Presidents’ Day poetry
[NOTE: Today is Presidents’ Day, and this is a repeat of a previous post.]
I’m not that old, but pedagogical practices in my youth seem absolutely archaic compared to whatever passes for education these days. For starters, we had Washington’s Birthday and Lincoln’s Birthday, and they were on their actual real birthdays: Lincoln on February 12, and Washington on February 22.
Two days off! But they didn’t necessarily fall on Mondays; they fell whenever they fell, and sometimes – alas – they fell on a Saturday or a Sunday.
We also had to memorize terrible patriotic poetry back then, and lots of it. When I say “terrible” I’m not referring to its patriotism, I mean that it just wasn’t very good poetry. I suppose kids weren’t supposed to care about that aspect of it. Also, in those days I was very quick at memorizing poetry and so those early poems have tended to stick. Therefore I have a relatively large load of memorized doggerel to draw on.
One of those poems was about George Washington. To give you an idea of the flavor of what I’m talking about, it started this way: “Only a baby, fair and small…” and then filled the reader in on all the stages of Washington’s life, verse by verse. I had never looked it up online and was skeptical that it could be found, but voila! Here it is; isn’t the internet great?
And I now present it to you as an example of what the New York City schoolchild used to have to memorize and recite. I seem to recall this was in fifth grade:
Only a baby, fair and small,
Like many another baby son,
Whose smiles and tears came swift at call,
Who ate and slept and grew – that’s all,
The infant Washington.
I’ll let you go to the site and see it for yourself. The next verse is for the schoolboy Washington, then we have the lad Washington, then finally man/patriot and a lot of generalities with the only specifics being “surveyor, general, president.” Why so much emphasis on Washington’s boyhood I don’t know; maybe to go with the cherry tree story. But still, at least we were taught to think highly of Washington.
And Lincoln had a poem for memorization, too. It was a better effort than the Washington one, I think, although still not very good and rather creepy at that. I see now that the poem was by Rosemary Benet, apparently the wife of Stephen Vincent Benet.
I have no idea why the poem they had us memorize about Lincoln was not about his accomplishments at all, but rather about the mother who died when he was nine years old. In the poem, she comes back as a ghost and inquires about him. But here it is:
If Nancy Hanks
Came back as a ghost,
Seeking news
Of what she loved most,
She’d ask first
“Where’s my son?
What’s happened to Abe?
What’s he done?”“Poor little Abe,
Left all alone.
Except for Tom,
Who’s a rolling stone;
He was only nine,
The year I died.
I remember still
How hard he cried.”“Scraping along
In a little shack,
With hardly a shirt
To cover his back,
And a prairie wind
To blow him down,
Or pinching times
If he went to town.”“You wouldn’t know
About my son?
Did he grow tall?
Did he have fun?
Did he learn to read?
Did he get to town?
Do you know his name?
Did he get on?”
The urge that rose in me was to shout, “Yes, YES, don’t you know?” into the void.
Instead of that one, we might have been asked to memorize this poem – or at least the very last part of it, which I’ve always liked:
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down
As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs,
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills,
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.
Or what about this old chestnut by Walt Whitman? Schmaltzy, but it still gives me a little shiver when I read it:
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Thanks! I never had to memorize those, except Captain. But I went to Catholic school so we were probably memorizing the catechism.
I wonder what kids have to memorize these days…
Ah, Steven Vincent Benét. Four books I had to read in high school left an impression on me, and one was John Brown’s Body. The other three were David Copperfield, Moby Dick, and The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. The language in Moby Dick verges on poetic, but John Brown’s Body was the only long form poetry that we read.
Americans honor Washington, Lincoln, and other great men who have served as President. Others, who have no men of such merit from their past, mock our history.
Today when have the antithesis in that office.
The poem I associated with Lincoln was another one by Whitman, “When Lilacs Last in the Door-Yard Bloom’d.” Whitman wrote it in the summer of 1865, just a few months after Lincoln’s assassination. He was at his mother’s home when he heard about Lincoln’s death; he stepped outside to collect himself, and remembered the smell of the lilacs years later: “I remember where I was stopping at the time, the season being advanced, there were many lilacs in full bloom. By one of those caprices that enter and give tinge to events without being at all a part of them, I find myself always reminded of great tragedy of that day by the sight and odor of these blossoms.”
The other nature-related images in Whitman’s elegy (it’s over 200 lines of free verse) are those of a singing hermit thrush and a “drooping western star” (most likely the planet Venus). Whitman does not mention Lincoln by name or refer directly to the Civil War– he assumes his readers are already familiar with both. The sixth strophe or section of the poem reads as follows:
Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil’d women, standing,
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn;
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour’d around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey,
With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang;
Here! coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.
My grandmother used to recite “When Lilacs Last” to me when I was a child– it’s very different from “O Captain,” certainly not an easy poem for a kid in elementary school, but I had no difficulty understanding it, and I liked it much more than “O Captain.”
In 1946, the German composer Paul Hindemith set the text of Whitman’s poem to music in commemoration of the death of FDR in 1945. Hindemith had lived in the United States during WWII and understood the nation’s sense of loss. Here is the first part of Hindemith’s “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0kmXPQWcLbo&ab_channel=Robertshaw-Topic
When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
The entire requiem is slightly over an hour long.
Did anybody else watch the first episode of the ‘Abraham Lincoln’ docu drama on the History Channel last night? I finished it up this morning and it was pretty good. The casting of the actor to play Lincoln was very good and overall I would say the story telling was pretty accurate and balanced. They did have a couple of out of place diversions to Frederick Douglass who deserves his own documentary not just a drive by mention in this.
Lokk forward to the next two episodes.
I remember no memorization of poems from those days, but we always cut silhouettes of the two great men out of construction paper. As schoolchildren we all felt so cheated when we lost one of our holidays.
Washington’s Birthday Eve
George Washington was a gentleman,
A soldier and a scholar;
He crossed the Delaware with a boat,
The Potomac, with a dollar.
The British faced him full of joy,
And departed full of sorrow;
George Washington was a gentleman.
His birthday is tomorrow.
When approached by fellow patriots,
And asked for his opinion,
He spoke in accents clear and bold,
And, probably, Virginian.
His winter home at Valley Froge
Was underheated, rather.
He possessed a sturdy Roman nose,
And became his country’s father.
His army was a hungry horde,
Ill-armed, worse-clad Colonials;
He was our leading President,
And discouraged ceremonials.
His portrait on our postage stamps,
It does him less than justice;
He was much respected by his wife,
The former Mrs. Custis.
He routed George’s scarlet coats;
(Though oft by Congress hindered)
When they fortified the leeward side,
He slashed them from the windward.
He built and launched our Ship of State,
He brought it safe to harbor;
He wore no beard upon his chin,
Thanks to his faithful barber.
George Washington was a gentleman,
His birthday is tomorrow.
He filled his country’s friends with joy,
His country’s foes, with sorrow.
And so my dears, his grateful land
In robes of glory clad him.
George Washington was a gentleman.
I’m glad his parents had him.
~Ogden Nash
If Nancy Hanks Came Back as a Ghost reminds me just a little of Winston Churchill’s masterful humblebrag:
https://winstonchurchill.hillsdale.edu/winston-churchills-dream-1947/
Yes I know it’s more than that. The whole thing is in a way very Confucian and perhaps a more accessible glimpse into *that* mindset.
@Patricia:
“…so we were probably memorizing the catechism.”
So were the kids in Public School — just a different one.
The Pledge Of Allegiance to the Flag, and prayer at the start of the day, until Madalyn Murray O’Hair and another athiest won their cases. That was American public schools from my childhood. Z wouldn’t have any experience of that, too young and not American.
I liked the mother’s poem.
I see a reference to John Brown’s Body. A classmate, a theater major, told me I had to come to see him in a production of it. It’s apparently a cutting by Charles Laughton. Three actors face each other, one woman and two men, on small platforms, wearing evening clothes. And blocks of the poem, separated by which characters/types would have said such things, are absolutely enthralling. Haven’t b been able to find such a performance since.
We were such simple folk, back in the day. I mean the ordinary American.
And yet the combined efforts of those simple folk, schooled in such simple ways, carved out a magnificent heritage. One that saved millions from tyranny, and led the world in technological innovation; not to mention in the advancement of individual freedom.
I suppose I still am one of those simple folk at heart, and often find myself out of step.
On President’s Day, we honor the great and the not so great. As far as I am concerned, the most significant one of my lifetime was “Ike”. I revere him. Oh, I was aware of FDR and Truman, of course; but Ike came into office the year I graduated from high school, and served through the first five years of my Naval career. He guided us through one of the Republic’s most dangerous periods since the Civil War, One must caveat that last statement by noting that this period may rival that one, for different reasons, and due to an alarming paucity of leadership.
@OldFlyer:
You were fortunate to have been young at that time.
The problem with Simple Folk is that there are always Complicated Folk to rule over them and decide for them what is Good and what is Bad. Always.
When all the Complicated Folk go bad in unison, there’s not much to be done except either ride it out or express displeasure in the most vigorous manner.
You’re right about Ike. Except for the Little Rock bit.
Making aparthied great again. How droll.
Your understanding of America is showing. Check your shoes, you stepped in something, again.
The case 5o keep is Washington’s Birthday, eloquently made by considering his internationally significant impact, is made by Richard Lim at Real Clear Public Affairs (via ZH).
We forget this significance yet are begged to adore the fake President. Never Forget takes on a new/old meaning when you know where Lim’s ancestry comes from…yet also like other 20th century blood tests.
https://www.zerohedge.com/political/its-not-presidents-day-its-washingtons-birthday
Yes, I grew up when memorization was de rigeur. I, and I suspect most of us, disliked it. We recited in sing-song, nervous and bored at the same time. Then Wayne would stand up on cue and become Sir Richard Burton, or Sir Lawrence Olivier and put us all to shame. To my witlessness, Wayne seemed not only to understand the poetry, but really dig it. He got a full university scholarship.
Sir Richard Burton? The guy who searched for the source of the Nile and translated the 1001 Nights? Was he known for reciting poetry?
Today was our church children’s weekly activity (ages 7-11), of which I am the nominal leader.
One of the girls (10yo) voluntarily made a poster (she’s like that), and we went through the list of 46 presidents with very quick tidbits about each.
At least they all knew who Washington and Lincoln were, and some could identify a few more.
Recited the pledge, listened to the anthem, colored flag handouts, played marbles (the only game I could think of that Washington might have played).
A good time was had by all.
PS Susanamantha: I was that Wayne-guy in our classes; my first taste of theatrical thrills, which carried through college and occasional amateur shows afterwards.
I could recite the “Nancy Hanks” poem for some years after learning it in 7th grade, but can’t do it now.
PPS bof: The other not-quite-sir Richard.
“In 1970, on his 45th birthday, [the actor Richard] Burton was ceremonially honoured with a CBE at Buckingham Palace; [Elizabeth]Taylor and [his sister] Cis were present during the ceremony. He attributed not having a knighthood to changing his residence from London to Céligny to escape taxes
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_British_Empire#Composition
CBE = Commander of the British Empire, no title or honorific