On the first Monday of every March, Illinois schools and offices alike shut their doors to commemorate the life of Revolutionary War hero Casimir Pulaski, but banjo twanger Sufjan Stevens tells a much different story in his song named after the state holiday. "Casimir Pulaski Day" is an intimate, short-winded narrative about a faithed man in the throes of losing his cancer-stricken friend, trying in vain to grasp the very crux of life. Adhering to the framework of a classic narrative, Stevens' sequential lyrics recount an entire story: from the time he "found out [his friend] had cancer of the bone, "almost touched [her] blouse, to the crushing instant where Stevens "thought [he] saw [her] breathing". Moreover, the song's title is poetically misleading, as "Casimir Pulaski Day" is in no way an ode to the Polish-born hero at the Battle of Brandywine. Sufjan instead mentions the Illinois-wide sabbatical metonymically to refer more specifically to his late winter loss, which took place "on the first of march, on the holiday". Sufjan sneakily slips symbolism into a song driven by plot when the climax's "cardinal hits the window", representing his beloved's death: the unexpected end to an life by an unseen yet ever-present force. And it is this force of fate that Sufjan questions at "Casimir Pulaski Day"'s conclusion, upon losing someone whom he loved deeply. "The complications when [he] sees His face" alludes to his Christian faith he toils with, as the effortlessly existential Stevens evokes a piercing sense of pathos. His feelings of frustration and angst can be felt by anyone whose lives have been beset by tragedy, regardless of status or religion. In Sufjan's case, he is pitting his Bible Belt upbringing against the ineffable pain and confusion of an unfair existence. "He takes, and He takes, and He takes" Sufjan bemoans with blue-collared sincerity, in a poem that blurs the lines between heartbreaking and beautiful.
If need be, skip work, and mull this song over. And if your boss asks where you were the next day, it's okay. Just tell him it was Casimir Pulaski Day.
Goldenrod and the 4-H stone
The things I brought you when I found out
You had cancer of the bone
Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car into the navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry
In the morning, through the window shade
When the light pressed up against your shoulderblade
I could see what you were reading
All the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth
Tuesday night at the Bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens
I remember at Michael's house
In the living room when you kissed my neck
And I almost touched your blouse
In the morning at the top of the stairs
When your father found out what we did that night
And you told me you were scared
All the glory when you ran outside
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
And you told me not to follow you
Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I found the card where you wrote it out
With the pictures of your mother
On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window
In the morning, in the winter shade
On the first of March, on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
Oh the glory, that the Lord has made
And the complications when I see His face
In the morning, in the window
All the glory when He took out place
But He took my shoulders and He shook my face
And He takes and He takes and He takes
