5.05.06b. About the Poem, Pt. 1

Early on I had promised more on the title poem, a little exegesis--or “extra-jesus” as we used to remember the term by in high school--so extra-jesus today on Thomas’s poem. Having Frank here and the in’s and out’s of every day might yield some ideas for later, but this afternoon my mind’s back on this.

Again:
“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.
(1952)


I don’t know how long I’ve known this poem; in fact, I can’t remember when I didn’t--but there must have been a time, just as there’s a time know when I feel like I “know” this poem far better than I would like, like I want to turn my eyes from it for a minute then return my gaze to see it gone. To not see the injunction in the title, “do not go gentle.” A place to start, at the beginning. What I see in the poem now--there’s that word that signifies so differently for me “now”--is that it relies on contradiction. In a sense we the reader simply passes over “that good night” as yet another euphemism for death. It’s so obvious, isn’t it? Why think about it? A minute’s thought, however, tells us (many of us? most of us? me, anyway) that there is nothing good about that night at all. It’s the one night nobody wants to go into. Granted there are cases, cases with real individuals which I gradually come to understand better each day, in which “that . . . night” might seem “good,” or better at least than what the now holds for them. Some relief, for some. The title’s injunction, which switches back and forth (from imperative to simple declarative) through the poem based on line breaks, “do not go gentle” creates the tension that builds through the repetitive form, this being the classic example of the villanelle. Tension: if it really were a “good night” why resist, why not go gentle, why not welcome it? The point: which I already made, it’s not a good night, to use the technical language of aesthetic theory I learned in grad school, it sucks ass.

To be continued. (Since the whole poem will take too long, I’ll put it up in installments.)