In the beginning

Dylan Thomas's In the beginning

Dylan Thomas’s In the Beginning is a poem of primordial intensity, a visionary reimagining of cosmic genesis that blends biblical allusion, mythological imagery, and a modernist fascination with the origins of language and consciousness. Written in Thomas’s characteristically dense, sonorous style, the poem is both a meditation on creation and a linguistic performance, enacting the very processes of birth and formation it describes. Unlike traditional creation narratives, which often adhere to a linear, teleological structure, Thomas’s vision is recursive, syncretic, and deeply embodied—where flesh, word, and star are forged in the same elemental crucible.

This essay will explore the poem’s engagement with theological and philosophical traditions, its intricate use of imagery and sound, and its place within Thomas’s broader poetic project. By examining the poem’s historical context, its intertextual resonances, and its linguistic inventiveness, we can better appreciate how Thomas transforms the myth of origin into a living, breathing act of poetic revelation.

Theological and Mythological Underpinnings

The title In the Beginning immediately evokes the opening of the Book of Genesis—In principio—but Thomas’s vision is far from orthodox. While the biblical account presents a divine logos speaking the world into being ("Let there be light"), Thomas’s creation is more visceral, more entangled in the material world. His "three-pointed star" suggests a trinitarian symbol, yet it is also a "smile of light," an almost playful, anthropomorphic gesture that blurs the line between sacred and organic.

The poem’s imagery draws from multiple mythological traditions. The "bough of bone" recalls the World Tree of Norse mythology, Yggdrasil, while the "blood that touched the crosstree and the grail" merges Christian iconography (the Crucifixion and the Holy Grail) with older, perhaps pagan, notions of sacrificial fertility. Thomas’s vision is syncretic, refusing to privilege one tradition over another, instead weaving them into a tapestry where all myths participate in the same generative act.

Central to the poem is the idea of the word—"In the beginning was the word"—an explicit nod to the Gospel of John’s Logos. Yet Thomas’s word is not purely abstract; it is a force that "abstracted all the letters of the void," suggesting that language itself is a shaping power, pulling meaning from chaos. This aligns with modernist preoccupations with the generative potential of language, as seen in the works of James Joyce or T.S. Eliot, where words are not merely descriptive but constitutive of reality.

The Alchemy of Imagery: Fire, Blood, and Bone

Thomas’s imagery is alchemical, transforming base elements into mythic symbols. Fire is a dominant motif—"the mounting fire / That set alight the weathers from a spark"—evoking both the cosmic fire of creation and the internal combustion of life. The "three-eyed, red-eyed spark" is ambiguous: it could be a reference to the Cyclops, to divine omniscience, or even to the triune nature of creation (life, death, rebirth). The spark’s bluntness, "blunt as a flower," is a characteristically Thomas-esque juxtaposition, merging violence with organic tenderness.

Blood, another key image, is both sacred and vital. It touches the "crosstree and the grail," linking crucifixion and mythic quest, but also "left a sign" on the first cloud, suggesting that the divine and the natural are inextricably linked. The "ribbed original of love" in the final stanza echoes the biblical creation of Eve from Adam’s rib but reframes it as a primal, almost geological formation—love not as abstract sentiment but as a physical, even cellular, emergence.

The poem’s structure mirrors its thematic preoccupation with beginnings. Each stanza starts with the refrain "In the beginning," yet each iteration introduces a new layer—first the star, then the word, then the brain—suggesting that creation is not a single act but an ongoing, recursive process. The poem itself enacts this generative movement, its lines swelling with alliteration ("substance forked that marrowed the first sun") and internal rhyme ("stamp of the minted face upon the moon"), as if language is perpetually birthing itself anew.

Language as Creation: Sound and Semantics

Thomas’s linguistic play is not merely decorative; it is foundational to the poem’s meaning. The phrase "three-syllabled and starry as the smile" suggests that language itself is celestial, that syllables have a cosmic weight. The "word" in Thomas’s vision does not just describe reality—it shapes it, "translating to the heart / First characters of birth and death." This idea resonates with 20th-century linguistic theories, such as those of Wittgenstein or Heidegger, which posit that language structures our very perception of existence.

The poem’s soundscape is lush and incantatory. The repetition of "In the beginning" gives the poem a liturgical rhythm, while the dense consonance ("burning ciphers on the round of space") and assonance ("blood that touched the crosstree") create a sonic richness that mimics the fecundity of creation itself. Thomas’s language does not merely describe the world—it performs its making.

Biographical and Historical Context

Thomas’s preoccupation with creation myths can be partly understood in the context of mid-20th-century anxieties. Written in the shadow of World War II, his poetry often grapples with destruction and rebirth, with the fragility of existence. In the Beginning can be read as a counterpoint to the apocalyptic imagery of his famous A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London—where one poem confronts annihilation, the other celebrates genesis.

Moreover, Thomas’s own struggles with identity, mortality, and artistic creation inform the poem. His famous declaration that he wrote "in the direction of the altar" suggests that poetry was, for him, a sacred act. In the Beginning is not just a retelling of cosmic origins; it is a testament to the poet’s own role as a creator, shaping worlds through words.

Conclusion: The Poem as Cosmic Gesture

In the Beginning is more than a retelling of Genesis; it is a reinvention of creation itself, one that embraces paradox, multiplicity, and the materiality of language. Thomas’s vision is at once ancient and modern, sacred and visceral, cosmic and intimate. The poem does not seek to explain origins so much as to enact them, to immerse the reader in the swirling, fiery, bloody process of becoming.

In doing so, Thomas reminds us that poetry is itself a kind of genesis—that every poem is a new beginning, a spark struck against the void. His work invites us not just to contemplate creation, but to participate in it, to feel the "secret oils that drive the grass" and the "ribbed original of love" pulsing beneath our own skin. In this way, In the Beginning is not just a poem about the birth of the world—it is a living, breathing act of poetic alchemy, transforming language into light, blood, and bone

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