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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 20:10:50 GMT
Totally irrelevant ... but praise where it's deserved for Thomas's great poem from which the title is derived.
Rog
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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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 20:14:45 GMT
It seems that boating brings out the arsonist in all men, who cannot resist lighting fires at any gathering, rally or other joint social occasions. Usually this ends up on a much bigger scale than one in a tiny (comparatively) stove. I will always hold dear the memory of my old man, when he was still part of our family rather than someone else's, setting fire to a load of brambles he wanted to clear in our enormous garden. Early 80s I would have been about 9 years old. Can of petrol, the old red metal ones, pour petrol over the brambles, match, the ship type - throw it onto the petrol , oops you should have seen him move! It did get rid of the brambles though. In my experience it is better to mix a bit of two stroke oil in with petrol otherwise it tends to do the wrong thing.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 20:32:34 GMT
Totally irrelevant ... but praise where it's deserved for Thomas's great poem from which the title is derived. Rog 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. I chose that silly title (for what I hoped would be a light hearted and only semi-serious discussion) because a few days ago I was pondering the meanings of the poem, and its haunting words stayed with me. Death of course will come to us all. There are no exceptions, although sometimes it seems that there are stays of execution- at least for a while. At first I questioned Thomas' approach- after all, why should one rage against something that is utterly inevitable for every human that has ever lived? When one is struck by a terrible life-threatening injury or illness, and there is a chance of recovery, that is different. A fighting spirit has probably saved many lives that would have been lost to deadly sicknesses. But at the natural end of life (assuming one agrees there is such a thing), what good does it do to rage and struggle in one's hospital bed? Would it take away some of the dignity of death, if one raged and fought at the very end? Or would one be a hero for that? Either way, I only realised recently that Thomas was referring to his father, whom he wanted to fight against the death that threatened him. He wrote those words because he had wanted his father to continue living, and to fight against encroaching death. That makes the words and the sentiment of the poem more understandable, at least to me. Whether Thomas himself would have felt like raging against death in his older years I have no idea, but I feel the sentiment he expresses is not that all of us as individuals should rebel against death- or at least not when it comes in our elderly years. Should we go quietly and with dignity, or attempt to fight death until the end? Who knows- perhaps it is a matter of personal taste and feeling. But certainly, it is a question that we shall all get the opportunity to consider, when the time comes.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 20:44:02 GMT
I reckon the most important thing is to die while enjoying oneself.
I don't know what sort of percentage of people end up having this good fortune but it seems a sensible approach.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 20:54:24 GMT
Whilst your post is bang on @tonyc , I like to think of it in a less literal sense ... to resist or refuse to accept inevitability ... in praise of the indomitable nature of the human spirit ... either way it's a truly great piece of work.
Rog
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 21:13:24 GMT
"The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?"
The Rime of the ancient mariner.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 21:48:37 GMT
"The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?" The Rime of the ancient mariner. If I believed in reincarnation, I think I would be convinced you were a mariner in several previous lives. It also makes me wonder why you've not yet succumbed to the temptation to spend your time sailing offshore.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 22:13:22 GMT
Whilst your post is bang on @tonyc , I like to think of it in a less literal sense ... to resist or refuse to accept inevitability ... in praise of the indomitable nature of the human spirit ... either way it's a truly great piece of work. Rog I'm gutted that my only time spent studying poetry was doing Keats in Eng Lit, with his poncy verbiage about about seasons of mist and mellow fruitfulness, and talk of vines and thatch-eaves that evoke images of rural England which meant nothing to an inner city lad in the 70s. If only we'd studied a real poet like Dylan Thomas- a poet of passion and of the people. I think of Keats as I think Evelyn Waugh's books- beautifully and sensitively crafted works of high art, created by a peerless master of language, and yet still somehow inhabited by cold, and lacking a human emotional connection when compared to the likes of Dylan Thomas. During lockdown I watched Waiting for Godot again for the first time in decades (it appeared in my playlist on youtube- I cant claim to have sought it out), and I was amazed at how a play about two men doing nothing tangible could create such a depth of emotion. This version is worth a watch:
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 22:37:41 GMT
like restless gossameres?" . If I believed in reincarnation, I think I would be convinced you were a mariner in several previous lives. It also makes me wonder why you've not yet succumbed to the temptation to spend your time sailing offshore. It's a woman problem.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:10:54 GMT
If I believed in reincarnation, I think I would be convinced you were a mariner in several previous lives. It also makes me wonder why you've not yet succumbed to the temptation to spend your time sailing offshore. It's a woman problem. In my own case, when I look back over things, I'm struck by the feeling that in most cases, I created more problems for the women in my life than they ever created for me. By and large, women really are the most thoughtful and caring people I've met. They aspire to create harmony, romance, and beauty in their lives and their relationships, but they have to constantly manage the often brutish and harsh realities of life in our modern society, and with the men who inhabit it. It amazes me sometimes that they even bother with us, we can be such dickheads at times. Present company excepted, of course.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:11:25 GMT
Totally irrelevant ... but praise where it's deserved for Thomas's great poem from which the title is derived. Rog 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. I chose that silly title (for what I hoped would be a light hearted and only semi-serious discussion) because a few days ago I was pondering the meanings of the poem, and its haunting words stayed with me. Death of course will come to us all. There are no exceptions, although sometimes it seems that there are stays of execution- at least for a while. At first I questioned Thomas' approach- after all, why should one rage against something that is utterly inevitable for every human that has ever lived? When one is struck by a terrible life-threatening injury or illness, and there is a chance of recovery, that is different. A fighting spirit has probably saved many lives that would have been lost to deadly sicknesses. But at the natural end of life (assuming one agrees there is such a thing), what good does it do to rage and struggle in one's hospital bed? Would it take away some of the dignity of death, if one raged and fought at the very end? Or would one be a hero for that? Either way, I only realised recently that Thomas was referring to his father, whom he wanted to fight against the death that threatened him. He wrote those words because he had wanted his father to continue living, and to fight against encroaching death. That makes the words and the sentiment of the poem more understandable, at least to me. Whether Thomas himself would have felt like raging against death in his older years I have no idea, but I feel the sentiment he expresses is not that all of us as individuals should rebel against death- or at least not when it comes in our elderly years. Should we go quietly and with dignity, or attempt to fight death until the end? Who knows- perhaps it is a matter of personal taste and feeling. But certainly, it is a question that we shall all get the opportunity to consider, when the time comes. 6/10 for effort. Could do better.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:14:26 GMT
"The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?" The Rime of the ancient mariner. It also makes me wonder why you've not yet succumbed to the temptation to spend your time sailing offshore. You can lead a horse to water...preparations are forging ahead.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:24:27 GMT
It also makes me wonder why you've not yet succumbed to the temptation to spend your time sailing offshore. You can lead a horse to water...preparations are forging ahead. I'm glad to hear it ! Margate here we come. I hear the harbour Bar is good and I once sold a Mercury 4.5 outboard for £26 to someone who has a boat there.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:27:23 GMT
You can lead a horse to water...preparations are forging ahead. I'm glad to hear it ! Margate here we come. I hear the harbour Bar is good and I once sold a Mercury 4.5 outboard for £26 to someone who has a boat there. I hear it can get a bit rough off the North Foreland...
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2021 23:30:15 GMT
Are you worried about that sort of thing?
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