A Riff on Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

A Poem of Vain Regreats

Or

An Old Father’s Answer to his Young Hero

Or

An Ancient’s Obbligato in Homage to

Lawrence Ferlinghetti and

Alan Ginsberg

With whom he should have stood,

O Vain Regret!

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rage at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Death is a leaf detached from its mango tree in our front yard,

Neither glad nor sad nor anything at all but a floating, unattached leaf.

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.

I made some words once that bought tears to the eyes of old Hawaiians: “the bones of the ancestors”; mostly my words might have sparked a flashlight. I know that dark is right. And how I love thee, Dylan Thomas; Alan Ginsberg; Ezra Pound, insane and glorious traitor to our beloved land of the free, sorta; Rex Stout; bits of T. S. Elliot; Chaucer; Nabokov; Sheridan; Janwillem van de Weteering; Bertrand Russell: No one would say "the first President of the United Sates was the first President of the United States", except one who had an unusual passion for th Law of Identity; e. e. cummings [e. e. commings! The Enormous Room! Lightning bolts all around!!

pity this busy monster, manunkind

not.;

Shakespeare’s sonnets; Gertrude Stein; Robert Chote [Robert Chote!?]; Lao Tse; Thorn Smith; Joseph Heller: “There’re gonna get you, Clever. They’re gonna get all the Jews.” “But I’m not a Jew!” “Doesn’t matter. They’re gonna get you anyway.”; “But that’s not the kind of God I don’t believe in! The kind of God I don’t believe in is good and kind and generous!”; [Curses on Aristotle and all his progeny!]; FDR, JFK, LBJ, and Barack Hussein Obama; Brian Greene, who would be president in a sane world; Roberto Calasso, whom no one has read, but should; Pogo; all the blessed rest!

The oldest poem there is, though here not in it’s original Greek:

“I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.

Why I do not I cannot tell.

But this I know and know full well,

I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.”

How I love each of you; you ease my way into night with tears of joy and gladness! How grateful I am for the lightnings you have forked!

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.

I am not a good man, but I am a good-enough man; I have danced in Diamond Head and at Diamond Head Circle, in Milolii on Kauai’s North Shore, in Palolo, in Kaimuki, on Oahu’s North Shore, in court conference rooms, in Austin, in Korea, in Alaska, at the foot of the Mendenhall Glacier, with those I have loved and lost and those still here: I cherish the memories of each dance step; each is newly made with each memory; each new dance – the steps now slow and cautious – is vital and precious; there are no vain regrets.

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.

I thought, once, I had caught the sun in flight. I hadn’t. I reached for it and fell. I did feel it’s warm glow. I am forgiven by me. Perhaps.

I approach the sad heights. Who knows what wonders, what horrors, await?

At the end will waves of doubt and regret o’whelm my frail bark , casting me into swirls of madness and grief? I can feel the uneasy currents writhing underneath. If I sink into them, will I embrace them as the old friends I have for so long fended off with reason and manners; will I finally embrace the irrational core?

I guess so. I hope so. It would feel good to do so.

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.

I’ve never been a grave man. And yes. This one hurts. I do regret the fearful cowardliness that has to often blinded me, dulled the gay step I could have taken. We’ll see what tomorrow and tomorrow bring. There's time, yet. I shall dare to eat a peach.

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.

I could wish that from my father, now. When he was old and I was young, his rage would have sacred the wits out of me. I hope my children and loved ones do not wish, in vain, for whatever I have to give, at the end.

Beards in Beautiful Tajikistan

The Northern Alliance, which by report makes up most of Afghanistan’s military and which is the strongest fighting force in the country, is made up mainly of Tajiks. The Tajiks in Afghanistan are close, and closely related, to Tajiks in Tajikistan, just across the porous northern border.

Tajiks on both sides of the border hate the Taliban, who tried to take over Tajikistan after the War with the Soviets had been won. The two civil wars ruined a beautiful and — for Muslims – moderate country. To be fair -- as all good Liberals must be -- Talibs also hate moderation. As do some Christians here at home. And some atheists I could name.

However, the Taliban is resurgent in Tajikistan. The government, to oppose them, is pursuing men with beards, to shave 'em.

If Tajikistan falls, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan will fall, according to Nixon's infallible Domino Theory. What! You don't know what a "Nixon" is? Ah, youth. Well, it was thought to be a person with a theory -- a proven fact, really -- that if we let South Vietnam become Communist, all of Asia would Follow Suit, as dominoes fall when stacked end on end. A law of nature really. And that's just what happened! Thailand, Laos, India, Pakistan, and all the rest are now controlled by commie pinko rats, just as Nixon predicted! Whataguy.

Ich bin ein Tajik! As well as a Palestinian.

Or would be but for my beard.

Palestinians love beards; Tajiks don't trust 'em: what’s a Liberal to do?

__________________

Here are some pics of Tajikistan and Tajiks, to support my contention that it is a beautiful country. But first, a map:

What an oddly-shaped country! Note the odd Afghanistan spur that separates Tajikistan from Pakistan, created by the British who didn't want any prat of Tajikistan to touch British India, as it was then. The spur has a deep ravine guarded by steep mountains, and was the Uighurs' main connection with the outside world until the kindly Han ethnic group -- the largest in China; the largest in the world -- forced its closing.

Ich bin ein Uighur also, for that matter. "Come in. I contain multitudes." Krishna Fluting, John Barry (1959). Made an impression, as you can see.

Migrant Tajiks working in Russia because there isn't enough work at home.

This is as it was in my home town, before machines took over.

And football, as always, everywhere.

In 2005, Farrukh Berdiev made a spectacular save in a game against India, winning the game. His fame is assured for life.

Tajik President Emomali Rahmon's eldest son, Rustam Emomali, plays on this team, which he recently formed. You can see the close family resemblance to George W. Bush, who also had a dad and a team.

Hazara, Afghanistan, and the Good North Americans

The Hazara are a small tribe in Central Afghanistan, much persecuted by the majority Pashtun. Many have fled to foreign climes, where they have been educated and learned skills. We North Americans have protected the Hazara's civil rights and provided a safe home for them. Many have returned and are doing well in good paying jobs. They like North Americans in spite of our being, mostly, non-Muslim; and are thankful for our being in Afghanistan.

Click here to hear some folk singing by a Hazara young man. It's not pleasing to my ear, but the audience loves it.

If we leave and leave Afghanistan to the tender mercies of Hamid Karzai and his friends, the Hazara future is dim at best.

This is only one of the many reasons why I'm happy enough that I'm not President Obama, and offer him my full support.

For a short history of the Hazara, click here.

Here are some pics kipped from the Web. Naturally I focus on Football.

North Afticans living in Francae

If you've read the Aljazeera piece cited in the last blog, you know that Nicolas Sarkozy refused Ben Ali exile in France -- though Sarkozy wanted to extend the courtesy, because of the large number of Tunisians living in France who oppose Ben Ali.

You knew that lots of North Africans live in Franc, from watching world football: most of the French teams are from North Africa.

If you want a feel for what it may be like to be Muslim North Africans living in France, watch two movies I enjoyed a great deal.

One is Three Dancing Slaves -- which is not about slaves or slavery at all, but an extraordinary slice-of-life take about three brothers living in the beauty of the north of France. Three Dancing Slaves is not a gay-themed movie, but it might as well have been; and worth watching in any case.

Here are some images from the movie:

The other is Le Gran Voyage: a Muslim father orders his unwilling son to drive him from France to Medina, for his required pilgrimage. An astonishing movie in a lot of ways. Highly recommended.

Here are some images from Le Gran Voyage:

Both movies are available from Netflix.