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A shell surprised our post one day
And killed a comrade at my side.
My heart was sick to see the way
He suffered as he died.
I dug about the place he fell,
And found, no bigger than my thumb,
A fragment of the splintered shell
In warm aluminum.
I melted it, and made a mould,
And poured it in the opening,
And worked it, when the cast was cold,
Into a shapely ring.
And when my ring was smooth and bright,
Holding it on a rounded stick,
For seal, I bade a Turco write
'Maktoob' in Arabic.
'Maktoob!' "'Tis written!" . . . So they think,
These children of the desert, who
From its immense expanses drink
Some of its grandeur too.
Within the book of Destiny,
Whose leaves are time, whose cover, space,
The day when you shall cease to be,
The hour, the mode, the place,
Are marked, they say; and you shall not
By taking thought or using wit
Alter that certain fate one jot,
Postpone or conjure it.
Learn to drive fear, then, from your heart.
If you must perish, know, O man,
'Tis an inevitable part
Of the predestined plan.
And, seeing that through the ebon door
Once only you may pass, and meet
Of those that have gone through before
The mighty, the elite ——
Guard that not bowed nor blanched with fear
You enter, but serene, erect,
As you would wish most to appear
To those you most respect.
So die as though your funeral
Ushered you through the doors that led
Into a stately banquet hall
Where heroes banqueted;
And it shall all depend therein
Whether you come as slave or lord,
If they acclaim you as their kin
Or spurn you from their board.
So, when the order comes: "Attack!"
And the assaulting wave deploys,
And the heart trembles to look back
On life and all its joys;
Or in a ditch that they seem near
To find, and round your shallow trough
Drop the big shells that you can hear
Coming a half mile off;
When, not to hear, some try to talk,
And some to clean their guns, or sing,
And some dig deeper in the chalk —
I look upon my ring:
And nerves relax that were most tense,
And Death comes whistling down unheard,
As I consider all the sense
Held in that mystic word.
And it brings, quieting like balm
My heart whose flutterings have ceased,
The resignation and the calm
And wisdom of the East.
Alan Seeger’s Maktoob is a haunting meditation on fate, mortality, and the soldier’s psychological confrontation with death. Written during World War I, the poem blends Western and Eastern philosophies, juxtaposing the inevitability of destiny with the stoic acceptance demanded by war. The title, Maktoob—Arabic for “it is written”—anchors the poem in Islamic fatalism, yet Seeger’s treatment of the theme transcends cultural boundaries, offering a universal reflection on human courage in the face of annihilation.
This essay explores Maktoob through its historical and cultural context, literary devices, thematic depth, and emotional resonance. By examining Seeger’s biographical influences, the philosophical underpinnings of fatalism, and the poem’s structural artistry, we uncover a work that is both deeply personal and expansively philosophical.
Alan Seeger (1888–1916) was an American poet who fought and died in the French Foreign Legion during World War I. His poetry, including the famous I Have a Rendezvous with Death, reflects the disillusionment and existential weight borne by soldiers in the trenches. Unlike the jingoistic patriotism of early war poetry, Seeger’s work grapples with the inevitability of death, portraying it not as a noble sacrifice but as an inescapable truth.
Maktoob emerges from this context, where soldiers faced mechanized slaughter on an unprecedented scale. The poem’s opening lines—
A shell surprised our post one day
And killed a comrade at my side.
—immediately thrust the reader into the brutal randomness of war. The speaker’s transformation of a shell fragment into a ring bearing the word Maktoob symbolizes an attempt to impose meaning on chaos, to find solace in the belief that death is preordained.
The poem’s central motif, Maktoob, draws from the Islamic concept of Qadar (divine predestination). The lines—
Within the book of Destiny,
Whose leaves are time, whose cover, space,
—evoke the image of a cosmic ledger where all human lives are inscribed. This fatalistic worldview, shared by many desert cultures (as Seeger notes—“These children of the desert”), provides a stark contrast to Western notions of free will. The speaker adopts this perspective not as a passive surrender but as a means of mastering fear.
Seeger’s exposure to North African soldiers (Turcos, or Algerian infantrymen in the French army) likely influenced this philosophical turn. The poem’s closing lines—
The resignation and the calm
And wisdom of the East.
—suggest an almost spiritual assimilation of Eastern thought, positioning it as an antidote to the existential terror of war.
The ring, forged from a shell fragment, is the poem’s central symbol. It embodies:
Transformation of Destruction into Art – The act of melting shrapnel into jewelry mirrors the human impulse to create meaning from violence.
A Memento Mori – Like a vanitas object in Renaissance art, the ring reminds the speaker of mortality.
A Talisman of Acceptance – The engraved word Maktoob serves as a psychological shield against fear.
The shell, by contrast, represents war’s indiscriminate brutality. Its fragmentation—both literal and metaphorical—parallels the shattered lives of soldiers.
Seeger employs visceral imagery to evoke the battlefield:
Drop the big shells that you can hear
Coming a half mile off;
The auditory detail heightens tension, immersing the reader in the soldier’s dread. Yet the tone shifts from despair to resolve, culminating in the serene acceptance of fate.
The poem contrasts Western anxiety over death with Eastern fatalism. Where Western soldiers “try to talk,” “clean their guns,” or “dig deeper in the chalk” to distract themselves, the speaker turns to the ring’s inscription for peace. This duality reflects Seeger’s own cultural hybridity—an American poet embedded in a French unit, drawing on Islamic philosophy.
The poem’s core tension lies in whether death is preordained or subject to chance. The speaker initially recoils at his comrade’s sudden death, yet later embraces the idea that “The hour, the mode, the place” are fixed. This mirrors the ancient Greek concept of Moira (fate) and the Stoic maxim that one must accept what cannot be changed.
Seeger’s ideal death is not one of blind heroism but of dignified composure:
Guard that not bowed nor blanched with fear
You enter, but serene, erect,
This echoes classical Stoicism, particularly Epictetus’ teaching that while we cannot control events, we can control our response. The banquet hall metaphor—
As though your funeral
Ushered you through the doors that led
Into a stately banquet hall
Where heroes banqueted;
—elevates death to a communal, almost celebratory rite, aligning with Homeric and Norse traditions of the warrior’s afterlife.
The poem rejects grand narratives of glory, instead seeking personal transcendence. The ring becomes a private covenant with fate, a way for the speaker to assert agency over his own psyche.
Unlike Rupert Brooke’s idealistic The Soldier, Maktoob acknowledges fear while advocating resilience. It shares more with Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est in its unflinching portrayal of war’s horrors, yet diverges in its philosophical resolution.
Seeger’s own death at the Battle of the Somme (1916) lends the poem tragic prescience. His embrace of Maktoob as a personal creed suggests he anticipated his fate, facing it with the calm he extols.
Maktoob is a masterful fusion of personal reflection, cultural synthesis, and existential philosophy. Through its rich symbolism, stark imagery, and interplay of Eastern and Western thought, the poem transcends its wartime origins to offer a timeless meditation on fate and courage. Seeger’s ability to distill terror into tranquility, to forge art from destruction, ensures that Maktoob resonates not just as a war poem, but as a universal hymn to human resilience.
In an age still grappling with violence and uncertainty, Seeger’s words—
And it brings, quieting like balm
My heart whose flutterings have ceased,
—remain a profound testament to the power of acceptance, the solace of belief, and the dignity of facing the inevitable without flinching.
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