Analysis of Tetelestai



How shall we praise the magnificence of the dead,
The great man humbled, the haughty brought to dust?
Is there a horn we should not blow as proudly
For the meanest of us all, who creeps his days,
Guarding his heart from blows, to die obscurely?
I am no king, have laid no kingdoms waste,
Taken no princes captive, led no triumphs
Of weeping women through long walls of trumpets;
Say rather I am no one, or an atom;
Say rather, two great gods in a vault of starlight
Play ponderingly at chess; and at the game's end
One of the pieces, shaken, falls to the floor
And runs to the darkest corner; and that piece
Forgotten there, left motionless, is I....
Say that I have no name, no gifts, no power,
Am only one of millions, mostly silent;
One who came with lips and hands and a heart,
Looked on beauty, and loved it, and then left it.
Say that the fates of time and space obscured me,
Led me a thousand ways to pain, bemused me,
Wrapped me in ugliness; and like great spiders
Dispatched me at their leisure.... Well, what then?
Should I not hear, as I lie down in dust,
The horns of glory blowing above my burial?

Morning and evening opened and closed above me:
Houses were built above me; trees let fall
Yellowing leaves upon me, hands of ghosts,
Rain has showered its arrows of silver upon me
Seeking my heart; winds have roared and tossed me;
Music in long blue waves of sound has borne me
A helpless weed to shores of unthought silence;
Time, above me, within me, crashed its gongs
Of terrible warning, sifting the dust of death;
And here I lie. Blow now your horns of glory
Harshly over my flesh, you trees, you waters!
You stars and suns, Canopus, Deneb, Rigel,
Let me, as I lie down, here in this dust,
Hear, far off, your whispered salutation!
Roar now above my decaying flesh, you winds,
Whirl out your earth-scents over this body, tell me
Of ferns and stagnant pools, wild roses, hillsides!
Anoint me, rain, let crash your silver arrows
On this hard flesh! I am the one who named you,
I lived in you, and now I die in you.
I, your son, your daughter, treader of music,
Lie broken, conquered.... Let me not fall in silence.

I, the restless one; the circler of circles;
Herdsman and roper of stars, who could not capture
The secret of self; I who was tyrant to weaklings,
Striker of children; destroyer of women; corrupter
Of innocent dreamers, and laugher at beauty; I,
Too easily brought to tears and weakness by music,
Baffled and broken by love, the helpless beholder
Of the war in my heart of desire with desire, the struggle
Of hatred with love, terror with hunger; I
Who laughed without knowing the cause of my laughter, who grew
Without wishing to grow, a servant to my own body;
Loved without reason the laughter and flesh of a woman,
Enduring such torments to find her! I who at last
Grow weaker, struggle more feebly, relent in my purpose,
Choose for my triumph an easier end, look backward
At earlier conquests; or, caught in the web, cry out
In a sudden and empty despair, "Tetélestai!"
Pity me, now! I, who was arrogant, beg you!
Tell me, as I lie down, that I was courageous.
Blow horns of victory now, as I reel and am vanquished.
Shatter the sky with trumpets above my grave.

... Look! this flesh how it crumbles to dust and is blown!
These bones, how they grind in the granite of frost and are nothing!
This skull, how it yawns for a flicker of time in the darkness
Yet laughs not and sees not! It is crushed by a hammer of sunlight,
And the hands are destroyed.... Press down through the leaves of the
jasmine, dig through the interlaced roots--nevermore will you find me;
I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me....
Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing?
Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun?
Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble
In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?...
Listen!... It says: "I lean by the river. The willows
Are yellowed with bud. White clouds roar up from the south
And darken the ripples; but they cannot darken my heart,
Nor the face like a star in my heart!... Rain falls on the water
And pelts it, and rings it with silver. The willow trees glisten,
The sparrows chirp under the eaves; but the face in my heart
Is a secret of music.... I wait in the rain and am silent."
Listen again!... It says: "I have worked, I am tired,
The pencil dulls in my hand: I see through the window
Walls upon walls of windows with faces behind them,
Smoke floating up to the sky, an ascension of seagulls.
I am tired. I have struggled in vain, my decision was fruitless,
Why then do I wait? with darkness, so easy, at hand!...
But to-morrow, perhaps.... I will wait and endure till to-morrow!..."
Or again: "It is dark. The decision is made. I am vanquished
By terror of life. The walls mount slowly about me
In coldness. I had not the courage. I was forsaken.
I cried out, was answered by silence.... Tetélestai!..."

Hear how it babbles!--Blow the dust out of your hand,
With its voices and visions, tread on it, forget it, turn homeward
With dreams in your brain.... This, then, is the humble, the nameless,--
The lover, the husband and father, the struggler with shadows,
The one who went down under shoutings of chaos! The weakling
Who cried his "forsaken!" like Christ on the darkening hilltop!...
This, then, is the one who implores, as he dwindles to silence,
A fanfare of glory.... And which of us dares to deny him!


Scheme ABCDCXXXXEXFXGHIJXCCKLBM CXXCCCNXXCKMBLXCXOPPQN RHDFGQHMGPCSXTUXAPTVX XWTEXCCWSMXOXJHSJIUXXRTYXVCSA YUTOWXNX
Poetic Form
Metre 111101101 01110010111 11011111110 10101111111 101111111 1111111101 10110101110 11010111110 11011111110 11011100111 111101011 11010101101 01101010011 0101110011 11111111110 11011101010 1111101001 11100110111 11011101011 11010111011 11010001110 0111110111 1111111101 0111010011100 100101001011 1001011111 1001011111 1110110110011 1011111011 10011111111 0101111110 1011011111 110010100111 01111111110 10101111110 11011110 1111111011 1111101 11011010111 111111011011 1101011101 01111111010 11111101111 1101011101 1111101110 110101111010 1010101110 10101111110 010111111011 101100101101 1100100101101 1100111010110 1001011010010 10101110101010010 11011101101 11011001111011 01101101011110 10110010011010 010111101111 11010110010110 1111011001110 110011100111 00100100111 101111110011 111111111010 11110011110110 10011100111 111111011011 111110010110110 111111010110010 111011111101011 0011011110110 10110011101111 1111011111011 1011011111111 111001111011101 1111111111010110 01011111010010 101111101001 11111111101 01001011101011 101101011111010 01101111001110 01011001101011 1010110110010110 1001111111110 0101011111010 1011110110011 1101101101011 11101110011010110 1111111011011 1110011110011110 1011110010111110 1101101110011 01011101011010 11111011011 11111011111 1110010111011110 11011111010010 0100100100111 01111101110010 11101011101001 111011011110110 01110011111011
Closest metre Iambic hexameter
Characters 5,438
Words 1,029
Sentences 64
Stanzas 5
Stanza Lengths 24, 22, 21, 29, 8
Lines Amount 104
Letters per line (avg) 40
Words per line (avg) 10
Letters per stanza (avg) 839
Words per stanza (avg) 202

About this poem

Conrad Aiken wrote this poem as a celebration of life, although the speaker in the poem is a dead man. It tells us that we do not need the familiar trappings of "success" in order to be validated as human beings.

Font size:
 

Written on January 26, 1920

Submitted by kelleydupuis475 on October 09, 2021

Modified on April 03, 2023

5:09 min read
59

Conrad Aiken

Born in Savannah, GA in 1889, died in Savannah, GA in 1973. Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award winner. Poet Laureate of the United States 1950-1952 more…

All Conrad Aiken poems | Conrad Aiken Books

1 fan

Discuss this Conrad Aiken poem analysis with the community:

0 Comments

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem analysis to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "Tetelestai" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/111733/tetelestai>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    March 2024

    Poetry Contest

    Join our monthly contest for an opportunity to win cash prizes and attain global acclaim for your talent.
    3
    days
    11
    hours
    0
    minutes

    Special Program

    Earn Rewards!

    Unlock exciting rewards such as a free mug and free contest pass by commenting on fellow members' poems today!

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    Who wrote the poem "The Waste Land"?
    A Sylvia Plath
    B T.S. Eliot
    C W.H. Auden
    D Ezra Pound