I’ve been listening to podcasts and reading books about the American Civil War - 150th anniversary and all - for the last few weeks, so for this week I thought I would pick a poem tied into that conflict. For Civil War era poetry - at least when I’m picking - the choice comes down to Melville or Whitman, and since I’ve shared a Melville piece on a previous Poetry Monday, I’ve decided to go with Uncle Walt today.

Then the question became one of which poem to use. Even though I love  “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”, I decided to go with the shorter but more powerful “O Captain, My Captain!” Maybe it’s the nautical part of my heritage, but there is something about Whitman’s imagery in this piece that really resonates with me. That, and the incredible sadness the poem evokes as the narrator describes the ending of the journey at the same time he describes the death of his Captain. This is the poem I think of when I read about the Lincoln assasination.

On a complete side note - and from the file of things I did not know until I just started searching - this poem was translated into Hebrew in 1995 and set to music and is performed or played in Israel on Yitzhak Rabin Memorial Day. Personal note - I was in DC when Rabin and Arafat were in town for meetings with President Clinton. I know this because I almost got run over by two separate motorcades within the span of 20 minutes. One had little Israeli flags, one had little - what I am assuming were - Palestinian flags.

One last thought - most members of my generation may be overcome with a strong desire to jump up on their desks and recite the title. I’m not going to stop you. Carpe Diem, boys.

O Captain, My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.