Do not go gentle into that good night

Many years ago I was introduced to the works of Dylan Thomas, through a BBC recording of Under Milk Wood. I originally had a copy on cassette tape, and recently bought a CD version, published by The BBC Radio Collection. Made in 1963, this recording features (a young!) Richard Burton as the narrator, with his rich Welsh voice, and a host of other voices. It starts “To begin at the beginning: It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.” Thomas’ use of the English language in all its richness and variety always brings a lump to my throat.

Thomas was born in Swansea in 1914. In 1952 he wrote the following, during the final illness of his father, D. J. Thomas.

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.

You can listen to the author himself reading this lovely poem on the web at
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377

Dylan Thomas died in New York on 9 November 1953 and is buried in Laugharne.