Ashes of Soldiers (by Walt Whitman)
Ashes of soldiers South or North,
As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought,
The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of the armies.
Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
From cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
From every point of the compass out of the countless graves,
In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos or threes or
single ones they come,
And silently gather round me.
Now sound no note O trumpeters,
Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses,
With sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah
my brave horsemen!
My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils were yours.)
Nor you drummers, neither at reveille at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial,
Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlike drums.
But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded promenade,
Admitting around me comrades close unseen by the rest and voiceless,
The slain elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive,
I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead soldiers.
Faces so pale with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet,
Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms of countless lost,
Invisible to the rest henceforth become my companions,
Follow me ever—desert me not while I live.
Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living—sweet are the musical
voices sounding,
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead with their silent eyes.
Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone,
But love is not over—and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising, up from the foetor arising.
Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love,
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride.
Perfume all—make all wholesome,
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.
Give me exhaustless, make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go like a moist perennial dew,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers South or North.





"I will say then that I am not, nor ever have been in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races,that I am not nor ever have been in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I as much as any other man am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race. "
Lincoln, Abraham
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It's interesting what folks will say to get votes - whether they mean it or not. At least I hope Lincoln didn't mean it. Thanks for sharing this, Charles!
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Jesus John,
Love this poem. I recently read Whitman suffered a physical breakdown, most likely attributable to his service nursing wounded soldiers during the Civil War. Whitman as wounded vet!
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Thanks, Philip! I've heard at least one person question Whitman's qualifications for writing so much about war when he never bore arms in battle. But you make an excellent observation. He did fight, in his own fashion, and he bore wounds (not only physical) to prove it. I believe he was immensely qualified.
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I'm glad there were some comments here before I went to write mine.... they shared some background info I did not know in my ignorance about Whitman.
Do people have to experience war personally to be qualified to write are have an opinion about it? It makes me want to ask that question now after what was shared.
I found his words and images regarding the "perfume of death or ashes" both romantic and gruesome both.. in a strange sort of way... but powerful too.
And a new word for me... foetor.. never heard that before... thanks.
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Thank you, Chris!
Good question....
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http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/foetor
also this link is on the new BUZZZ poem
just nerves not meant an odor there JC
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Actually I had looked it up.. so knew what it meant.. but it was new till today.
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This is the first chance I've had to take a look at the jc library and I was brought to tears by Whitman's poem.
I have a great interest in the Civil War and in particular Civil War nursing, particularly women in nursing. I knew Whitman was a nurse; more men were than women. But wasn't familiar with this poem and was very touched by it and his understanding of the great waste of the dead on both sides, but also that they are there with him and he knew them and their value as a symbol.
Many others served as nurses, civilians could and did serve all the time then. Louisa May Alcott was a nurse and nearly died from exhaustion and disease caught working with the wounded and dying. Many other nurses did die.
As for whether it is possible to write about war if you've never experienced it, Stephen Crane never fought in a battle and he wrote "The Red Badge of Courage." Dalton Trumbo was never a soldier and he wrote "Johnny Got His Gun." Pat Barker is a happy little English woman (born in the middle of WWII) and she wrote the Regeneration Trilogy, an incredible series of books about the Great War and the poets Sigfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, and Wilfred Owens.
So I think that the human imagination is capable of creating a world that is universal enough, human enough, to speak to the experience of war, regardless of the actual temporal experience of the individual writer. It's the quaility of their creativity and imagination as to whether those who have been through combat can accept that what is written is true to what they, the veterans, personally experienced. I think that's called verisimilitude.
(I will not shut up with the Friday night lecture and go back to my regularly scheduled programming...)
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