Invictus, A Poem Of Optimism

This extremely intense poem, written in the midst of a 20 day hospital stay to save amputation of his last leg, William Earnest Henley, brings the listener to his final conclusion that despite the distress of serious illness, he is the master of his own fate. Mr. Henley was an English poet and critic. He suffered his entire life with debilitating health hardships. He wrote this poem, INVICTUS, which is Latin for unconquered, while still in the hospital He refused to give in to self pity. His resilience in the face of hardship gives one strength to carry on, despite the odds. He wrote this in 1875 and yet, it endures today as a much quoted writing. I hope you can garner strength from it as I have.

Transcript

Hello, This is Jackie. Today I would like to share a very special poem with you that has sustained me in times of trouble. Last year I discovered I had a very rare and tiny thing growing in my heart that needed to be removed via open heart surgery, Or all could be trouble. It was a hard blow to my long, Actively exercising life of fitness. I was delivered this news just a day after my mom died. I was kind of numb with this one-two punch to my life. And in the midst of all of this, It was uplifting passages such as I'm going to read you today that sustained me. I'm going to read Invictus by William Ernst Henley. He wrote it in 1875 while he was in the middle of a 20-month hospital stay as he was recovering from horrible surgeries, Trying to save his right leg from amputation. His left one had already been amputated. When he was a child of 12, He contracted tuberculosis of the bone, Which is also known as tubercular arthritis. He was not a religious fellow and didn't have a religious framework upon which to rely. And in fact, In the poem, He calls his sufferings the bludgeonings of chance. So let us begin Invictus by William Ernst 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 foul 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 straight the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.