Analytical Paper 2 (Long Poetry and War)
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wellownedbkupWalt Whitman v. T. S. Eliot, Views on War
March 2009
In section 18 of Walt Whitman’s "Song of Myself", he writes about the “trill of a thousand clear cornets… great marches for conquered and slain persons.” By looking closely at the differences in the sounds of war in section 18 of Song of Myself and ‘“What the Thunder Said”’ in T S Eliot’s "The Waste Land", we can see how the view of war has changed over the course of time.
Both Whitman and Eliot were familiar with the casualties and the ravages of war: Whitman at the hands of the Civil War, Eliot at the hands of World War I. They had an acquaintance with the losses incurred by the warring armies, Whitman becoming intimately more familiar with such events. What they saw when faced with destruction and the cruel face of war shaped their poetry and reflected their views on what was born from these tragic events.
In section 18 of Whitman’s "Song of Myself", he speaks of a march, not for the victors of this war only, but for all those who fell victim to a bloodthirsty conflict between North and South. During his time in Virginia and Washington in 1862, Whitman ministered to Union and Confederate soldiers alike, tending to their wounds and providing himself as their servant as needed. During his tenure at the army paymaster’s office, he saw the suffering met by both sides of the war, comforted those on the verge of dying and showed compassion to those who did not receive it anywhere else.
Whitman continues on in section 18 for these fallen men, ‘sounding triumphal drums for the dead… to those who failed… to all overcome heroes.’ Though somewhat brief in length, section 18 shows itself to be full of pride for any and all who took part in the war, all who risked their life for their beliefs, whether they were defeated or whether they stood victors in that battle. The tone of this section of the poem is larger than life, containing syllables that catch on the teeth like a snare drum. The consonance of the ‘s’ sound in such words as embouchures, gayest, vessels, “those themselves who sank in the sea,” and so forth call to mind the sound of a drum line, sounding off at a funeral for the fallen.
Whitman eulogizes all those lost in the war, giving them their just due. He speaks for all the fallen, “the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known,” not prejudiced to either side of the war. For Whitman, though the war was bloody and full of suffering, the sound of it was the sound of a brass march, a snare drum line, a victorious noise.
In Eliot’s "The Waste Land", Whitman’s joyful noise is conspicuously absent. Instead of beginning with the war finished, Eliot brings the reader into the heart of the action. In section V, “What the Thunder Said”, Eliot begins by describing the report of cannon and gunfire to those who were living, but are now dying, calling it the “reverberation/ of thunder… over distant mountains.” This is ominous indeed in consideration of the reading of Whitman singing the praises of all the fallen. These fallen men have no one drinking to their glorious fall in Valhalla, like the Vikings of old, no toasts being sung in their honor. Eliot paints a desolate picture, one of a land with no water and only rock, “dead mountain mouth of carious teeth” and an endless wasteland where there is not a single place to rest.
Where are Whitman’s leaves of grass? His uncut hair of graves? Eliot writes the following:
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Here— referencing Whitman’s imagery in section 5 of "Song of Myself" —is the desolation that Eliot sees inherent to war. There is no “hopeful green stuff,” no “scented gift and remembrancer” from God, as Whitman describes it. Here, the grass itself is dry, lifeless in the face of shouting and crying and war. Eliot says that ‘there is no water,’ no hope to even rejuvenate the grass to resemble what Whitman describes. Life doesn’t seem to exist here.
Eliot wishes there were even the sound of water, describes the drip-drop of it in sharp contrast to the whisper of dry grass and song of the cicada. There’s no joyful noise or march to commemorate the fallen. Further in “What the Thunder Said”, Eliot instead talks of the sound high in the air—the “murmur of maternal lamentation.” The triumph of Whitman’s drum riff to the fallen gives way to a constant weeping, like white noise—quiet, but unceasingly present.
The sounds of lamentation and outcry crescendo with Eliot, a dirge to the fallen. Women ‘fiddle whisper music on their hair,’ bats whistle and bat their wings. The sound is nearly deafening, like thunder, with tolling bells and “voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.” Here, Eliot uses a similar consonance to the aforementioned section of Whitman’s work, a repeated ‘s’ sound, but to a different effect than discussed in Whitman. Now, there are no drum rolls dedicated to the fallen, just a sibilant hiss of dry grass, no hope in a waterless region.
Clearly, Eliot’s view of World War I, with all its destruction and needless bloodshed, is a far darker outlook than we see with Whitman. Whitman still sees hope and continues to share an idea of triumph against seemingly insurmountable odds. He paints a picture of green grass, life and hope, even though both the ‘righteous and unrighteous’ have fallen. Eliot, on the other hand, sees nothing but waste and sadness, oppression and destruction. World War I was unlike any war the world had seen, dark and more bloody than all the wars leading to it. The Wasteland paints a blackened view of the war, infinitely more disheartened than Whitman’s "Song of Myself".
What of today? Surely the writers of today have this in mind when they write about the War in Iraq, the War on Terror. So many today speak against the war, against the needless killings, the fallen soldiers on either side, the directionless fighting. How do they sound? Do they play a triumphant march for the dead? Do they give us a land of no water, only rock? As the view on war has changed, the language has most assuredly followed.
March 2009
In section 18 of Walt Whitman’s "Song of Myself", he writes about the “trill of a thousand clear cornets… great marches for conquered and slain persons.” By looking closely at the differences in the sounds of war in section 18 of Song of Myself and ‘“What the Thunder Said”’ in T S Eliot’s "The Waste Land", we can see how the view of war has changed over the course of time.
Both Whitman and Eliot were familiar with the casualties and the ravages of war: Whitman at the hands of the Civil War, Eliot at the hands of World War I. They had an acquaintance with the losses incurred by the warring armies, Whitman becoming intimately more familiar with such events. What they saw when faced with destruction and the cruel face of war shaped their poetry and reflected their views on what was born from these tragic events.
In section 18 of Whitman’s "Song of Myself", he speaks of a march, not for the victors of this war only, but for all those who fell victim to a bloodthirsty conflict between North and South. During his time in Virginia and Washington in 1862, Whitman ministered to Union and Confederate soldiers alike, tending to their wounds and providing himself as their servant as needed. During his tenure at the army paymaster’s office, he saw the suffering met by both sides of the war, comforted those on the verge of dying and showed compassion to those who did not receive it anywhere else.
Whitman continues on in section 18 for these fallen men, ‘sounding triumphal drums for the dead… to those who failed… to all overcome heroes.’ Though somewhat brief in length, section 18 shows itself to be full of pride for any and all who took part in the war, all who risked their life for their beliefs, whether they were defeated or whether they stood victors in that battle. The tone of this section of the poem is larger than life, containing syllables that catch on the teeth like a snare drum. The consonance of the ‘s’ sound in such words as embouchures, gayest, vessels, “those themselves who sank in the sea,” and so forth call to mind the sound of a drum line, sounding off at a funeral for the fallen.
Whitman eulogizes all those lost in the war, giving them their just due. He speaks for all the fallen, “the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known,” not prejudiced to either side of the war. For Whitman, though the war was bloody and full of suffering, the sound of it was the sound of a brass march, a snare drum line, a victorious noise.
In Eliot’s "The Waste Land", Whitman’s joyful noise is conspicuously absent. Instead of beginning with the war finished, Eliot brings the reader into the heart of the action. In section V, “What the Thunder Said”, Eliot begins by describing the report of cannon and gunfire to those who were living, but are now dying, calling it the “reverberation/ of thunder… over distant mountains.” This is ominous indeed in consideration of the reading of Whitman singing the praises of all the fallen. These fallen men have no one drinking to their glorious fall in Valhalla, like the Vikings of old, no toasts being sung in their honor. Eliot paints a desolate picture, one of a land with no water and only rock, “dead mountain mouth of carious teeth” and an endless wasteland where there is not a single place to rest.
Where are Whitman’s leaves of grass? His uncut hair of graves? Eliot writes the following:
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Here— referencing Whitman’s imagery in section 5 of "Song of Myself" —is the desolation that Eliot sees inherent to war. There is no “hopeful green stuff,” no “scented gift and remembrancer” from God, as Whitman describes it. Here, the grass itself is dry, lifeless in the face of shouting and crying and war. Eliot says that ‘there is no water,’ no hope to even rejuvenate the grass to resemble what Whitman describes. Life doesn’t seem to exist here.
Eliot wishes there were even the sound of water, describes the drip-drop of it in sharp contrast to the whisper of dry grass and song of the cicada. There’s no joyful noise or march to commemorate the fallen. Further in “What the Thunder Said”, Eliot instead talks of the sound high in the air—the “murmur of maternal lamentation.” The triumph of Whitman’s drum riff to the fallen gives way to a constant weeping, like white noise—quiet, but unceasingly present.
The sounds of lamentation and outcry crescendo with Eliot, a dirge to the fallen. Women ‘fiddle whisper music on their hair,’ bats whistle and bat their wings. The sound is nearly deafening, like thunder, with tolling bells and “voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.” Here, Eliot uses a similar consonance to the aforementioned section of Whitman’s work, a repeated ‘s’ sound, but to a different effect than discussed in Whitman. Now, there are no drum rolls dedicated to the fallen, just a sibilant hiss of dry grass, no hope in a waterless region.
Clearly, Eliot’s view of World War I, with all its destruction and needless bloodshed, is a far darker outlook than we see with Whitman. Whitman still sees hope and continues to share an idea of triumph against seemingly insurmountable odds. He paints a picture of green grass, life and hope, even though both the ‘righteous and unrighteous’ have fallen. Eliot, on the other hand, sees nothing but waste and sadness, oppression and destruction. World War I was unlike any war the world had seen, dark and more bloody than all the wars leading to it. The Wasteland paints a blackened view of the war, infinitely more disheartened than Whitman’s "Song of Myself".
What of today? Surely the writers of today have this in mind when they write about the War in Iraq, the War on Terror. So many today speak against the war, against the needless killings, the fallen soldiers on either side, the directionless fighting. How do they sound? Do they play a triumphant march for the dead? Do they give us a land of no water, only rock? As the view on war has changed, the language has most assuredly followed.
