I’ve had nothing to say in class all semester other than nothing has consumed me yet . I’ve read everything assigned and have been taken away by the depth of Wallace Stevens poetry. The infinite ways a person can interpret one of his poems and the many ways it can influence a person, consume them, open their eyes. It has been evident in the people who have gotten up in front of the class and explain how Stevens has consumed their lives. This made me aware of the possibilities and frustrated by them because nothing has hit me, none of the poems have consumed me. The first piece of Stevens that caught my attention was, Adagia, to me it was almost a list of the complications in life and a sort of way to look at the trivial pursuits of it. It only caught my attention because Professor Sexson said Wallace Stevens poetry would be a sort of guide to live a happy life and that’s what I kept looking for, I kept looking for something to speak to me in that way. It did, I thought for a few weeks that this was what would consume me, but it never did.
I was annoyed that it didn’t, I figured by now something would have spoken to me in some profound way. I’ve kept reading the poems and thought each of them were wonderful, so dense with story and inclination to let you dive into it, but not for me. I kept seeing how others found the passion in them and how it took over them. I did what Sexson has advised as well, to just open the book up at random and start reading, even on the days that emotions were running rabid in your heart to just open Stevens and it will help you. I did and at times I was settled, some poems calmed me down but again none consumed me. Everyday I kept reading, looking for something to speak profoundly to me, to take me under its enlightenment. It got to the point for about a week that I didn’t care, I didn’t want to read the damn blue book that sat on corner of my table, I stopped taking it with me to class, I hid the freaking thing in another backpack so I wouldn’t look at it. I realized I got more frustrated with myself that week because I tried not to read it.
Then on a sunday night my father called me, to tell me he was proud of me, that he was sorry he wasn’t always there for me, that he loved me, and tried every single day of his life to give me a better one then he had, that he didn’t want to be like his father.
I told him that I loved him, that he has given me a better life and that I was thankful for his sacrifices. Which got me thinking, I don’t exactly know what all his sacrifices were. I’ve never been close with my father, partly because he was always away due to his commitment to the Marines and when I was 9 or 10 my parents separated for a while due to his disloyalty to my mother. So there was never a time to truly appreciate him as a father at a young age. He wasn’t there for the times a son would need his father. He didn’t show me how to play any sports, never came to games I played in, or any other typical father-son activities, all I knew was that he provided for our family. I grew up accepting that we might never form a bond a father and son ought to have. I was proud of him even though he wasn’t there for me as a father, twenty-two years of Marine dedication and has become an aeronautical engineer at Edwards Air Force Base.
It’s only been recently that my father has tried to connect with me. Short conversations when I visit home or sitting on the couch to watch sports. Every now and then we watch military movies or documentaries which bring up short conversations about his military past. Attempts to make up for the twenty-one years of lost time
I went to bed with my father in mind, his life, and his love for me.
I woke up with him on my mind still, and before leaving to class I grabbed the Wallace Stevens book from the other bag and took it to class, my fathers words from the other night made me want to give it another shot. Right before class started I pulled out the blue book, I opened it for the first time without looking for something to speak to me, without looking for a healing process, without looking for reason to tell Sexson why the book consumed me. I just opened it and read,
“The Death of a Soldier.”
Life contracts and death is expected,
As in a season of autumn.
The soldier falls.
He does not become a three-days personage,
Imposing his separation,
Calling for pomp.
Death is absolute and without memorial,
As in a season of autumn,
When the wind stops,
When the wind stops and, over the heavens,
The clouds go, nevertheless,
In their direction
The life of a soldier tends to be overlooked until death comes, then the acceptance of their profession is acknowledged. Their accomplishments, sacrifices, and accolades are then brought to light outside of a soldiers life. Stevens releases the realities of a soldiers life. Not many people truly understand the vast amount of diligent work a soldier puts into his military career. People know of the training and knowledge attained but will never understand the mental strain a soldier endures. What I’ve learned from brief talks with my father is that a soldier doesn’t want a memorial for him or a big deal made over his passing. The fact that a soldier dies protecting his nation, his comrades, and his flag is recognition enough, the flag that is protected is more important than the soldier. That is how a soldier defends his country.
In one quiet moment it grabbed hold of my emotions, my consciousness, and didn’t let go. I thought of my father while reading this. I didn’t take the poem as a literal death, but a departure of the soldier in a person. I’ve seen the soldier in my father fade, coming through and trying to live in his speech as he gets older. A retired Marine is always a former Marine. My fathers accomplishments, hardships, sacrifices, and offerings have sadly gone unspoken in our family. He never asked for any recognition or even really spoke of what he did in the marines. He didn’t speak of his retirement either, I believe my mother went to his ceremony but my sister and I didn’t attend. His life just continued on after the Marines.
I read the poem a few times before recalling other poems from the back of my mind, poems I have read, others that I have glossed over, all reminding me of my father in different ways. “Repetitions of a Young Captain”, “Idiom of a Hero”, “Examination of the Hero in a Time of War”, “A Woman Sings a Song for a Soldier Come Home”, and “A Clear Day and No Memories.”
By the time I finished reading these poems and dwelled on them, class was over. I arrived home and pulled out the blue book so I could read the poems again. “Repetitions of a Young Captain” peaked my interest most. There was one line that I couldn’t get out of my mind,
A giant without a body. If as giant,
He shares a gigantic life, it is because
The gigantic has a reality of its own
My mother has told me a few things about my fathers military life, that he had done great things for the Marines, was highly respected, had crucial responsibility given to him at a young age, and was part of a special military unit. This line got me thinking of my fathers career as a Marine, that his military life and his normal life were immensely different. My fathers military life was so removed from his normal life that it seems impossible to find a way to continue in his normal life. I wanted to know more about his life in the Marines. These Wallace Stevens poems not only reminded me of my father, they opened my eyes like never before so I could see how difficult his life truly was, how he was able to keep his life together after the being such an important man in the Marines. Wallace Stevens opened my heart to know my father, to get close with him. I had given up that idea years ago, yet a few hours of reading Stevens prompted me to do so. I had to write a profile piece for another class and decided to write it on my father after reading Wallace Stevens. I called my father and we talked for hours about his life. Here’s what I wrote.
Departing Soldier
“He does not become a three-days personage,
Imposing his separation,
Calling for pomp.”
-Wallace Steves, Death of a Soldier
Gunnery Sergeant William Galeas stands amongst a group of his military personnel. “I am confident, I am arrogant, I am proud” the very words being recited of “Old Glory” bring up the memory of his decision to become a Marine.
William Galeas was seventeen years old, a soon to be high school graduate, and worked for his father at a factory in Queens, New York. He excelled in math, wished he could speak english better, and wanted to become an architect. His love for the architecture, “the art”, of the various buildings in New York brought out his wish to design a building in the city, with the same “beautiful” structure he admires. William was accepted into an Architectural school in New York his senior year of high school, “Honestly I don’t remember the name of the school, I was just happy I got in. The thought of going to the school was shut away after I realized I wasn’t going”. His father explained to him that he was against his pursuit of architectural school because he needed his help at the factory. “I wanted to leave, I wanted to go to school, I wanted to better myself, to excel.” His father was not going to help him with school if he decided to go. He couldn’t think of any alternatives at the time because they never seemed like an option with his father around. He wanted to get away from home, he couldn’t admit the reason was to leave his father, even to this day, “I felt the Marines was a place I could excel, become a better man, tougher, do some good.” After only a few days of thinking it over, William Galeas enlisted in The United States Marine Corps.
The flag is being meticulously folded up, soldier by soldier, respectfully making sure no creases or wrinkles appear on the flag before being handed off to William Galeas. ‘Old Glory’ is still being played “I was dirty, battle worn, and tired, but my Soldiers cheered me, and I was proud!” William Galeas was only nineteen years old when he was given his own squad to lead and was given a platoon to lead at only twenty-three. “I remember looking at my platoon at times and realizing that a few of them were older than me, but I had no time or was allowed to be wavered in any way.” William Galeas was part of Marine Recon, meaning they were the first ones to arrive in whatever territory they were ordered to occupy and were the last ones to leave. “My platoon and I had done a lot of things that I’ve never wanted to bring up, it was hard to keep them down.” After completing orders through Marine Recon, William Galeas was put into a smaller squad, which he was awarded leadership of. The purpose of the squad consisted of various private military operations. “Of course what we did I can’t talk about now, nor will I ever be allowed to, they were tough, you had to have a tough gut for this work, there’s a reason why there were only twelve of us fit to operate with the needs of the squad.”
“But my finest hour comes...when I am torn into strips to be used as a bandage for my wounded comrades on the field of battle,” sounds off as the American Flag is being passed from one Marine to another, slowly, amorously, honoring the flag with each passing, each touch, before finally being walked over by the last Marine. William Galeas dedicated twenty-two years of his life to the United Sates Marine Corps. Towards the end of his military career he was still out performing other Marines who were half his age. “These new kids coming in couldn’t keep up with me, I could run ten miles before getting exhausted and they were dead tired before even running one.” The day came when William could no longer perform his duties at full strength. “This day was hard, we had to jump out of a helicopter that was hovering high over the water, we had our combat gear strapped to our backs and had to jump out and swim a mile to get to shore, by my second attempt to try and finish it I knew I couldn’t do it anymore.” William knew it was his time to step away form his duties as part of his private squad. He turned to training incoming Marines for a few years before coming to the conclusion that it was time to step away from the Marine Corps entirely. “You’re never a retired Marine, you’re always a former Marine.”
“Please accept it, guard it, let it remind you of the many young men and women you have guided and inspired in your years of service.” William Galeas has received the American Flag and admirably secures it. He salutes his fellow Marine for graciously presenting him the flag. He returned home to his family, went back to his job as a regional manager for Walmart Photo Center, and resumed his life. “It was strange knowing that I wouldn’t be going to base anymore. Towards the end, my constant time at base was shorter and shorter, but I was there. Now there was no more military work to be done.” William worked at the photo center for a couple years before being let go and had to find work elsewhere. “I didn’t go to school, the best skill I had to offer was being a leader, managing men and women, I knew most of what there was to offer in photography but it was never a career, it was a job, I couldn’t and didn’t want to go working at some photography business.” William found a job driving busses for Antelope Valley Transit Authority (AVTA). He was able to drive the regular commuter buses and the large double-decker busses because of his military vehicle operation training. “I didn’t enjoy driving the bus. Who would? But I had to do it. It was a job, plain and simple.” After working for AVTA for two years he found an opening at Edwards Air Force Base to assist with filing data for fighter jets and cargo carriers.
William explored any opportunities for advancement at his new job. “It was nice to be in an environment that resembled Military operating, the job was tough but I would always find a way to learn more, see if there was anyway to do more.” He took classes offered at the base to assist in the assembly of the engines being designed and tested. His first promotion was to assist in handling and distributing the parts that were used for any engines being tested. When more training was offered for those who wished to move up at Edwards, William immediately signed up for the various training programs and after a year he was competent in the assembly and designs of the fighter jet engines at Edwards Air Force Base. “I was always the kind of person to do more, to get smarter in the field I was working in. I was good at math so learning the new math necessary for the engines at Edwards was what I strived for. Hell to be at the level of mathematical knowledge I have now is proof of how hard work pays off.” William began studying the aerodynamics of airplane bodies and the electrical systems in cockpits. After covering the fundamentals of flight and stability control, William was required to understand aircraft sensors and electrical components, as well as wing structure and flaps. William also studied about the power generation for aircrafts, including combustion engine design. After assisting with the assembly of the engines for two years William was offered an opportunity to be on the design team at Edwards for the Fighter Jets and Cargo planes. William accepted the opportunity and went to the classes necessary and went away for the training needed for someone in a design team. He spent a month offsite at a private facility to learn about the new engines being designed. William participated in lab and design courses for the fighter jets at Edwards. He was required to research into issues ranging from construction materials to wing design. While completing his assignments, he was responsible for simulating flight and modifying areas where designs may not function well. William had to apply what he learned by altering models, test designs, and prepare class presentations.“It really was a lot of information to take in, I busted my ass to learn what was being taught. It was a private facility and I was being constantly watched. I kept telling myself I can do this, I know.”
William Galeas left the facility with the knowledge to assist in the design of the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II. He was promptly given a position at Edwards Air Force Base in the design and assembly of the engines for the F-35. After thirty-seven years he wasn’t designing skyscrapers in New York City, William Galeas was designing a Pratt & Whitney F135 engine for the F-35 Lightning II fighter jet. “I look back at myself when I was eighteen and never thought I would be designing fighter jet engines, hell I didn’t even have a thought about what buildings I could be designing. To come back to architecture in a different scope after the Marines is all my years of hard work paying off, you work hard to get what you want, it may have taken me almost forty years but i’m doing something I have had my mind on since I was a kid and I’m getting paid a lot for it, I’m accomplished and I don’t plan on ever stopping.”
The night after I had finished the paper My father called me to ask how the paper turned out and wanted to know why I wanted to write about him. I told him I was reading some poetry for class and it brought up emotions about him.
We then spoke about his early life in the Marines, what was he afraid of? if anything. He told me he was worried about how he would move on from military life when the time came. He said he had this paper with a saying on it that his friend gave him that he would read to help him. I asked him what it said and how he received it.
He told me of a time when he was at an outpost with his friend and they were talking about life after the Marines, holding onto the life outside of it. He was twenty-two at the time. His friend TOP had a book he always read out of and ripped out a piece of it and gave it to him. His friend told him this might help him accept moving on while keeping in mind that his life as a Marine is always there. It read
“Nor of time. The departing soldier is as he is,
Yet in that form will not return. But does.
He find another? The giant of sense remains
A giant without a body. If a giant,
He shares a gigantic life, it is because
the gigantic has a reality of his own.”
I didn’t know what to say, I was quiet. I was still. I had so much going through my mind at such a quick pace. I’m not sure how much time had passed before I could hear my father continuingly ask me what was wrong. I was startled, I wasn’t sure what overwhelmed me more, that my father discovered Wallace Stevens at the same age as I am today, or that my father even knew of Wallace Stevens an had it enrich his own life.
I explained to him thoroughly that Stevens’ poetry inspired me to write about him, that it helped me to better understand him, to want to talk with him and make a true effort to form a bond with him. I told him which poems had influenced me most. For the next five hours my father and I discussed poems by Wallace Stevens, how they made us feel, how we perceived them, how they consumed us. For the first time in my life I wasn’t talking about sports, or the weather in bozeman with my gather, it’s all we have really talked of, I was having a discussion with my father about poetry. These poems that I have been frustrated with all semester have woven a connection to my father that has enriched our relationship in such a since way that I wish I could personally thank Stevens himself. To think that poetry by Wallace Stevens has brought me closer to my father is overwhelming.
I can peacefully say that every night for the past two weeks my father and I have talked over the phone about the poetry I am reading for class, the poems my he has read over the years, and about everything else a father and son should be speaking about.
