18
With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches
for conquer’d and slain persons.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in
which they are won.
I beat and pound for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for
them.
Vivas to those who have fail’d!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome
heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest
heroes known!
History is written by victors. The narrative of the defeated is often reduced to their demise with superficial footnotes regarding important names, locations and rough population estimates. In section 18 Whitman presents a song for the conquered; his best song impassioned with beats and pounding it is his loudest and gayest song.
War poetry is as old as poetry itself with notable pieces like Homer’s The Iliad of Ancient Greece or the illustrious Mahabharata, translated as the “Great Epic of the Bharata Dynasty” of Vedic India. It was only after the first world war that this genre of poetry was affirmed. War poetry expanded from the perspective of combatants to the perspective of civilians. Going from what I can describe as clan or tribal praises to questioning the essence of war. Dulce et decorum est by Wilfred Owen comes to mind for a poem that questions war and I’m going to read it to you. Here is
Dulce et decorum est by Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
This poem details Owen’s experience in the first world war, marked by trench warfare and gas attacks. He actually lost his life in combat days before the end of the war and this poem epitomizes all the horrors ultimately to challenge the “old Lie” Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. Translated as “it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country”. Although he was a fighter for the British army this sentiment transcends nationality for the experiences of trudging and cursing through sludge
Were the experiences of combatants on both sides. In the poem he says “All went lame; all blind.” which makes me think of a quote by Bertrand Russel which goes "War does not determine who is right, only who is left" Of course the context of a war matters; who started it and all that, but pin, suffering and loss are the overarching experiences. Speaking of overarching, Whitmans says:
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in
which they are won.
For the most part we know of the stories of conquerors and they are often presented to be aspirational, however Whitman says that the conquered are just as inspiring. This is because battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. The valour of the conqueror is the valour conquered, the heart pounding, fear, and tunnel vision of the conqueror is the heart pounding, fear, and tunnel vision of the conquered. And so Whitman composes a song for the conquered, I beat and pound for the fallen on either side, and to bring in Whitman’s context song of myself had been published in 1855 and by the 1850’s sectional disagreements related to slavery were straining the bonds of union between the North and South in the U.S. and some years onwards there was the American Civil War which had its conquered and conquerors. The section ends with what I’d like to think is a tribute to the all the fallen, from the least esteemed and unrecognised to the most esteemed and recognised it reads;
Vivas to those who have fail’d!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome
heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest
heroes known!