DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
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.Dylan Thomas
The first time I read those words, it was like they were emblazoned on the shield of the absolute warrior-hero of my dreams. Anyone who could put rage and gentle together in a lyrical poem to his dying father was a ROCK STAR in my book. Imagine my heartache when my 12th grade English teacher snidely remarked that this man, the one who so earnestly plead with his dying father to fight and rage against death walked into the White horse tavern on November 9th 1953 and drank himself to death. It wasn’t enough to stop me from adoring this poem, but I was so utterly disappointed that the rock star went out that way. That he just gave up.
Poetry is important to me at the moment, so I’m revisiting all the masterpieces of my youth. I decided to look up my old flame and a quick Google search may have restored my admiration of the rock star who was Dylan Thomas. What if he didn’t drink himself to death? What if he was sick before he went in to the bar? I am so bored of celebrity who-done-it access Hollywood exclusives about the doctors responsible for killing off celebrities. Yeah, doctors screw up, they are human. When they screw up with someone famous, we all get to hear about it. But according to author David Thomas the personal physician of Dylan Thomas likely misdiagnosed a bronchial infection and proceeded to administer the worst possible drug, morphine, assuming that Dylan Thomas’ condition was the result of his heavy drinking.
People have to take responsibility for their actions, I was appalled at this BBC article that lays blame for DT’s alcoholism at universities for not giving him a fellowship, or at the BBC for not giving him a job as a reporter, or on his reliance on American lecture circuits that kept him away from his wife and family. Nope, I don’t buy the whole celebrity=victim thing. Dylan Thomas was most likely an alchoholic, he had only himself to blame for that. And his poor diet, heavy drinking and sleeplessness contributed to his poor health. But I do take comfort in the new evidence. I guess it isn’t that new, 5 year old evidence that the poet of my dreams did not lay his life down in a fit of drunkenness in a bar. He arrived in New York feeling ill, cheated on his wife with the assistant of his agent and had some drinks. After complaining to his physician that he couldn’t breath, his doctor gave him some morphine, which had the affect of further hampering his breathing. He then colapsed and was admitted to the hospital where he lay comatose until his death. His genius brain was deprived of oxagen and he died of swelling to the brain.
I feel assured that he lived, he strained against his poverty, he met his obligations (if not to his wife) with all the rage he could muster, he used up his life until it he intersected with a fatal series of mistakes, and learning too late, I think he must have grieved on his way to the dying of the light.
I guess it is strange to take comfort in that. But I do.
October 23, 2009 at 7:50 pm
I’m glad poetry has been important to you lately, because it has always been a genre that has affected me the least. And if I were to say that I thought poetry is boring, all I’m really accomplishing is revealing my own ignorance about the subject. This is my problem. All the English teachers I’ve ever had would enter into our poetry unit with the idea that “words that mean the most to you, straight from your gut…that’s poetry…put it down.” This attitude is very similar to a certain music movement from the mid 20th century that broke away from structure and tonality. However, any poem I wrote would come across sounding like Dr. Suess. And I don’t buy the whole “whatever you think is poetry…is” bandwagon. There is obviously stuff out there that is awful music, and really shouldn’t be called such, and there is poetry that makes me raise my eyebrows with a “are you serious?” face. So, my dear poet and sister-in-law, I would love to read a blog entry about your opinion of good poetry. What makes it good? If you do believe in the “no limits” idea, please explain it to me. I’m sure you would do a better job of it than my teachers. I do love your taste, and I thought the poem in this post was very beautiful and powerful….maybe I liked it because it was powerful within a well-structured form.
October 24, 2009 at 8:09 am
Hmmm. Well, that is a really big question. First of all, I think I do admire lyrical poetry… because it takes a lot of skill to say a lot in a few words while limiting yourself to a rigid form. Kind of like lining up your fruit in perfect rows inside a jello mold. But with poetry, for me… I think the key is the artfulness of saying it all in a few words. Like painting with words. Some words are worth a thousand…images? Maybe. In all media though, because I used to think that art should always adhere to strict realism–in all artistic media it has to convey something to someone other than the creator. You have to be able to access whatever it was that first inspired the work. I mean, if you just want something that matches your couch, you can hang anything on the wall and it is art. And I’m fine with that. Design-wise it works and I’m sure it has some affect on the mood…or whatever. Well, I’m trying to keep more open-minded about it. But real art is like gold, everyone can SEE its value.
Take Sylvia Plath’s Lady Lazarus http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Lazarus
this kind of “confessional” poetry is kind of free-form, maybe no limits but it is still powerful. If you aren’t spooked by the description of skin as bright as a Nazi lampshade there is something wrong with you. You can hear recordings of Plath reading her work on Youtube if you want. I’m not a raving Plath fan, but I get why there are college courses on her work. Something about her madness infiltrates her words and its like they reach out and shake you. (Plath struggled with depression bouts of insanity her whole life, and finally succeeded in killing herself). I can’t say anything about music history because I just don’t know much about it. But I think this quote (on poetry) from our current Poet Laureate, Kay Ryan is fairly definitive for me, personally, “You can lose it in the couch, or in the ground, or anywhere and when it’s dug up its going to be valuable, so that real poetry utterly protects itself, [and] takes care of itself.” So, to make a long explanation longer, if the poetry you have read bores you, keep looking. I do think that when you find something that speaks to you it will reach out and grab you. And you can lose it in the couch or on the shelf and come back to it an its just as powerful as it was the first time, or more. Which probably isn’t that much more helpful than an English teacher… but that’s all I’ve got.