INTO THE NIGHT -- A PICTURE PERFECT PRODUCTION

The very first thing that came to mind is Dylan Thomas's poem DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.  I have always liked the poem, have not agreed with it all, but it is one of the great poems.  It was written about his Father who was always an active and independent man, one commentator wrote of him as a "robust and militant man".  I would have liked the commentator to expound on the "militant" part.  Thomas's Father was in his 80s and had become blind and weak, dependent on others, so Dylan is telling his father to rage against it all.  To a certain extent I agree.  Having seem my Father go from active to being cared for in a blink of an eye, after a sudden stroke. It is hard for a strong active man, such an independent man, coming to terms with  having to rely on others.  Dad had hunted and fished, camped, backpacked,  built his first home, built his and Mom's retirement cabin,  was a mechanic, traveled the country over.  It is still hard to deal with after all this years that he has been gone, the loss of a Father and a friend.  We wanted him to fight and fight he did.  But there comes a time, in all our lives where we have to say:  "I am tired; I am tired,  I am ready to go home." 

The picture was taken in Pacific Grove Cemetery.  The shadows are long, the sun is going down, the light is fading. . .

John

 

The camera used was a Kodak TAMI

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Dylan Thomas

Oct. 27th, 1914 --- Nov. 9th, 1953

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.

 

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