True Poetry

Again, I'm sorry to say that it's been quite some time since my previous post. I am, of late, preoccupied with studying Chinese in Taiwan. Any blogging that I've been doing is for my other blog. Recent events, however, have me thinking more about linguistic magic than Chinese studies, so here we all are.

The magic I speak of is the ability of words to hit so soundly on the intangible. That is, to refer to things far outside of the realm of the physical. I wrote in a previous entry that some things are simply incapable of being expressed with words. On the other hand, though, words can be bafflingly good at pinning down things bigger than the here and now. The example that comes to mind is a poem by Dylan Thomas called Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. And boy, it's a good one. Before we take a look, however, I'd like to share a bit about what I've been considering lately.

The realm of my understanding is most certainly composed almost completely of the here and now. There's no denying that I can rarely transcend the physical realm, just as much of my language has a concrete physical referant. "Shoe" refers to that thing that you put on your foot. Perhaps your concept of shoe-ness is complete with laces, a sole, and even a little tag by which you pull the heal onto your foot, as mine is. Even abstract words. Like love for example; for me it's usually conceptualized or rationalized by thinking of actions. Or perhaps the definition has to do with feelings, which again, grounds the word to some type of here-and-now-ness.

The mere fact that I have the ability to consider that "love" has an intangible, irrational, or incomprehensible quality leads me to believe that somehow, there is something beyond the here-and-now. Perhaps this "thing beyond" is merely some sense of social sentiments, or, as some philosophers call it, "fellow-feelings." Perhaps it's a collective consciousness or collective intelligence. Perhaps it really is God's Higher Purpose for our lives, after all. Whatever it is, I think it is. And that's all I can really say.

Because we humans can conceive of these things, and because we need a way to talk about them, and because the way we talk is with words, words are able to point beyond the physical realm. Poetry, good poetry, I think, is the most important method of doing so.

I think I can feel that bigger thing when I read Thomas's poem. I feel like this spectacular thing that we call life - the animating spark of the physical, the something that makes us breathe and laugh, and write poetry - is very precious. And its ceasing is to be lamented with fierce, burning tears of indignation. This poem, points so far beyond the words that are used, and it does so loudly, overtly, and unwaveringly. Thats the genius of it.

Here's the poem, after all (and for your listening pleasure a link to hear Thomas himself read it):

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.