Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Frances Wright

Fanny Wright's tale reminds me of Whitman's narrative recollection of aiding a runaway slave. Fanny was a figure who created several programs to educate slaves and grant their freedom. Just as Whitman's tale recounts a narrator setting aside temporal prejudices, Fanny's pushed for the very same ideals. She, like Whitman, strove for universal equality and liberation.

One thing which bears thought is Frances Wright's orphanhood. Being an orphan, and being exposed to the tragic conditions of several state institutions Frances was probably exposed to the immoral behaviors and attrocities of government rules and programs, both in terms of exploiting humans (orphanism can be a type of slave, even today), where the individuals aren't viewed as an individual, just extra hands to work. I'm interested in what further role her orphanism has impacted her strive for equality.

Songs of Occupations

"If you meet some stranger in the streets and love him or her, why
I often meet strangers in the street and love them.

<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
Why what have you thought of yourself?"

<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
Here the typical Whitmanian connection to the masses ensues, where he stretches himself out like  grass, and touches the feet of every individual his universe lets possible. This theme of Whitman being a universal lover, the one who fully loves every soul he encounters, is so very Whitmanian. One thing which differentiates this poem from Leaves of Grass is his attempt to get the reader to reflect on themselves with a rhetorical question. This is rare for Whitman, here he seems to hope to alter the readers negativity by expressing and posing a series of questions instantaneously exposing it.

<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
"The wife, and she is not one jot less than the husband,
<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
The daughter, and she is just as good as the son,
<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
The mother, and she is every bit as much as the father.
<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to trades,
<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
Young fellows working on farms and old fellows working on farms,
<><><><> </><><><><> </> <><><><> </> <><><><> </>
Sailor-men, merchant-men, coasters, immigrants"

Here, Whitman uses juxtaposition and a series of binaries to express equalness and equality regardless of gender, race, socio-economic class, job, country of origin, age, etc.. I enjoy the Americanness of Whitman, his celebration of freedom and the equality which is necessary to thrive in such a system. These themes of universal authorial love and equalness are centerpeices to the feast of Whitman.
 

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Beethoven's Septette

There are two types of musicality- natural and composed. "Whitman," in his alleged journal, responds to them both, the first, merely a praise of orchestration and composition, the second, a poetic response to nature. This musical performance, allegedly performed and composed by "Beethoven," evokes much less of a response, from "Whitman-" supporting the premise that the art of hearing a musical performance takes energy from an artist, whereas the musical gifts from natue provides them with energy.

In relation to Whitman's "Song of Myself,"  a text  which celebrates where nature and Self collide, both the poem and "journal" entry evoke the musicality of nature. Interestingly, when comparing the two "entries," nature brinsg more poetic loftyness than a performance from one of the most celebrated composers. "Song of Myself," where the author celebrates "loafing" in nature, inviting the reader to loafe with him, quickly causes the reader to realize natural loafing, even through its loafyness, still evokes art. Thus, which is more loafing? Laying upon the grass and listening to nature compose a symphony, or attending a performance by Beethoveen?

Link: http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=WhiPro1.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=206&division=div2

Spring Overtures

Here, we find three separate days where Whitman records his thoughts subsequently. That is to say, two days in a row, and one day nine days later... What I found interesting about these posts were both their distinct and divergent voices. The author is able to create a completely new voice, almost as if from the perspective of an entirely new individual. Here one idea being expressed is each day a person, a writer, an individual, carries an entirely different tone, mode of emphasis, and overarching emotional field.

The first day, for example, Whitman merely catalogs his encounter of a few small birds. His phrases are short, lacking adjectives, lacking explicit emotion. The next day, we encounter extreme verbiage, lengthy phrases, decorative descriptions, and allusory detail. The third day becomes less a catalog and more of a personal encounter, where sensory language detailing and celebrating the physicality of existence is utilized.

Where this becomes interesting, of course, is when thinking of the length it took Whitman to write "Leaves of Grass," and also his further edits from later years. Essentially, it explains the divergent voices found throughout the text. Whitman would perhaps describe this by stating he is the voice of the people, an ever-changing field of growth. Thus, an author's day to day life becomes a process of evolution.

For example, some section are physical, such as the romance where a lover is to reach into the very chest of the narrator. Then, some sections are Self-reflexive,

"I know perfectly well my own egotism,
And know my omniverous words, and cannot say any less,
And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself."

It is probably that these varying sections, similar to "his" journal entries, focus on different avenues of existence as a result of the linear nature of when they were written. This both accounts and explains the Whitman-esque transforming voice, which morphs like leaves from one day to the next.

Link: http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=WhiPro1.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=124&division=div2

Sunday, February 19, 2012

STARTING FROM PAUMANOK

The Blue Book from "1860" includes Walt Whitman's editings, his personal line by line breakdown of changes he wishes to devise on latter versions of "Song of Myself." One interesting note was his obvious debate between whether or not to use "soul" or "self."

In the "1860" version,
"Victory, union, faith,  identity, time, the Soul, your-
self, the present and future lands..."
An edit which carries forth into the "1867" version. However, later in the poem Whitman reutilizes "soul,"

"The satisfier, after due long-waiting, now advancing,
<><><><><><> </> <><><><><><> </>
Yes, here comes my mistress, the Soul."

It appears as if Whitman views the self and soul gendered- thus the composition of two creates a human. An entity that is neither male, nor female, but a hybrid combination of both. This is a similar theme throughout American Literature, the idea of a boy-girl, a Mr.Mrs., a She-he, a lad-lady, one theme often overlooked. The blue book makes this fairly overt, exemplifying the usefulness of such a tool.


The Soul female, the Self male.

An interesting use of words to describe the omnipresence of masculine and feminine details an individual human being carries.

A second altercation is his decision to use "Reckon'd" rather than "Reckoned." By altering "ed," Whitman is able to both add a stylistic element to his work (IE making him look more scholarly because it replicates old english), and also to add ambiguity betwixt the verbiage condensed. Reckon'd, whether or not  gramatically "allowed," could be a conjunction for reckon and any other word. It's rather ingenius, and gives his poem a quality known only to the originator.


Link: http://whitmanarchive.org/published/1860-Blue_book/images/leaf002r.html

Poem Pg. This, Poem Pg. That

The two versions, that is, "1855" and "1860," versions of Song of Myself, differ in several respects, yet retain the same symbolic and thematic core. One difference is where the lines diverge onto the next page... IE rather than analyzing poetic structure as a means of mere line breaks, where the poem separates from itself and extends onto the next page. I suppose this could be both useful and troubling- for some poets probably place adament concern regarding which parts of which poems are on which pages (IE I want this sonnet on page 88!), while others may not. By analyzing a poem in terms of the pages, one may gain insight into the poem, however, one may also be looking at a mirror with a magnifying glass. Regardless of Whitman's planning, or lack there of, this is one key difference that will indefinitely affect the readers poetry.

"Bowery b'hoy" or "Bowery Boy"

Through searching for information regarding the Bowery B'hoy (B'Hoy being irish for Boy), I came across two divergent definitions. One, the "Bowery Boys," were an alleged New York gang in the 1800s. For example, the gang was referenced in the novel "Gangs of New York." However, academia had a slightly different response. Apprently, pre-civil war, the Bowery b’hoy was a symbolic figure for American middle and working class.  The figure was repeatedly utilized throughout artistic creations, plays, novels, music, etc., and came to formfit into a specfic type of dress and linguistic discourse. The second seems to relate more accurately to Walt Whitman- Being that Whitman repeatedly addressed and sought to represent this culture of society.

"The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes,
or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and breakdown.
Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge . . . . they are all out . . . . there is a great heat in the fire. "

Here Whitman evokes two separate levels of the working class, a youth and an elder. These two could represent the Bowery B'hoy.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Witholding Omni


Poets become types of overlookers... From their poetic and authorial position, each writer tends to disconnect himself from society at large, and through this disconnection, delve into each individual world enhancing their unique perception and grasp of a broader base of people without negating such an understanding to one large group. Instead, these poets separate, than zoom. “The Village Blacksmith”, for example, hones on the life of a single worker, a blacksmith by trade, and through metricality and poetic imagery, expresses how his individual life (both his perception and outside perceptions of him) form his world, which remains different from everyone else’s. One interesting aspect to “The Village Blacksmith” is, essentially, repetitious behavior without phrase repetition.

“Week in, week out, from morn till night,
                You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
                With measured beat and slow…”

This powerful image, one of a muscular blacksmith laboring over his work, repetitiously swinging his sledge day in till day out, becomes central to the poetic theme. It is this very life cycle, over and over again, which the poet seeks to capture. However, there is no banality to this existence, nor to the poem seeking to replicate and unfold. There is no precise repetition, no identical phrases; instead a repeated metrical poeticism, a thematic recycling of sorts, similar though never identical.


Another example of this cycle, and furthermore a poet attempting to interrelate one’s own experience with another living creature, is exemplified in “An Incident.” Here, rather than a human perspective, the poet details her encounter with an eagle. Formally an acatalectic sonnet, repetition is found through the metricality and images. An eagle, soaring above, with its wings continually and monotonously rising and falling like waves, releases a plume which dwindles to the speaker.

“And eagle, high above the darkling fir,
With steady flight, seemed there to take his fill
Of that pure ether breathed by him alone.
O noble bird! Why didst thou loose for me
Thy eagle plum?”

The speaker attempts to grapple with a foundational premise of several poets. Namely,
 how to analyze omnipotence; how to realign and withhold omniscient perspective. 

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Always~Forevers; Never~Beginnings


 “All goes onward and outward….
           And nothing collapses....”

Initially, the originator portrays the motif of never~beginnings and always~forevers through a birth and death vehicle. These two are especially appropriate data for such an argument primarily due to their infinite nature and the vast unknownness surrounding their existence. Essentially, modern day philosophy tends to view the two as inversions, binaries of a sort, even opposites. The significance of this is, if one will, each point becomes a vector on a graph, extending infinitely diverging directions. The premise here- there are never beginnings; never anything begins, always~forever everything changes. Existence, Matter, Souls, Selfs- each of these become an ever~always process, an on-going transformation.

“Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
                 I hasten to inform him or her it is
                              Just as lucky to die, and I know it.”

Death is, presumptuously, just as much a process as living; it is a separation of soul from body, it is a separation of essence from material. Living becomes an intertwining of body and soul, yet separation is not an ending. The body evolves into nature, into ash, into dirt or dust; the soul evolves without matter, relieving itself from substance.Throughout the text, natural imagery is evoked- images of the transforming essence of nature; the very essence which the poem seeks to replicate through its natural flow. There is a luckiness to inceptions, there is no fear to birth,  there is a type of mastery over the forever extending beyond and before this life. This very lack of fear tends to evoke surprise in a modern day reader. How could one fear death and not equally fear birth? If to be born is lucky, is to die not equally lucky? If both extend infinitely, if both reach beyond the realm of time, clearly there is nothing to fear in either direction, there is only celebration- a mere infinite process, an on-going and always-forever perfection.

“Swiftly arose and spread around me
            The peace and joy and knowledge
            That pass all the art and argument
of the earth;
And I know that the hand of God is
The eldest brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are
Also my brothers…. And the
Women are sisters and lovers…”

Birth becomes the infusion point of soul and body, where soul gravitates and gives spirit organs, solidified existence, mass. Each form, both solid and essence are a lasting transformation.... Here, the originator dabbles into what is otherwise referred to as perfection; a perfection dwindling back and forth between temporal states of non-existence. Because there is never a start, nor an end, there must only be forever; forever which must be perfect. Here we find birth, yet birth vastly divergent from the continuing motif depicted before. The originator seeks to interrelate everything from a perfect god to perfect women to perfect men through this birthing process. He states this relatively, of course, as a human's soul lands on this planet one becomes interwoven with the living, interwoven beyond existence.

“We have thus far exhausted trillions
        Of winters and summers;
        There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them
Births have brought us richness and variety,
        And other births will bring us richness and variety.
I do not call one greater and one smaller,
       That which fills its period and place is equal to any.”

Birth and death extend beyond what is considered living, beyond what is present, beyond what is here; it extends to breathing entities such as planets, such as seasons. Here the originator proclaims seasons reach trillions of years, yet he refrains from naming them infinite. Here is a subtle flaw in the philosophical and theoretical essence of this version of the poem- because our souls reach and extend to infinite, does this not also require a seasonal infinite? If a soul, just as an idea, just as an essence, just as a quaint, just as a fragment of matter, extends infinitely in every direction on a vector of time, would not seasons retain their infinite as well? It stands to logic as must. While the poet does not counter this, he refers to seasons as trillions and trillions, not always~forevers. Placing a time limit on seasons essentially counters this idea of always~forevers; for trillions upon trillions of years has a time scale, a scale requiring an end (at least worded in such a manner). Granted, his stance is not solidified at this point of the poem, it is, however, unclear. For trillions of years with trillions of years could potentially get repeated forever, the originator simply restrains from saying so. This is probably to provide awe at the length with which seasons have existed and will exist. A trillion plus a trillion plus a trillion *repeat;* imagine how far that extends!

Never~Beginnings and Always~Forevers


“All goes onward and outward….
          And nothing collapses....

Initially, the originator portrays the motif of never~beginnings and always~forevers through a birth and death vehicle. These two are especially appropriate data for such an argument primarily due to their infinite nature and the vast unknownness surrounding their existence. Essentially, modern day philosophy tends to view the two as inversions, binaries of a sort, even opposites. The significance of this is, if one will, each point becomes a vector on a graph, each extends opposite ways infinitely. The idea here being there are no beginnings; never anything begins, always everything changes, forever. Existence, Matter, Souls, Selfs- each of these become an ever~always process, an on-going transformation.

“Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
                 I hasten to inform him or her it is
                            Just as lucky to die, and I know it.”

Death, is presumptuously, just as much a process as living, it is the final separation of soul from this body. Living becomes intertwining of body and soul, yet their separation is not their end. The body evolves into nature, into ash, into dirt or dust, the soul becomes matter-less~ relieving itself from substance. Throughout the poem, natural imagery is evoked, images of the transforming essence of nature; the very essence which the poem seeks to replicate through its natural flow, this natural flow which runs parallel to birth and death. There is a luckiness to inceptions, there is no fear to birth,  there is a type of mastery over the forever extending beyond and before this life, and this very lack of fear tends to evoke surprise in a modern day reader. How could one fear death and not equally fear birth? If to be born is lucky, is to die not equally lucky? If both extend infinitely, if both reach beyond the realm of time, clearly there is nothing to fear in either direction, there is only celebration- a mere infinite process, an on-going and always-forever perfection.

“Swiftly arose and spread around me
            The peace and joy and knowledge
            That pass all the art and argument
of the earth;
And I know that the hand of God is
The eldest brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are
Also my brothers…. And the
Women are sisters and lovers…”

Birth becomes the infusion point of the soul and body, where the soul flows in and gives spirit organs, solidified minds, mass. Each form, the solid and the essence, are only a lasting transformation... Here, the originator dabbles into what is otherwise referred to as perfection; a perfection dwindling back and forth between a temporal state of non-existence. Because there is never a start, nor an end, there is only forever, a forever which must be perfect. Here we find birth, yet birth vastly divergent from the continuing motif depicted before. The originator seeks to interrelate everything from a perfect god to perfect women to perfect men. He states this relatively, of course, as a human's soul lands on this planet one becomes interwoven with the living, interwoven beyond existence.

“We have thus far exhausted trillions
          Of winters and summers;
          There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them
Births have brought us richness and variety,
         And other births will bring us richness and variety.
I do not call one greater and one smaller,
        That which fills its period and place is equal to any.”

Birth and death extend beyond what is considered living, beyond what is present, what is us; it extends to breathing entities such as planets, such as seasons. Here the originator proclaims seasons reach to trillions, yet he refrains from naming them infinite. Here is where I find a flaw in the philosophical and theoretical essence of this version of the poem; because our souls essentially reach and extend to infinite, does this not also require a seasonal infinite? If a soul, just as an idea, just as an essence, just as a fragment of matter, just as a quaint, extends infinitely in either direction on a vector of time, would not seasons become infinite as well? It stands to logic a must. While the poet does not counter this, he refers to seasons as trillions and trillions, not merely always-forevers. Placing a time limit on seasons essentially counters this idea of always~forevers, for trillions upon trillions of years, in terms of a time scale, end (at least worded in such a manner). Granted, this stance is not solidified at this point of the poem, it is, however, unclear. For trillions of years with trillions of years following could get repeated forever, he simply restrains from saying so. This is probably to provide the reader with awe at the length with which seasons have existed and will exist. A trillion plus a trillion plus a trillion *repeat* imagine how far that extends!