Funky Caterpillar aka Robin Williams

There are certain defining moments in your life when something influences you, and then stays with you for the rest of your life. For me this was 'Dead Poets Society' and the effect one man had in a short period of time over several young men's lives. When Ethan Hawke stood on his desk at the end of the film, and in beautiful defiance declared 'Oh Captain, my Captain,' I stood up too. I have rarely been in a cinema when the audience applauded at the end. They did that night.

I have watched the film several times since, and each time it is Williams naked honesty which disarms the most. He does for him in the end and who knows how the pain of the dismissal would have effected his life after Neil, the young student with the stern patent, commits suicide.

Williams has always evoked to me a sense of comedic genius touched by pathos. After Dead Poets my favourite film of his was 'Good Morning Vietnam,' as Williams tried to bring normality into the killing fields. It was inspired movie making, thoughtful, black humour that made you laugh and cry.

Robin Williams, you touched my life. You asked me to Carpe Diem, and in so doing you inspired me all of my life. Oh Captain, my Captain, may you turn now into a beautiful happy butterfly and fly in joy and peace.

A X


O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman