Do not go gentle in that interview,
Old filmmakers shouldn’t burn and rave at close of box office;
Or rage, rage against the art of those younger than you.
Though wise men at their end know what is right,
Because their art has busted no blocks they
Do not go gentle on that which might.
Good men, the bygone new wave leading lights
Whose early deeds changed old Hollywood ways,
But now they rage against the fading of their light.
Once wild young men brought realism grit into sight,
And learn, too late, they grieve the mainstream way,
Will not obey, it feels like sleight.
Grave men, nearing end, who see with envious sight
New eyes blazing with new things to say,
Rage, rage against the upcoming generation’s might.
And you, their fathers, there on the sad height,
Curse those who followed your fierce trailblazing ways
Try to go gentle into that good night.
Your rage obscures your shining light.
(With apologies to Dylan Thomas)