poetry

There's always some saving grace in poetry.
And that is something nice.

Yours truly.
M.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan 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 grieve 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.

2009

I found this picture the other day.
This was a brilliant gig. A casual storm carried away the actual stage so the producer got us the keys to this old village hall, and off we went. No mics for no one, everyone was damp as ever. Wet dog smell. And my dress remained in the bag - hence the skiing-jumper and boots.
It was just so lovely. And extraordinary for so many reasons. There were people sat on the stage, including my best friends. And when the cello guys (quartet C-Jam) were doing their solo songs I sat down onto this blanket thing, on the stage, with my friends.
I don't really remember that many of the songs we performed but I remember it.
Hence the photo.

This is THE MOST Captain Obvious thing to say - but it is so entirely right - that however hard you plan, you just cannot know. And more often than not the best things just happen on their own anyway.
And that's kinda great.

With love.M.