When I was 14 years old and a new student in the drama class taught by Elanor Franks, I was given an assignment to do a poetry reading. At the time, I probably knew three poems by heart and they were all written by Dr. Seuss.
I had entered the class at mid-semester and Ms.. Franks was determined to have me removed from the class knowing that I was a semester behind the rest of the class. I was a bit insulted.
I was determined to find a poem that I could read with the dramatic enthusiasm that might change her mind.
When I first read
Dylan Thomas, I felt a connection to his style and subject matter. But when I first read
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night I had an epiphany. In nineteen lines he had defined how I hoped to live and die. That was 1966.
I learned the poem, read it with youthful vigor, and never forgot its meaning. I lived life with the intent to be spent at the end. At 14 I had decided that when I faced "the dying of the light" I would have no regrets for having not lived.
I do not!
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.
PS. When I finished reading the poem, Ms. Franks loudly pronounced, "Welcome to the class Robert!"
