Invictus

Well, for the second day in the row the title of the blog post doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the picture, but when have I ever let something like that stop me:


So why Invictus?

It's a poem I've been thinking a lot about lately, especially with all that's going on in the NYC artist community (as discussed in yesterday's post). It was written by William Ernest Henley, when he was sick in the hospital and was told he was on his deathbed. Facing his mortality but refusing to back down, so born was Invictus.

But the poem pretty much has a bad rap now, since it was quoted by Timothy McVeigh right before they gave him the blue juice. But I've always been of the mind that we can't let one domestic terrorist co-opt this message of defiance and hope.

Instead of the salty language and emotion of yesterday's post, I present Henley's Invictus, something that every artist in the city who is now facing an uncertain future (thanks to Mayor Bloomberg) should keep close to their heart.

INVICTUS

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.