Saturday Morning Dylan
Published December 20, 2008 | 
Paddling & poetry often go together, at least in my crazy head. In paddling poetry is everywhere; In those moments you look up over a break wall to see dark clouds coming from beyond. When you hear a the whistle of a sudden wind against your ear that forces your eyes to scan all directions of the horizon. When a first drop of rain taps on your hull with the sound of a muted snare. When the surf captures you and you realize that you are suddenly without any control. When you find yourself upside down in a dark, airless, cold silence. When the VHF blurts unintelligible static into a moment of thick humid nothing. When the sun sets over a snow covered shore. These are just a few of the sensual moments of paddling that sometimes sing like poetry.
That’s my rationalization for this new habit of Saturday morning poetry. Who knows how long a habit will last, but for the moment it continues. . . Today with Dylan Thomas and “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 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.
- Dylan Thomas
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