When I was 15 I posted a copy of the poem 'Invictus' on my bedroom wall. I had found the poem on the internet and printed it. Written by William Ernest Henley over a hundred years ago, the poem ended with a quatrain that may sound familiar:
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.
The poem was for a long time an obscure one. It was not until convicted terrorist Timothy McVeigh decided to quote Henley's poem as his final public statement before being executed that 'Invictus' carved its place into the realm of public consciousness. Charged with detonating a bomb which killed 168 people in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995, McVeigh was executed by lethal injection in the early morning of June 11, 2001.
Following McVeigh's execution, CNN chose to spend the bulk of its coverage and journalistic expertise on deciphering what exactly McVeigh could have been trying to tell us in choosing Henley's poem as his final words. What was he trying to prove? Is there a chance he could have misinterpreted Henley's message? What did Henley's poem mean, anyway?
McVeigh (left) and W.E. Henley (right)
All of this struck me as an unusual topic of discussion for television newscasters and pundits. Wolf Blitzer was discussing verse. Anderson Cooper was breaking down imagery. The whole thing was actually fascinating. The words of 'Invictus' captivated my attention. I found myself asking similar questions: What did inspire McVeigh to turn to this poem? There was no denying that the poem's four quatrains moved me. They fascinated me. So I printed a copy of the poem and taped it to my bedroom wall.
I am not sure what compelled me to do this. On one level, something about the poem resounded in me. Something about the idea of being 'the master of your fate' despite outside negative forces that bear down on you spoke to my 15-year-old self. Yet at the same time I could not deny its now-perverse association with a terrorist. Posted on my bedroom wall were the final words of a mass murderer. And Mom found them.
I was mowing the lawn in the backyard when she came out holding a sheet of paper, which I knew immediately was the copy from my bedroom. I have rarely experienced my mom's anger, but here was one of those few occasions. She approached me and asked, "What's this doing up in your room?" Her tone made me nervous; I was on the defensive.
"It's a poem I like."
"By Timothy McVeigh?"
"It's not by him, Mom. It's by a poet named Henley. He wrote it a long time ago."
"But on here it says, 'The final statement of Timothy McVeigh.'" A pause. "Do you idolize him?"
"No, mom. It has nothing to do with him. I just like the poem."
Mom considered her next move.
"I don't feel comfortable with this on your wall. That man was a sicko."
"I'll take it down."
I took the sheet from her hands, folded it, and slipped it in my pocket.
She gives me a look of concern now.
"Is there anything you want to tell me? Is everything OK?"
"Yes, mom. I just liked the poem. It has nothing to do with him."
She waited a moment as though she was about to say something more, then said, "OK" and turned away.
What compelled me to post that copy of 'Invictus' on my bedroom wall? More to the point: Why did I not bother to remove the conspicuous reference to McVeigh as a footnote to the poem? As I said, the poem captivated my attention. I was more taken by the poem in itself than by the context of its resurgence in popularity, although its new context certainly did add something to effect the poem had -- and still does have -- on me.
McVeigh was a troubled mind who held a sorry perspective of human life; but his reference to Henley's poem forced me to avoid dismissing this man as completely insane and inhuman. It made me think also of the bizarre workings of the justice system that meted out his punishment. It asked me to consider what was meant by an "unconquerable soul," or what merit there could be in having a head that's "bloody, but unbowed."
I should just out and admit it: a mass murderer introduced me to some damn fine poetry.
***
The whole poem:
Invictus
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.
Sidenote: Henley reportedly penned 'Invictus' after undergoing a leg amputation from complications with tuberculosis. This, coupled with poverty as a child, might explain why Henley would have held this attitude of staying in control of his life in the face of crummy circumstances.
