There is Perfection in You Also

15 September 1915

Shorncliffe Army Camp, Kent, England

Dear Mother,

Please forgive the delay in my response to your prompt. I have been somewhat occupied with the prosaic world of late, but nevermind that. I have spent a good deal of time with Leaves of Grass in my off-duty hours and am somewhat ashamed of myself for passing over it with so little consideration in the past. I suppose the free verse intimidated me at the time, but that is little enough excuse.

You need not have directed my attention to "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry." It is already home to one of my more prominent bookmarks. The idea of such an intimate connection between travelers who occupy the same space in the past, present, and future captivated me from the first.

What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

That is thrilling. I confess that in these past two months, I have often felt a communion with the men of past generations who have stood where I stand. But I pray that the promise of our present undertaking will come to fruition, and that no future generations will ever be called upon to walk in our footsteps. If we can prevail — really and truly prevail in this contest — we can make the world safe for those yet unborn to dream and create and live their lives without war. That is something I can fight for, Mother, to make the world safe for beauty.

I will not discuss the "Children of Adam" cycle with you (not to mention certain others — I must inform you that I have taken my own penknife to the "Calamus" section for safety's sake).

You said once that Whitman writes of love, but not always romantic love. You are right in observing his boundless love of all humanity. In the eighth section of "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry":

What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face?
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?

Since reading that, I find myself gazing on my fellow men, no matter how coarse or unlovely, and seeing their divinity writ plain, as Whitman did. To see every person, and every aspect of every person, as a miracle and poem — the world is fairly buzzing with them.

It thrills me to see people in this way, but it is also a horror. Are those who defile the living as bad as those who defile the dead, as Whitman asks? If so, I fear that this war is defilement on an incomprehensible scale. Such a great sin against the divinity in all of us cannot be absolved.

I close with Whitman's closing from "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," which I have been turning over in my mind all this week. I think I begin to see what you mean by "motherly love" — love expansive and consuming, that plants us each within one another, and loves even as it fails to fathom. We are none of us disposable.

We use you, and do not cast you aside — we plant you permanently within us.
We fathom you not — we love you — there is perfection in you also,
You furnish your parts toward eternity,
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

I have not written anything of my own here - not yet. But I have memorized these lines as if they were a Sunday School lesson. Why do they not teach Whitman at Redmond? I am glad to have "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" with me now.

Your loving son,

Walter

4 October 1915

Glen St. Mary, PEI

Dear Shirley,

I've enlisted, just as I intended to. I didn't see any point in waiting.

I've got orders to report to Charlottetown on Saturday the 16th on my way to Quebec. I was wondering whether you might have any time that Friday evening, for old times' sake. I wouldn't want to keep you from your studies, but if you are free, I'd sure like to see you before I go.

Write me — I can take the Friday afternoon train out.

Yours truly,

Carl

7 October 1915

Queen's Academy, Charlottetown, PEI

Dear Carl,

Take the Thursday afternoon train. You know Mrs. MacDougal won't mind putting you up in your old digs for a couple of nights. The boy who was supposed to room with me decided to stay home and run the farm since his brothers have joined up, so I have the place to myself.

I'll tell Mrs. MacDougal to expect you for next Thursday and Friday nights. It will give me a chance to give you your birthday present.

Yours truly,

Shirley