The Dying of the Light
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The Dying of the Light
I have just received a telephone call with the sad news that a very dear friend, a lady a year or so older than I, has died down on her farm in Western Virginia. Her husband, also a wonderful friend, survives her. These are dog and horse people. Often I would go down to their farm, just over the Shenandoah River, across the first range of mountains, to visit them and we would run our dogs out in the pasture together. English Setters. I gave them their first and they were so delighted that, after he died, they got two more. My friend was in her youth very athletic, a fine horsewoman, but, as she grew older, she became increasingly crippled, also losing her eyesight until she had become nearly blind. So she would sit there in her chair, bent over, hardly able to look at me, and we would talk about the old days, about dogs and the old horse which lay dead out in the pasture.
Now she is gone. And one of my favorite poems comes back to me, the sublime elegy that Dylan Thomas wrote regarding his father's blindness, shortly before his father died. Back in 1951 I was privileged to hear Thomas read it and I remember his ringing, unforgettable voice. In my friend's memory, here it is:
"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."
In sadness,
Bill.
Now she is gone. And one of my favorite poems comes back to me, the sublime elegy that Dylan Thomas wrote regarding his father's blindness, shortly before his father died. Back in 1951 I was privileged to hear Thomas read it and I remember his ringing, unforgettable voice. In my friend's memory, here it is:
"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."
In sadness,
Bill.
I love that poem.
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Bill, my condolences and thanks for the post.
In the months and years following my father's death, I came to see my grief as a measure of my love for him and the impact he made in my life. The only thing of lasting value that we create in this life are relationships; no doubt the feeling was mutual, your dear friend was fortunate to have a friend like you.
In the months and years following my father's death, I came to see my grief as a measure of my love for him and the impact he made in my life. The only thing of lasting value that we create in this life are relationships; no doubt the feeling was mutual, your dear friend was fortunate to have a friend like you.
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Bill, I am sorry for your loss. Rejoice in shared acquaintances with those who continue to live on in our hearts and minds and bring to us fond memories long after their departure. They are the light in the still of the night.
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Originally Posted by saoutchik 
Sorry for the loss of your friend Bill
I am impressed that you heard Dylan Thomas reciting his own work live
I am impressed that you heard Dylan Thomas reciting his own work live
W.
saoutchik
Join Date: Jan 2015
Location: London
Posts: 16,203
I believe he was only young too (39) what a waste.
Not much understanding of the disease in those days I expect. Poets, Writers etc all seemed to be positively encouraged to drink to excess back then
One good thing, his wife did eventually get sober
Richard Burton reading Under Milk Wood is worth a listen, for RB's voice as well as the poetry
Not much understanding of the disease in those days I expect. Poets, Writers etc all seemed to be positively encouraged to drink to excess back then
One good thing, his wife did eventually get sober
Richard Burton reading Under Milk Wood is worth a listen, for RB's voice as well as the poetry
Last edited by saoutchik; 03-06-2016 at 01:22 PM. Reason: stupid autocorrect
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I am so sorry, Bill, for the loss of you dear friend.
Thank you for the poem; it is a classic.
I am familiar with Virginia country of which you wrote. 'Shenandoah' was one of my mother's favorite songs; I can still hear her singing it, although her voice has long been silenced.
Thank you for the poem; it is a classic.
I am familiar with Virginia country of which you wrote. 'Shenandoah' was one of my mother's favorite songs; I can still hear her singing it, although her voice has long been silenced.
Oh, Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away, I'm bound away,
'cross the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I love your daughter,
Away, you rolling river.
For her I'd cross,
Your roaming waters,
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
'Tis seven years,
since last I've seen you,
And hear your rolling river.
'Tis seven years,
since last I've seen you,
Away, we're bound away,
Across the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
And hear your rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away, we're bound away,
Across the wide Missouri.
I long to see you,
Away you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away, I'm bound away,
'cross the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I love your daughter,
Away, you rolling river.
For her I'd cross,
Your roaming waters,
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
'Tis seven years,
since last I've seen you,
And hear your rolling river.
'Tis seven years,
since last I've seen you,
Away, we're bound away,
Across the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
And hear your rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away, we're bound away,
Across the wide Missouri.
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Soberleigh
My friend lives in Boyce, Va., just south of Berryville, both of which are east of Winchester, VA. A lovely farm for running dogs if they keep away from the cows. I'll go down there in a few weeks.
Bill.
My friend lives in Boyce, Va., just south of Berryville, both of which are east of Winchester, VA. A lovely farm for running dogs if they keep away from the cows. I'll go down there in a few weeks.
Bill.
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Originally Posted by wpainterw
Soberleigh
My friend lives in Boyce, Va., just south of Berryville, both of which are east of Winchester, VA. A lovely farm for running dogs if they keep away from the cows. I'll go down there in a few weeks.
Bill.
My friend lives in Boyce, Va., just south of Berryville, both of which are east of Winchester, VA. A lovely farm for running dogs if they keep away from the cows. I'll go down there in a few weeks.
Bill.
now's the time
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Posts: 2,181
Bill, the way you remember her is beautiful. I'm so sorry for your loss. My grandmother outlived many of her friends. The strength it takes impresses me.
Thank you for sharing the poem, also. It's incredible to imagine him reading it live.
Thank you for sharing the poem, also. It's incredible to imagine him reading it live.
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Posts: 3,163
Bill,
I am thinking of you and your friend and Dylan.
I had always thought the poem was about death, but I guess poetry is about what we perceive, like music.
I hope you will make it down to see her husband, once the funeral is over, the quiet comes for the survivors.
Thinking of you.
I am thinking of you and your friend and Dylan.
I had always thought the poem was about death, but I guess poetry is about what we perceive, like music.
I hope you will make it down to see her husband, once the funeral is over, the quiet comes for the survivors.
Thinking of you.
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