inzwischen habe ich jedoch eine beinahe 20-minütige "full-length"-Version des dortigen
6-min-Trailers gefunden.
Lohnt sich; schöner Werkstatt-Bericht - auch wenn DarkRoom nicht zum Zuge kommt: