I is for Invictus

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

This is among my favorite poems.  I first encountered it in 1984 in a graduate level Literature class featuring the works of Andre Gide and Jean Cocteau in which we read Strait is the Gate.  I can't say I remember Gide's work at all, but I remember the poem that gave that work its title and I remember the prof who taught that class.  He was a breath of fresh air in the stale air of Western education.  This professor from Cambridge.   He taught me to write.  Or rather he un-taught everything that education had weighted me down with when it came to writing.  Opening paragraph stating theme.  Subsequent paragraphs supporting the theme.  Closing paragraph.  What utter drivel!  And how he hated it.  Papers written in this style came back with F's.  He would quietly sit me down and explain that he didn't want me to write as I had been taught, but to really think about the work and approach it from a tangent.  I can remember the reading load 3-4 novels/week and a paper on top of that.  I whined against the load, but I did it.  Week after week.  I wanted a better grade.  But mostly I wanted to impress him.   I spent hours mulling topics and discarding them by the thousands, writing and hoping for something to come back with a decent grade.  I dreamed of a B, but was content with a C.  I can still recall how ecstatic I was to get a paper back that had scrawled in the margin.  "This is an excellent thought."  Nothing more.  Grade B.  Toward the end of the semester, I got one back that had written just below the A- at the top.  "The unorthodox approach to the subject was beautifully written."  I had finally written something that he liked! There are still times when I write that I feel him lean over and point out cliche, uninteresting word choices and bad writing of all sorts.  But there are just as many times where I hear him say "beautifully written." N.B.  Timothy McVey almost ruined this poem for me by choosing to have it read at his execution.  But like good poetry it outlives things like that.  It retains most favored status.