alexpgp | Oct. 7th, 2000

I learned of the passing of LiveJournalist David Cruz (WarChild) from a post made by cg07446 yesterday. I don't know why, exactly, but some verse by Dylan Thomas came to mind as I thought about WarChild, just as it did when I heard of the tragedy aboard the Russian submarine Kursk. It was, however, a different poem this time.

I came to an appreciation of Dylan Thomas only recently - about a year ago, in fact. I recall dimly having had to read something of his in high school, it was a poem - a short one - and only one line stuck: "Do not go gentle into that good night." The line turns out to be the title of the poem, which speaks of how people approach death, and exhorts the listener not to go quietly, but to "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Since rediscovering the poem, it has seeped into my memory. There are times when, as I walk the dogs along the street at night, I recite it to the trees, attempting to put feeling into the words. (For variety, I sometimes recite The Shooting of Dan McGrew, by Robert W. Service, but that's another tale...) At any rate, I'm sure the neighbors, if they are paying attention, believe me to be slightly batty, but the dogs don't care and I get an opportunity to be a little creative.

So I go surfing last night to see if any more Thomas tidbits have turned up on this organism called the Web. Imagine my surprise when I learn that Thomas' poem was written in the form of a villanelle, defined by my Webster's as "a chiefly French verse form running on two rhymes and consisting typically of five tercets and a quatrain to which the first and third line of the opening tercet recur alternately at the end of the other tercets and together as the last two lines of the quatrain."

Thomas' poem fulfills all of these specifications to the letter, and additionally, each line contains exactly ten syllables. Listen...

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 have 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.

If details are recalled correctly, Thomas wrote the poem for his father, who was dying of a terminal illness. Ironically, one source I read says the poet insisted that his father be kept ignorant of that fact. No matter, the poem "forks lightning" for me.

Cheers...