Rage Against the dying of the light

For as long as I can remember I've always been the last one to bed. Might have a little something to do with the fact that I am a confirmed insomniac. Or am I an insomniac because I don't want to go to sleep? Here I am, at 12:30 AM writing this post while my family is tucked under the covers, fast asleep. It's just always been that way for me.

My song "Stay up with me Tonight" was inspired by Dylan Thomas' poem "Do not go gentle into that good night." Perhaps I have taken it a bit farther to say "do not go gentle into that good light!" While many people think of the over 50 crowd to be early-to-bed-early-to-rise types, I have seen my fair share of sunrises and called them bedtime. Sometimes it's just me on my own, I feel most creative at night! But it's so much more fun when I'm not alone - hence, the song. Stay up with me tonight!

So I rage on unwilling to quietly give in to the night/light. In "Stay Up"  I sing "we'll rage against the light" and by that I meaning morning. Although, there was that time, years ago in Barcelona... we danced all night until 8 AM well past sunrise when the young folk were just arriving! Ah, I have lived. And live I will continue to do until...

In my father's last days, I read this poem to him before I would leave him. Don't get me wrong, my dad could sleep through an earthquake. But he also lived his life to its fullest. He could rage like the best of 'em. I suppose I inherited a scary combo. My mother's insomnia, and my father's ability to party and tolerate Scotch. I miss them both terrible. Sun, Moon, & Stars, Mom.  Gus am bris an là, Dad.  This poem is always for you.

​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.

P.S. The ghost of Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, is reported to haunt the White Horse Tavern in Greenwich Village.