Blog Dis
The rebel's edge...
2026-04-21
"Don't go gentle into that good night," penned Dylan Thomas, a Welsh poet and author; regarded as one of the most wildly revered and recognized poems on the subject of old age and death. If I'm going to assign the label of rebel to a poet, I'd surely choose Mr. Thomas. He was viewed as a rebel for his works, which raged against complacency and surrender.
Sometimes there's a need to surrender, such as when we surrender ourselves to a horrible fate, or rather to give into our fate, too often more than a finality to some level of strife that we've brought into our life. Rather than point the finger at someone else, to blame them for your woes, which is the cheater's way out, it takes steel nerves, a dose of luck, and perhaps even a breadth of wit to endure this game called life, when all the chess pieces appear to be lining up against your vulnerable Queen. Mr. Thomas had cultivated his reputation the real way, the hard way, by living what he preached, by 'roistering', (an old word that hails from the 16th Century; French in origin to mean ruffian), and to drink until the cows came home, describing himself openly as a doomed poet. This all makes sense when you digest his poetry, which I've done over the years, some of the popular ones, regularly, and other lesser known works in small doses, at different periods.
I've been of the mindset for most of my reading life that books choose you, rather than the other way around. Oh sure. You might have an inkling to hunt for a rare book, a special edition or even a new title, based on a recommendation from a friend, or as in the case of watching a movie that captivates you, which was based on a book, in which case you'll discover the book is superior to the movie. And no. That statement isn't intended to come across as elitist because there's nothing wrong with arriving at this conclusion. You're allowed to have an opinion on any piece of literature or work of art that inspires another artistic medium, such as books inspiring film, and these can lead to musical inspiration when a composer scores the entire film.
But in returning to my point, books find you. Some books will change your views. Others will leave you wanting more, not quite satisfied with how it had all turned out. Books teach you patience too, because the ending isn't being telegraphed to you in fast-paced preview on a streaming service. You've got to embrace your inner-rebel to disregard the norm these days, of persons with incredibly short attention spans who proudly declare, "I haven't read a book in 20 years!" They mean it too. They want you to understand that skimming the surface is their set-point, where they're comfortable, while also, and ironically, assuring you they've got a lot of insight to impart. I've encountered these types. Hell, I've worked with these types, who see themselves as rebels because they don't want to believe they're following the madding crowd. Rather, their idea of being a rebel is to believe that no one has anything of any value to offer them.
Rebels are not a dime a dozen. Rebels hide amongst you. These are the persons who speak up in a crowded boardroom, to contradict the assertions of a leader who is spilling out a defined script, without actually making a connection with anyone. I've been such a person, the one and only rebel in the room, not afraid to speak up. I've argued with a boardroom of leaders because they were ready to promote the 'one team' ideology, which is to say they need everyone to accept that one segment of the team is automatically due to receive special privileges, while another segment of the so-called same 'one-team' is no longer entitled to these privileges, that heretofore were being provided.
Because it's more natural to hide, rather than to show yourself, to expose your opinions to the powers that be, it takes someone in possession of a rebellious spirit to challenge the authority in power. This is what a rebel is supposed to do, to fight the good fight, on behalf of others, rather than just themselves, knowing the inevitable fallout may potentially occur regardless, and to do so without concern for the consequences. Most of us will fall into the category of sheep, and this is no fault of your own, if you take the attitude that I can't do anything to change what's happened vs those who question changes, to in effect make it a fault of their own, to act and to refuse to back down from stepping into the role of rebel.
Literature has known many rebels who've refused to follow, preferring instead to lead, even if it means tearing down their sense of security. In these unpredictable political times, when journalists and war correspondents are being threatened with death, incarceration, litigation, and who've fallen under every other form of harsh fire, from leaders, I look to them to embrace a rebellious spirit, to provide on-site updates that are not politically correct but rather are accurate in their truth. I also regard these persons who embrace the truth as rebels. These high-minded individuals who live for truth are also the same ones who have fewer friends because they're not prepared to subordinate their belief in the truth in order to ensure that they don't lose their friendships. There are but a few political commentary hosts, and even fewer podcasters, who would fit this description too.
Show me a man or woman with few friends, and I'll show you a person who'd rather live a shorter life than to live long, hiding and lying through their teeth, just to keep people happy.
I've been drawn to poetry for decades. Poets for me have penned rebelliousness into verse, knowingly, while Kings and Queens over the centuries have deemed their work unfit for public consumption. Poetry is like uncovering pearls that have long been lost in the dark depths of the oceans. The longest, hardest and most enlightening book I've read on English poetry is called Lives of the Poets by Michael Schmidt. It's a monolithic bastard of a book, as I had taken to calling it; all 1,053 pages. I'm pretty sure that I'm a masochist on some level because I've read this book twice, and have dog-eared numerous pages, where excerpts of some poems have been re-printed, as the author sets about to detail every English poet that had changed the landscape. Don't be deterred by the length of a book. After all, you can only read one page at a time regardless. Instead, absorb and push on, and if you hit a snag and lose the will to continue, then set aside your tough read, for when that time comes around when you're feeling strong to resume.
Through this book, I discovered another English poet by the name of Edith Sitwell (1887-1964). While I was traveling in Scotland, I came across a small nook of a bookstore, literally set into the hillside, in some windy and stormy Scottish highland, a typical barren land that you'd come to expect in Scotland. I was thrilled to see a hardcover for sale, a collection of Edith's work. It was a real find, in retrospect. But stupid-me, at the time, felt a large hardcover would be cumbersome to carry around with me for the rest of my month-long trip in Scotland, Ireland and England.
Regret is the opposite of rebel, I've come to realize. I can't go back to re-create this opportunity, sadly.
Regret means that you didn't rebel against yourself, when your brain second-guesses yourself vs the rebel in you that'll damn the torpedoes and plough on, and you know your life better than anyone, better than any book about your life, that's yet to be written. I rebelled against pretty much every rule laid out for me when I was a pre-teen and wily teenager, more so because I was treated differently as a girl in my household vs how my brothers were treated with greater privileges. I rebelled against the rules to the point of having to lock horns with both authorities in my house: my father and mother. I had no choice, you see. If caught between the rock (rules) and the hard place (punishment), it was a no-brainer for me, to break every rule and suffer the consequences. I still speak out against injustice to this day, regardless of how others will tremble.
Here's one of Edith's poems, printed in Lives of the Poets, page 785.
We might have coupled
In the bedridden monopoly of a moment
Or broken flesh with one another
At the profane communion table
Where wine is spilled on promiscuous lips
We might have given birth to a butterfly
With the daily news
Printed in blood on its wings
My wish for you is that some day, not too far off, you'll be touched by the verse of a poet, who has long been relegated to the past but whose words still resonate in history, into the future and potentially in your mind. For this me, this poet is Walt Whitman, whose free verse was banned in his day for its frank subject-matter. Walt was a rebel too, a rebel with a heart, mind and soul for the truth.
Sometimes there's a need to surrender, such as when we surrender ourselves to a horrible fate, or rather to give into our fate, too often more than a finality to some level of strife that we've brought into our life. Rather than point the finger at someone else, to blame them for your woes, which is the cheater's way out, it takes steel nerves, a dose of luck, and perhaps even a breadth of wit to endure this game called life, when all the chess pieces appear to be lining up against your vulnerable Queen. Mr. Thomas had cultivated his reputation the real way, the hard way, by living what he preached, by 'roistering', (an old word that hails from the 16th Century; French in origin to mean ruffian), and to drink until the cows came home, describing himself openly as a doomed poet. This all makes sense when you digest his poetry, which I've done over the years, some of the popular ones, regularly, and other lesser known works in small doses, at different periods.
I've been of the mindset for most of my reading life that books choose you, rather than the other way around. Oh sure. You might have an inkling to hunt for a rare book, a special edition or even a new title, based on a recommendation from a friend, or as in the case of watching a movie that captivates you, which was based on a book, in which case you'll discover the book is superior to the movie. And no. That statement isn't intended to come across as elitist because there's nothing wrong with arriving at this conclusion. You're allowed to have an opinion on any piece of literature or work of art that inspires another artistic medium, such as books inspiring film, and these can lead to musical inspiration when a composer scores the entire film.
But in returning to my point, books find you. Some books will change your views. Others will leave you wanting more, not quite satisfied with how it had all turned out. Books teach you patience too, because the ending isn't being telegraphed to you in fast-paced preview on a streaming service. You've got to embrace your inner-rebel to disregard the norm these days, of persons with incredibly short attention spans who proudly declare, "I haven't read a book in 20 years!" They mean it too. They want you to understand that skimming the surface is their set-point, where they're comfortable, while also, and ironically, assuring you they've got a lot of insight to impart. I've encountered these types. Hell, I've worked with these types, who see themselves as rebels because they don't want to believe they're following the madding crowd. Rather, their idea of being a rebel is to believe that no one has anything of any value to offer them.
Rebels are not a dime a dozen. Rebels hide amongst you. These are the persons who speak up in a crowded boardroom, to contradict the assertions of a leader who is spilling out a defined script, without actually making a connection with anyone. I've been such a person, the one and only rebel in the room, not afraid to speak up. I've argued with a boardroom of leaders because they were ready to promote the 'one team' ideology, which is to say they need everyone to accept that one segment of the team is automatically due to receive special privileges, while another segment of the so-called same 'one-team' is no longer entitled to these privileges, that heretofore were being provided.
Because it's more natural to hide, rather than to show yourself, to expose your opinions to the powers that be, it takes someone in possession of a rebellious spirit to challenge the authority in power. This is what a rebel is supposed to do, to fight the good fight, on behalf of others, rather than just themselves, knowing the inevitable fallout may potentially occur regardless, and to do so without concern for the consequences. Most of us will fall into the category of sheep, and this is no fault of your own, if you take the attitude that I can't do anything to change what's happened vs those who question changes, to in effect make it a fault of their own, to act and to refuse to back down from stepping into the role of rebel.
Literature has known many rebels who've refused to follow, preferring instead to lead, even if it means tearing down their sense of security. In these unpredictable political times, when journalists and war correspondents are being threatened with death, incarceration, litigation, and who've fallen under every other form of harsh fire, from leaders, I look to them to embrace a rebellious spirit, to provide on-site updates that are not politically correct but rather are accurate in their truth. I also regard these persons who embrace the truth as rebels. These high-minded individuals who live for truth are also the same ones who have fewer friends because they're not prepared to subordinate their belief in the truth in order to ensure that they don't lose their friendships. There are but a few political commentary hosts, and even fewer podcasters, who would fit this description too.
Show me a man or woman with few friends, and I'll show you a person who'd rather live a shorter life than to live long, hiding and lying through their teeth, just to keep people happy.
I've been drawn to poetry for decades. Poets for me have penned rebelliousness into verse, knowingly, while Kings and Queens over the centuries have deemed their work unfit for public consumption. Poetry is like uncovering pearls that have long been lost in the dark depths of the oceans. The longest, hardest and most enlightening book I've read on English poetry is called Lives of the Poets by Michael Schmidt. It's a monolithic bastard of a book, as I had taken to calling it; all 1,053 pages. I'm pretty sure that I'm a masochist on some level because I've read this book twice, and have dog-eared numerous pages, where excerpts of some poems have been re-printed, as the author sets about to detail every English poet that had changed the landscape. Don't be deterred by the length of a book. After all, you can only read one page at a time regardless. Instead, absorb and push on, and if you hit a snag and lose the will to continue, then set aside your tough read, for when that time comes around when you're feeling strong to resume.
Through this book, I discovered another English poet by the name of Edith Sitwell (1887-1964). While I was traveling in Scotland, I came across a small nook of a bookstore, literally set into the hillside, in some windy and stormy Scottish highland, a typical barren land that you'd come to expect in Scotland. I was thrilled to see a hardcover for sale, a collection of Edith's work. It was a real find, in retrospect. But stupid-me, at the time, felt a large hardcover would be cumbersome to carry around with me for the rest of my month-long trip in Scotland, Ireland and England.
Regret is the opposite of rebel, I've come to realize. I can't go back to re-create this opportunity, sadly.
Regret means that you didn't rebel against yourself, when your brain second-guesses yourself vs the rebel in you that'll damn the torpedoes and plough on, and you know your life better than anyone, better than any book about your life, that's yet to be written. I rebelled against pretty much every rule laid out for me when I was a pre-teen and wily teenager, more so because I was treated differently as a girl in my household vs how my brothers were treated with greater privileges. I rebelled against the rules to the point of having to lock horns with both authorities in my house: my father and mother. I had no choice, you see. If caught between the rock (rules) and the hard place (punishment), it was a no-brainer for me, to break every rule and suffer the consequences. I still speak out against injustice to this day, regardless of how others will tremble.
Here's one of Edith's poems, printed in Lives of the Poets, page 785.
We might have coupled
In the bedridden monopoly of a moment
Or broken flesh with one another
At the profane communion table
Where wine is spilled on promiscuous lips
We might have given birth to a butterfly
With the daily news
Printed in blood on its wings
My wish for you is that some day, not too far off, you'll be touched by the verse of a poet, who has long been relegated to the past but whose words still resonate in history, into the future and potentially in your mind. For this me, this poet is Walt Whitman, whose free verse was banned in his day for its frank subject-matter. Walt was a rebel too, a rebel with a heart, mind and soul for the truth.
