2018

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, 1951)

Technically, this poem is Dylan Thomas's meditation upon the aging of his father and fight against imminent death. It's consistently been lurking in the back of my mind for the past few months, and I think there is more to its call to arms than simply resistance to physical mortality. I read Thomas's "rage" not as an act of violence or wrath, but rather as a nuanced manifestation of fierce, principled persistence. It brings to mind the literary types of the tragic and pathetic. The latter is passive, too consumed with the pathos of the moment to make any more attempt at resistance in the face of defeat. The tragic, however, dies fighting. In a spiritual sense, it is connected with Watson's imagery of Heaven being taken by storm. Leaving this here as a reminder that my faith, my church, my hope are all things I can never take for granted or give up in despair; through God's grace, they are things worth fighting for.