Day II, Literary Tour

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.

-- Dylan Thomas


We meet at the White Horse, where Dylan Thomas drunk himself to death with 18 shots of whiskey. Monica relates graffiti from the women's room: "We drank more."

Our tour winds down Bleecker. We learn about wealthy Bohemian, Joe Gould, who told people that he was writing an "Oral History," composed of 20,000 conversations and 9,000,000 words. Here is an excerpt of his writing:


June 7, 1946: "I saw Bele De Triefant. He said he had a pair of shoes for me. I had an ale at the Minetta."
June 8: "De Triefant had not brought the shoes. I had a drink at the Minetta."
June 11: "I saw De Triefant. He had shoes for me. I took them. I went to the Minetta. I drank."
June 12: "I went to Goody's. I had some beers. I lost my shoe. I went to the Minetta."


We are inspired to seek the writing of Lillian Hellman and, upon return, I request "Children's Hour (1953)" from the library. We decide that Militant Children's Hour, a Bay area one man band, has probably read it.

Monica recites one of her favorite poems to me.


Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-- Edgar Allan Poe


The best attractions in Manhattan are not necessarily on the NY Pass.