Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Robert Wrigley’s "C.O." is a deeply introspective and unflinchingly honest exploration of conscience, fear, and moral ambiguity during the Vietnam War era. Through vivid storytelling and reflective narration, the poem examines the psychological and emotional turmoil of a young man grappling with his opposition to war, his sense of identity, and the societal and personal costs of his decisions. It offers a poignant commentary on the complexities of individual conviction in the face of national conflict and the blurred boundaries between courage, cowardice, and survival.

The poem opens with a juxtaposition of contrasting environments: "We left the quarter peep shows, the lurid skin magazines and comical, unimaginable toys, / and headed down the block toward the Quakers." This transition from the garish, indulgent atmosphere of the peep shows to the somber, principled world of the Quakers sets the tone for the speaker’s internal conflict. The sensory overload of the first setting—marked by freedom and shame—contrasts with the moral clarity represented by the Quakers, who embody a stark idealism. This shift reflects the speaker’s movement from escapism to confrontation with his deeper ethical struggles.

The "American Friends" (Quakers) are portrayed with a sense of quiet gravity: "They were American Friends, in a cluttered, postered storefront... their devotion." The humble setting and their unwavering faith stand in stark contrast to the speaker’s uncertainty and the chaotic world outside. The Alamo, "hunkered in dust behind its gate," looms as a symbol of both historical sacrifice and the burdens of national mythology, mirroring the speaker’s sense of entrapment and the weight of expectations placed upon him.

The speaker’s encounter with the Quaker counselors becomes a pivotal moment of self-reckoning. Their rules—"you must oppose all wars and make no distinction between them"—lay bare the moral absolutism required of conscientious objectors. The scenario they present—refusing to retaliate even if one’s father is attacked—tests the boundaries of passivity and the speaker’s ability to embody such ideals. This moment highlights the tension between theory and reality, as the speaker wrestles with the gap between principled belief and lived experience.

As the counselors explain the army’s regulations for conscientious objection, the speaker reflects on the broader fractures within society: "Already a code our fathers knew, and the country, was broken." This line encapsulates the disillusionment of a generation, caught between the promises of American ideals and the brutal realities of war and political upheaval. The speaker’s personal struggle mirrors a larger cultural moment, where traditional values and the concept of duty are being questioned and redefined.

The speaker’s internal conflict deepens as he confronts his own motivations: "I was twenty years old and could not tell if I was a coward or a man of conviction." This admission captures the central ambiguity of the poem. The speaker’s decision to plead a Christianity he does not believe in—"and got myself out"—is both an act of survival and a moral compromise. His American Friend, a lawyer who "grieved into tears each week at the list of the dead," underscores the pervasive sense of futility and helplessness. Even those who act out of principle or empathy cannot find solace in their actions, reflecting the senselessness of the war and the moral ambiguity it imposes on everyone involved.

The final section of the poem shifts to the bureaucratic and procedural aspects of the speaker’s release, where personal conviction collides with the impersonal machinery of the military. The figure of Padilla, "beautiful and muscular and younger even than me," serves as a reminder of the human cost of the war, as well as the shared vulnerability of those caught in its web. The sergeant’s parting remark—"?I hope you?re happy,? he said"—carries an ambiguous weight, tinged with resentment, irony, or genuine concern. The speaker’s inability to parse its meaning reflects his own uncertainty about the morality of his choices.

The poem concludes on a note of unease and detachment: "We shook hands, and went." This simple, understated ending encapsulates the unresolved nature of the speaker’s journey. While he has escaped the immediate threat of war, the emotional and ethical implications of his actions linger, leaving both him and the reader with lingering questions about the nature of responsibility, courage, and identity.

Wrigley’s use of free verse and conversational tone lends the poem a raw immediacy, while his vivid imagery and precise language deepen its emotional resonance. The narrative structure, weaving between external events and internal reflection, mirrors the speaker’s oscillation between action and introspection, capturing the complexity of his experience.

"C.O." is a powerful meditation on the moral and psychological toll of war, the challenges of living by one’s principles, and the ambiguity of human motivations. Through its richly detailed narrative and unflinching honesty, Robert Wrigley captures the deeply personal and profoundly universal struggles of a young man navigating the intersection of individual conscience and collective conflict. The poem resonates as a testament to the enduring complexities of choice, integrity, and the search for meaning in a fractured world.

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