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.
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.
4 comentarios:
Carles: Un comiat preciós. Tenim la sort de que els poetes ens donin les paraules que sovint ens falten. Estic amb el teu sentiment. Rosa
Fratello,
Buceando en la web sobre este precioso poema, me encuentro que, cuando Dylan Thomas lo escribió, él estaba luchando contra un alcoholismo galopante que le cerraba las puertas a una vida mínimamente digna, amén de sufrir un matrimonio desafortunado. Que el poeta, a pesar de ser celebrado por la crítica de su tiempo, sufrió estrecheces económicas a lo largo de toda su vida, además de problemas mentales desde pequeño. Era, por tanto, un superviviente, como pretende que sea su padre moribundo.
Huelga decir que me he quedado un poco chocado con este análisis, porque no me cuadraba nada con tu situación personal. Sin embargo, la rabia del hijo ante la muerte de su padre no debe circunscribirse sólo al desamparo provocado por situaciones de pobreza material extrema; el poema va mucho más allá y es un ejemplo magnífico de las ganas que todo hijo tiene de que su padre luche contra la parca y, venciéndola, siga acompañándolo en el camino de la vida. Una batalla perdida, pero que no impide expresar de forma tan visceral un deseo compartido.
Me sumo al acertado comentario de Rosa para terminar así mi comentario.
Un abrazo,
fp
Carles,
m'agradaria sumar-me a les condolències dels teus amics.
Una abraçada
Filo
Amics,
Moltes gràcies a tots tres!!
Una abraçada
Carles
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