Williams, Whitman, Tears and Titus, or, Oh Captain, My Captain

By Daniel Stankus on August 19, 2014

There’s been a lot of “Oh Captain, My Captain”-s and “Carpe diem”-s getting tossed around in the wake of Robin Williams’ death. Truth be told, I haven’t seen many of his films (not even Jumanji) but Dead Poet’s Society did strike a particular chord for me, having a penchant for written words and the lyricism associated with song writing and giving meaning to what you say.

I thought of a particular poem, also by Walt Whitman, which is what sparked my mind, and how it was associated with the last time I actually cried; I usually bottle things up. Yeah, sure, I teared up a little when Ygritte got offed in Game of Thrones or when I got a nice letter from a friend while abroad, but this was just a breakdown in a pool of my own eye fluid.

I was alone in my apartment last December, sitting at my kitchen counter working on a final assignment where I had to analyze one of my own short stories. I had stolen a description of the Devil character (“he’ll be seventy-some inches tall/and he’ll be chugging a beer and grabbing his balls”) from a Titus Andronicus song, so I was listening to their album The Monitor.

The U.S.S Monitor
http://www.mikedust.com/fascinatum/2002/fascinatum-070802.html

The song “A Pot in Which to Piss” ends with a voice recording that I didn’t know the origin of at the time. For whatever reason, I started feeling very tingly and decided to look up the words. They’re the end of the Whitman poem “Vigil Strange,” which details a father and son fighting in the American Civil War and the son is killed and after the battle the father returns to bury him.

Knowing that poetry is meant to be read aloud, I did just that. I barely made it through. I was absolutely sobbing. This is my take on Robin Williams.

“Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night”

BY WALT WHITMAN

“Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;

When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,

One look I but gave which your dear eyes return’d with a look I shall never forget,

One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach’d up as you lay on the ground,

Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,

Till late in the night reliev’d to the place at last again I made my way,

Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)

Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,

Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,

Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,

But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,

Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,

Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade—not a tear, not a word,

Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,

As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,

Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,

I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)

Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear’d,

My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop’d well his form,

Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,

And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,

Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,

Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)

Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten’d,

I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,

And buried him where he fell.”

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