Thou

There was a decorated ensemble encovering the star studded night. Walt walked, two leaves blew from the trees, slowly dancing through the quiet melody of the breeze. A silent symphony, a supertonic cresendo, a magical and musical explosion. Words were heard around him, yet not the words entranced and danced with his ear drums. He heard a quiet roar as if it was raging against the silence of the progressing night.

Distantly off into the horizon, there was a curvature of light, delicately bending across the city's horizon like a wristwatch. Suddenly, out of the stale and drowsy air, those very two leaves, sombre and superb, complimented the scene like a perfect comrade, like a dream.

Be ye my Gods, Walt thought.

Walt glances toward the curve of the planet's perfect caress of Light, curved like time and space, complimenting the shape of the earth. He looks toward the orb of the full moon.

Be ye my Gods, Walt thought.

Slowly, the feet of the few approached their destination. Slowly, the explosion of a street car passed- inebriating Walt with the sound.
Slowly, the feet of the few approached.





A door eternally swings, joyfully inviting, with voices like music beautifully and intrinsicly inviting forever, like a prayer.

Be ye my Gods, Walt thought.

The heart of Manhattan drives streetcar operators through the street of this bar, each crossing the intersections of speech barriers, social classes, and religions. Happily, speeches rise with only a smile. Walt smiles, the roar reverberates, gaining momentum in a snowball affect of joy.

Realism flows through Walt's veins, a miracle, yet a divergent realism from now and every tomorrow hence. An always new realism, a continual miracle;
America.

Be ye my Gods, Walt thought.



The friend I am with is laughing, the arm of my friend hangs idly over my shoulder, beautiful dripping fragments flow like honey into our glasses.
Slowly, the feet of a few approach.
Slowly, the sound of a streetcar explodes, inebriating the air with meaning.
Here, I heard him,

"Be ye my Gods?" Walt spake, chanting like an immortal.



Walking, enfans d'adam, Walt approaches.

Passionately, we speak, words like fingers cling together. All else, even time, is forgotten. Ages and ages hence, one word from each of our lips shall be repeated, reborn, vibrating through our lips, bathing in my ears, and loafing in my soul,

                                      "Lover" I "Together"
As if for an eternity...

One flitting glimpse, caught through an interstice of a crowd, of workmen and drivers, immediately,

Be thou my God?




Walt walks to a booth in a corner. A youth, "I love you." Softly, we whisper, gentler than a leaf. Silently, sitting next to him, fingers like words cling.




We separate, like lovers from one becoming two...

Forever forgotten aside from all, aside from two...

Whitman's Lillies and Rukeyser's Book of the Dead

One of the most important elements to a poem is the speaker, and who the speaker is speaking to. This may be found in a variety of ways, either through direct evocation (such as a speaker stating "you"), or through implicit undertones (for example, addressing readers as a group rather than an individual). Whitman's narration technique is somewhat complicated, as he addresses both a personified "you," "O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring" and then his lover directly "Where amid these you journey, With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang." Here, Whitman utilizes "you" in two extremely divergent ways. The first, directed toward "Spring," appears to be the poems muse-like evocation, as discussed more in depth in my last post. The second, directly addressed toward his lover, which allows the reader to temporarily remain in his lovers shoes, with the poet speaking directly toward them.

Rukeyser, to contrast, does two things Whitman almost never, ever does. First, she creates group differences. "These roads will take you into your own country." Where "your own country" obviously separates the audience into two separate groups, those of her country, and those of another. Whitman does not do this, not even in Leaves of Grass, instead, Whitman tries to unify. Both are effective for their own purposes, of course, Whitman provides a type of bond with his reader, whereas Rukeyser's provides two lenses through which to understand the poem, seemingly, an outsider and an insider.

These two show the significance of not only a poet's speaker, but a speaker's target audience, and also the ways in which that audience is characterized. Obviously, each technique will evoke a varying response from the onlooker, it becomes an authorial decision. Either you try to unify an outsider (this being an audience member from outside of ones own country), or you try to celebrate these differences. Granted, there are those who might wish to attack such differences, however, such negativity hardly deserves mention. Regardless, although I dislike comparing the effectiveness of two poets, I believe Whitman's evokes a more powerful and positive response (though not necessarily due to their evocation of "you"), mostly because Whitman isn't speaking about warring with another.

The two come to fairly similar conclusions regarding the speakers understanding and acceptance of death. Whitman finds a way to celebrate it, deciding through it all, his lover will live always, forever reborn inside of his own heart. Rukeyser, too, places the dead into a category of "unending love." Also, the two compare death to a plant, a useful vehicle for a metaphor in this case because, they, like a feeling, go through several rebirth cycles.

When Lilacs Bloom

Whitman's elegy entitled When Lilacs Last in the Door-Yard Bloom'd is attempting to grapple with the vastly complicated issue of death. The poem's initial stanza cycles betwixt two contrasting ideas, spring and mourning. The vehicle of spring is utilized to provide the reader with a way to cope with death- rebirth. Lilacs, flowers, and spring are well known for their cyclical nature- they die, and are then reborn. These flowers are symbolic for this living condition; the recycling nature of Earth. However, Whitman uses this semi-ironically; evoking Spring, typically a season known for its rebirth principles, its newness, and its freshness, then counter-balances this with death, mourning, and despair.

"O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love." (Lines 4, 5, and 6).

Here, Whitman evokes Spring, his poem's natural muse, and also "him I love," his human muse. By doing this, Whitman devises a technique for coping with the loss of the latter. He seems to be presenting the idea that like his natural muse,which is ever-returning, so will his love. His love thus shall become ever-returning, ever-reborn, ever-true- blooming like a lilac in Spring.

"Must I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves?
Must I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring?" (Lines 196 and 197).

Late in the poem, Whitman proposes two questions, exposing the narrator's concerns with the loss of his lover. Love, after you have died, must I leave you behind? Or will you once again bloom, away from me, returning with spring? At the very end of the poem, Whitman answers his narrator's questions, "Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul..." He concludes that even after losing the lilac and his lover, they shall become ever intertwined with his soul.


Coping with death is a theme transcendent in literary history. Modernity has begun to recycle this theme as well, including a plethora of poems responding to the tragedy of 9/11. Two examples of poets responding to the events are Robert Pinsky's 9/11, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti's History of the Airplane.

Ferlinghetti's poem recounts the history of the airplane, both with respect to tragedy and joy.

http://www.corpse.org/archives/issue_11/manifestos/ferlinghetti.html

Pinksky's touches on firefighters writing social security numbers on their arms, Colonel Donald Duck, the narrative of Fredrick Douglass, and mystic masonic totems. And, quite simply, does it beautifully.

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/entertainment/july-dec02/9-11_9-11.html

Ferlinghetti's poem also compares and contrasts two diverging ideas, peace with tragedy. Similar to Whitman's poem, there is a type of irony. The Wright Brothers, who invented their machine for peace, create a vehicle for war. This is, of course, one of the tragedies to the living condition- often our expectations and intentions sadly turn into something else, even while someone else is striving to achieve similar ends. Even the 9/11 tragedy was a group of people striving for peace, they just had an entirely different perspective on how to achieve that peace. It is unfortunate that some believe violence, destruction, or war will ever bring about peace. Ferlinghetti's poem evokes powerful imagery in its climax, reminding us of 9/11's complete and utter sadness,

"There is chaos and despair
And buried loves and voices
Cries and whispers
Fill the air
Everywhere"

Updating Updates!

To explore Whitman further, and to also dabble into his stance on homosexuality, I'm thinking of crafting some type of short story- embedding quotes and details from the poem as well as seeking to enhance the tone, themes, and motifs. I believe this would be an interesting story, both in terms of exploring the speaker's sexuality, as well as the secretive nature of their meeting in the bar. I'm a huge fan of secret romances, so I think it could be a powerful story.

A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.

By, Walt Whitman

Peter Doyle

One of the attributes to a famous artist most overlook is their humanness, the attributes that make us a human being. Did Shakespeare have a best friend? Did Chaucer enjoy drinking tea? Did Homer ever have a lover? Artists become a figure of greatness to most, a position which tends to dehumanize them.

Peter Doyle and Whitman were intimate friends, so intimate, some believe the two may have been lovers. After reading about Doyle's life, it becomes apparent why a writer would have cherished him, not only as an individual, but also as a type of muse. Doyle, a commonly educated man, was a soldier, prisoner of war (which he escaped from), an attendee of the play where Abraham Lincoln was shot, a street car worker, a railroad worker... Basically, Doyle was a figure Whitman could view as a flawless American, one who experienced nearly every huge historical feat of the century.

The two sent a group of letters back and forth, which were stored and later published. One interesting aspect to this publication is the type of fame Doyle was able to recieve merely by being a friend of Whitman. Reviewers of the letters initially wished there were more written by Doyle! It's fairly interesting to think a relatively unliterate man draws forth more reader interest than one of the most famous poets history has to offer.

Regardless of fame and historical acclaim, the two had one of the best relationships in literary history. Doyle's emotional attachment to Whitman is, to say the least, touching. Doyle recounts his attempts to keep Whitman alive even after death, merely to be close to the man.

"I have Walt's raglan here [goes to closet—puts it on]. I now and then put it on, lay down, think I am in the old times. Then he is with me again. It's the only thing I kept amongst many old things. When I get it on and stretch out on the old sofa I am very well contented. It is like Aladdin's lamp. I do not ever for a minute lose the old man. He is always near by. When I am in trouble—in a crisis—I ask myself, 'What would Walt have done under these circumstances?' and whatever I decide Walt would have done that I do."

Upon his passing, Whitman gave Doyle a silver watch. This silver watch signifies not only the lasting friendship of the two, but also stands as a symbol for the duration of time Whitman and Doyle had been friends. A fairly beautiful friendship, one which shines brighter than silver and is worth more than gold.

Rereviewing Reviews and Reviewers

For my next major project, I shall either approach the reviewers reviews of Whitman's Leaves of Grass from a few specific schools of criticism, or I will paint a type of word portrait of Whitman utilizing text from his Leaves of Grass. While the first will expand my knowledge of modern day techniques of criticism, the second will increase my knowledge of Leaves of Grass through a careful selection of thematic phrases, while also developing my artistic abilities. To expand on both ideas, I wish to approach reviews of Whitman's text because it becomes a type of exponential learning, reflecting on anothers reflections. Also, varying forms of criticism are fairly central to the modern day literary scene, such as deconstructionism, new historicism, formalism, and even types of psycho-semantics. This would prove helpful because I would become more familiarized with directions literary critics take while sorting through literary works. A painting, however, could prove extremely aesthetically pleasing, while also promoting this type of hybridity which overwhelms todays artistic front. Combining various artforms, here poetry and painting, would expand both markets, as well as allowing me to freely delve between fairly rich artistic material. Artistically speaking, there are a series of techniques which would be integrated to derive a completely unique creation. My only limitations are my current lack of photoshop, which would open doors to craft a type of 3D image (possible utilizing calculus, too, just less precise).
Would require further research of outside critical techniques, or a focus primarily on Whitman's text. Essentially, each would prove to be a powerful learning process, they simply focus on two different types of art- one visual, and one textual.

Whitman's Popularity

Word portraits are the classiest, let's be real. Whitman's face created from the face of words thrown across a page- what could be more hip? The portrait, aside from being unparalleled in its level of coolness, reinterprets poeticism in an extremely unique way... Here, a poet is viewed as a composition of his words, a carefully shaped and precise selection composing a snapshot image of themes and poeticism. Most view poems as extensions, here, the artist reinterprets poems as a composition of a poet.

Artist of Word Portraits-  John Sokol, Alyssa Pelletier
http://www.johnsokol-artist-author.com/index.html
http://alyssapelletier.com/

Martin Tupper: Didacticism

Martin Tupper, a poet from Whitman's time era, represents a genre paralellism- IE a style of writing growing onto another branch of poetries trunk. Martin Tupper focused on morality, a didactic approach toward teaching masses stronger moral values than was prevalent- a difficult yet noble cause. Whitman's own genre, mostly free-verse celebratory poetry, tends to stray away from overt didacticism, focusing on celebrating the positive aspects of life rather than critiquing moral mistakes of the past. These two writers provide valuable insight toward what made Whitman popular, canonized, and remembered, whereas Tupper remains relatively in the wake of Whitman's allegorical power-boat. I would argue this happened from something fairly and simply- genre. Whitman strayed away from teaching entire groups morality, something most believe to be intrinsic, innate, and extremely relative. People, generally, dislike being told how to behave, what actions are socially "correct" and "incorrect," or to have another bash each decision that they make with an air of sophisticated morality. Whitman's morals are weaved into the threads of his texts, being exposed through character actions, narrative restraint, dictorial selection; whereas Tupper provides clear religious and moral instructions,

"Despise not, shrewd reckoner, the God of a good man’s worship,
Neither let thy calculating folly gainsay the unity of three:
Nor scorn another’s creed, although he cannot solve thy doubts;" (Of a Trinity).

His work tells how, it does not recount how. Whitman's tales, on the other hand, recount a narrative structure, a way of life, an individual experience- He does not appear to wish for his readers to behave in the same manner, no, he celebrates their differences. Whereas Martin Tupper seems to wish for each reader to follow the same moralistic and religious guidelines as his narrator. These two differences explain not only what gained Whitman more support in his generation, as well as those which followed, but also divulged important information as to persuasive and rhetorical techniques utilized by institutionalized churches (represented through Tupper). Rather than celebrating differences and recounting favorite personality and charactorial types, it provides a routine, a copy-pasted structure of similarness, it strives to craft identities to not necessarily become identical, no, for this would be too obvious and perfect to them, but instead to formfit each individual to follow structural and overarching guidelines. Whitman gained support because he restrained from telling people how to behave, whereas Tupper gained some sort of inner-satisfaction supporting an institutionalized life path. Each benefits in their own respect, however, Whitman seems to have attained the popular vote, so to speak.

Plays and Operas, Too!

Whitman begins to provide insight as to which performances, writers, and composers crafted his artistic vision from an early age. Whitman posts names and artists almost like an advertisement, showing off his own musical and theatrical taste, becoming his own type of institutionalized advertisement. Furthermore, it begins to show the reader varying insights which have come together to form Whitman's poetic outreaching, an artistic style which stretches vastly through all fields of American life.

"And certain actors and singers, had a good deal to do with the business. All through these years, off and on, I frequented the old Park, the Bowery, Broadway and Chatham-square theatres, and the Italian operas at Chambers-street, Astor-place or the Battery -- many seasons was on the free list, writing for papers even as quite a youth. The old Park theatre -- what names, reminiscences, the words bring back!" (Plays and Operas, Too).

This business, if one were to put forth an educated guess, would seemingly be the business of developing as an artist. Here, we begin to see the influences and significance Whitman placed on other artists, instantaneously putting forth ads about them, as well as promoting them by presence. Whitman divulges a list, and, as one might expect, returns to his classical position promoting Shakespearian plays, which apparently have overarching influence on Whitman's work and enjoyment from an early age forth, "As boy or young man I had seen, (reading them carefully the day beforehand,) quite all Shakspere's acting dramas, play'd wonderfully well. Even yet I cannot conceive anything finer than old Booth in "Richard Third," or "Lear," (I don't know which was best,) [...]." Whitman blends a wide variety of artists, some from his time period, and some straying away from his own. This replicates Whitman's own diversity, plus, provides other artists with a tactful way of presenting artists, both ancient and new.

http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=WhiPro1.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=14&division=div2

Rhetorical Omnipresence

Fifty Hours Left Wounded on a Field narrates Whitman's experiences speaking with a wounded soldier during the civil war. Similar to the section from Leaves of Grass where Whitman cares for a runaway slave, the entry balances between empathetic concern and unbiased tale renunciation. One of the most impressive aspects to Whitman's narrative technique is his ability to unfold a series of events without offering too explicit political stances- while the details may be skewed to support one side or the other, he rarely makes his own stance explicitly obvious. For example, he never says "I stand for the slaves stretching forth to receive freeness and liberty," he instead recounts his narratives utilizing specific details from his experiences to skew his story in a general direction, implicit and underlying,

"The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside;
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile;
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log, and led him in and assured him,
And brought water, and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet,
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north;" (Leaves of Grass)


"Here is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the Patent-office. He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will listen to him. [...] He answers that several of the rebels, soldiers and others, came to him at one time and another. A couple of them, who were together, spoke roughly and sarcastically, but nothing worse. [...] But he retains a good heart, and is at present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men to remain on the field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.)" (Specimen Day Fifty Hours Left Wounded on a Field).


Each of these two tales, while different, retain an attempt at unbiasness- however, instantaneously expose the truth that no story could ever be unbiased, regardless of authorial talent. Each example of the story does not explicate too obvious of a position- he takes care of the slave, yet doesn't quite celebrate him. He feels empathy toward the soldier fighting in the war, but is tentative to admit which side he wishes to support. His stance remains ambiguous. However, even through this tale recount, one recognizes specific details and dictorial decisions which, ultimately, skew the story one way or another. For example, one might realize Whitman's talk(s) with a soldier extended into much more detail and subjects, techniques, political standpoints, post-war soldier insurance, importance of slavery, yet he consciously decided to narrate the soldier was left alone for days, met with soldiers who bad mouthed him (yet withheld from inacting violence), and that this occurance was normal. Just the same as Leaves of Grass includes several specific and chosen details- twigs breaking on a woodpile, the weak and sickly disposition of the slave, the duration of his visit, so on and so forth. Each of the two, while not explicitly taking political stances, evoke emotions such as empathy from the reader- empathy being a fairly persuasive technique, Whitman is able to alter the positions of his readers even without taking an overt position. These two entries highlight the idea that stories, regardless of a writers talent, always have some sort of rhetorical bias.










http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=WhiPro1.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=25&division=div2

Reviewing Reviews

"Here we have a book which fairly staggers us. It sets all the ordinary rules of criticism at defiance."

The foundation of the beginning review, entitled "Leaves of Grass- An Extraordinary Book," claims Whitman's text avoids all types of criticism, or to put it differently, by brinking the gap between classical formalaic poetry and his version of modernity, he was able to create something so staggeringly new that even to this day we struggle finding the tools to analyze and criticize it completely. Historically, Whitman's text gains much of its power from the fact that it avoids rhyme schemes, metricality, ordinary juxtaposition, poetic structure- it was the creation of free verse poetry. This free verse, one of the first true steps away from classicality, avoids ordinary rules and limitations for the very purpose of avoiding classical criticism. What this shift away from classical and formal poetry implies, being more a suggestion of Whitman's own individuality, is a general transformation of America's belief structure, a nation striving to find their own voice while resting on relatively new feet. America had no single poetic structure, no concrete form, every poem being a mere reflection on their pre-colonialized roots- Whitman provided an alternative mode to craft poetry while instantaneously promoting the core values of American ideals- a freeness unbound.

"It is a poem; but it conforms to none of the rules by which poetry has ever been judged. It is not an epic nor an ode, nor a lyric; nor does its verses move with the measured pace of poetical feet—of Iambic, Trochaic or Anapaestic, nor seek the aid of Amphibrach, of dactyl or Spondee, nor of final or cesural pause, except by accident."

The review transforms into a microscopic analyzation of minor poetic detail, however, the reviewer finds himelf without the capabilities to explain without utilizing a dialectic argumentative structure. Because Whitman's text is a paragon of newness, there are, for the most part, only new poetic devices; techniques one observes yet is incapable of describing. The reviewer begins to explain how the poem is devised by saying it merely does not make use of this, nor this, nor this. Such a reviewing technique explicates Whitman's enterance into poetic creation which is limitless and infinite.

"He does not pick and choose sentiments and expressions fit for general circulation—he gives a voice to whatever is, whatever we see, and hear, and think, and feel. He descends to grossness, which debars the poem from being read aloud in any mixed circle. We have said that the work defies criticism; we pronounce no judgment upon it..."

The finality of the essays core returns to the original claim- we pronounce no judgement on Whitman, we merely stand in awe at a poem which avoids classical criticism. Rather than focusing on lofty poetic classicalism, he focuses on thematically connecting with his American audience- intertwining themes touching on America's support of the "everyman," his providing a voice to every majority and minority, his celebration of freedom, and his attempts to stretch away from classical and outlandish thought.

________________________________________________________________________________

The second review, titled merely "Leaves of Grass," descends into a new realm of analysis, one which focuses not on poetic technique, but thematic power. The reviews have entirely divergent writing styles, the first a more traditional approach, the second a more Whitmanesque reflection. He begins by stating Whitman's world needed this- to paraphrase, a speaker who avoids genres, nomenclatures, institutionalized colonial remnants, a poet who stands away from socio-economic positions, a world which

"[...]needed a "Native American" of thorough, out and out breed—enamored of women not ladies, men not gentlemen; something beside a mere Catholic-hating Know-Nothing; it needed a man who dared speak out his strong, honest thoughts, in the face of pusillanimous, toadeying, republican aristocracy; dictionary-men, hypocrites, cliques and creeds; it needed a large-hearted, untainted,self-reliant, fearless son of the Stars and Stripes, who disdains to sell his birthright for a mess of pottage; who does

"Not call one greater or one smaller,

That which fills its period and place being equal to

any;"

who will

"Accept nothing which all cannot have their coun-

terpart of on the same terms."

The reviewers language is languid, rich, smooth and flowing like Whitman's own writing. This review also explains and reflects on Whitman's time period, explaining historically what they need. Here, the review takes an almost new historicism approach. Next, the reviewer begins utilizing poetic technique, a point of the review where structural criticism clashes with poetic alignment
.

 "Sensual!—No—the moral assassin looks you not boldly in the eye by broad daylight; but Borgia-like² takes you treacherously by the hand, while from the glittering ring on his finger he distils through your veins the subtle and deadly poison.

Sensual? The artist who would inflame, paints you not nude Nature, but stealing Virtue's veil, with artful artlessness now conceals, now exposes, the ripe and swelling proportions.

Sensual? Let him who would affix this stigma upon Leaves of Grass, write upon his heart, in letters of fire, these noble words of its author..."

This second review is powerful due to its poeticness rather than its criticism. An impressive review, to say the least.

________________________________________________________________________________

The third review criticizes (definitively speaks against) Leaves of Grass. This review, entitled  [Review of Leaves of Grass (1855)], states that his work isn't even worth purchasing, much less, if we have it, we have some sort of a moral obligation to rid ourselves of it, descending the review, at least stylistically, into satire. As an audience, "We shall not aid in extending the sale of this intensely vulgar, nay, absolutely beastly book, by telling our readers where it may be purchased."

The reviewer then (humorously?) states the author ought to be "sent to a lunatic asylum" for "pandering to the prurient tastes of morbid sensualists." The reviewer seems to be claiming Whitman's poem descends into the sexual morbid, such as a lover entering into the chest of a lover, the famous lines where the author begs for his reader to pull on his beard and insert their tongue into his chest, and this bluntness allegedly qualifies a poet to descend across this fine line of genius and sanity, a position which is more frustrating than one may realize; it is, after-all, impossible to prove sanity one way or another for anyone. When put into this frame, one may begin to understand the fundamental critique satirically, at least so far as it is slightly morbid, even vulgar, but to send the author to a "lunatic asylum," is, while almost humorous, a pretty low blow and terrible critique.

The review then criticises Emerson, this time period's acclaimed didactic writer, for supporting Whitman.

"...indorsed by the said Emerson, who swallows down Whitman's vulgarity and beastliness as if they were curds and whey. No wonder the Boston female schools are demoralized when Emerson, the head of the moral and solid people of Boston, indorses Whitman, and thus drags his slimy work into the sanctum of New England firesides."

Instead of a celebration, this is more of an attack: stating a poet should be sent to an insane asylum, referring to his work as "slimy," even reaching to blame the demoralization of Boston's female schools on both Emerson (for supporting Whitman), as well as Whitman himself; it's a "view the cup as always half empty and poisoness" type of perspective.

In my humble opinion, an unhealthy review, although even us optimistic ones must sometimes hear opinions of negative ones to gain perspective.

Links to Reviews:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/reviews/leaves1855/anc.00012.html
http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/reviews/leaves1855/anc.00026.html
http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/reviews/leaves1855/anc.00030.html

iam

(Relatively)Sept. 3. -- Cloudy and wet, and wind due east; air without palpable fog, but very heavy with moisture -- welcome for a change. Forenoon, crossing the Delaware, I noticed unusual numbers of swallows in flight, circling, darting, graceful beyond description, close to the water. Thick, around the bows of the ferry-boat as she lay tied in her slip, they flew; and as we went out I watch'd beyond the pier-heads, and across the broad stream, their swift-winding loop-ribands of motion, down close to it, cutting and intersecting. Though I had seen swallows all my life, seem'd as though I never before realized their peculiar beauty and character in the landscape. (Some time ago, for an hour, in a huge old country barn, watching these birds flying, recall'd the 22d book of the Odyssey, where Ulysses slays the suitors, bringing things to eclaircissement, and Minerva, swallow-bodied, darts up through the spaces of the hall, sits high on a beam, looks complacently on the show of slaughter, and feels in her element, exulting, joyous.)

Gazing from picturesque frames of elongated double-panes through lenses with tear drops from showers where clouds joyously release droplets of spherical perfection, I search. Inquiring, Droplets, after years of personified roses becoming roses then love then roses then love twisting and blooming, Who, must I thank for the droplets?
"I thank rain for rain," Wind says.

Thus rain
tones change
rain pauses
clouds hover
as if waiting...


Who and No One thankfully thanking
rain, tones change, rain, tones change

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.
　

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

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.

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. 

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!