“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.“
I first heard this refrain in Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar from Professor Brand’s (Michael Caine) determined, grave, surreptitious voice. Taking the professor’s word, Cooper and his team leave an increasingly inhospitable earth in search for a new home among the stars. As the Endurance escapes earth’s orbit, the professor says,
“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.“
Like a mantra, this poem reverberates the stubborn perseverance humanity needs to survive. Whether to sustain a terrible lie for a false hope or to betray another for oneself, humanity should rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Some speculate Dylan Thomas wrote this for his ailing father, who passed 5 years after its publication. Thomas’s father suffered throat cancer. Initially, his father survived (beaten?) the cancer but eventually succumbed on the relapse. Did Thomas write this to celebrate his old man’s rage against the dying of the light? Or did he write this to spur his father to continue the fight, to not give in?
I recently came across Michael Sheen’s brilliant performance of this poem. It’s mournful yet resolute, powerful.
The timing is uncanny, today being the death anniversary of my beloved mother, who also suffered cancer (of the brain). I think about this poem. Would I say this to her? Did I ever urge her to live while she quietly yet bravely fought these vile cells ravaging her brain and body?
Do not go gentle into that good night, umma!
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light, umma!
Rage! Rage! Rage!
Rage against the cancer! Rage against the chemo! Rage against hair loss! Rage against organ failure! Rage against memory loss and brain damage. Rage against the pain. Rage against the painkiller.
Rage, rage, rage.
She fought well. “One tough cookie,” as her doctor described her. She glowed peacefully. Her face mournful yet resolute, gentle almost.
With the curtains drawn and alone with her, if given the chance, I would sit and hold her cold hand and say,
lee, sooho 