During my life long studies of songs and where they come from. I have focused in particular on Guy Clark. And I found similarities such as. He liked to gamble. I've kind of always gambled, and enjoyed it at times. I guess so much that I'm still studying it. He liked Townes songs, as do I. Rodney Crowell and Steve E were his homeboys. I wish they were mine. I count that as a similarity. Guy loved a good strong song. As do I. Guy built guitars to help him write better songs. Hey, that's me. Verlon is my friend. So we share that.
Guy also raised some hell, from what I can tell. And I've been close to that a time or two myself. And I'm talking about staying up late at night. So late, that it just turns into the next day. Passing songs around, or just sea storms with stories in them, and getting deep in the spirits. Maybe we (Guy and I) found more song ideas there, or the opportunities to catch one. I'm not sure about that one yet either. Still studying it.
But I am sure that I read one time that Guy dove deep into Dylan Thomas. So I did too. I read his poems, I even listened to recordings of Thomas reading his own work. And when one would come up on my shuffle, while I was in mixed company, just having a good time in my shop or in the van on the road. I would get weird looks. And I would usually say something along the lines of, “It's one of my professors, in this class I'm taking.”
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 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.
My buddy Merrol Ray pretty much says the same thing in “Dancing Hard”.
Look it up, it's out there. And it's great.
MO
3/14/25
