Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Just when my soul needed quieting on a trembling November night, Dylan Thomas came calling.
by Charlie Leck

A friend sent me an email the other day and began it with the first three lines of an extraordinary poem by Dylan Thomas. It caused me to go to the bookshelves and pull down the volume of poems by this poet who is among my favorite two or three.

I poured a good glass of wine, settled into my favorite comfortable chair (we call it Archie Bunker's chair) and read several of my favored poems by Thomas, including 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 that 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.

Thank you, Bill Casey, for reminding me; and I shall indeed “rage, rage against the dying of the light!” And though I shall remember, at the end, that dark is right, I shall still rage wildly against the dying of the light.