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Leaves of Grass: The Original 1855 Edition
When Walt Whitman self-published听
Leaves of Grass
听in 1855, he rocked the literary world and forever changed the course of poetry. In subsequent editions, Whitman continued to revise and expand his poems--but none matched the raw power and immediacy of the first edition.
This beautifully-designed volume presents the original edition听 Leaves of Grass 听in its entirety, along with Ralph Waldo Emerson's famous letter to Whitman.听
The Kindle e-book听(ASIN:听B074GRBGSY)听is FREE when you buy the paperback听(ASIN:听B074GRBGSY). Check the item numbers to make sure you have the right edition.听
Kindle edition includes 12 paintings by George Caleb Bingham.
This beautifully-designed volume presents the original edition听 Leaves of Grass 听in its entirety, along with Ralph Waldo Emerson's famous letter to Whitman.听
The Kindle e-book听(ASIN:听B074GRBGSY)听is FREE when you buy the paperback听(ASIN:听B074GRBGSY). Check the item numbers to make sure you have the right edition.听
Kindle edition includes 12 paintings by George Caleb Bingham.
162 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 4, 1855
12k people are currently reading
211k people want to read
About the author
Walt Whitman
1,637听books5,232听followersWalter Whitman Jr. was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. He is considered one of the most influential poets in American literature. Whitman incorporated both transcendentalism and realism in his writings and is often called the father of free verse. His work was controversial in his time, particularly his 1855 poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described by some as obscene for its overt sensuality.
Whitman was born in Huntington on Long Island, and lived in Brooklyn as a child and through much of his career. At the age of 11, he left formal schooling to go to work. He worked as a journalist, a teacher, and a government clerk. Whitman's major poetry collection, Leaves of Grass, first published in 1855, was financed with his own money and became well known. The work was an attempt to reach out to the common person with an American epic. Whitman continued expanding and revising Leaves of Grass until his death in 1892.
During the American Civil War, he went to Washington, D.C., and worked in hospitals caring for the wounded. His poetry often focused on both loss and healing. On the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, whom Whitman greatly admired, he authored two poems, "O Captain! My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd", and gave a series of lectures on Lincoln. After suffering a stroke towards the end of his life, Whitman moved to Camden, New Jersey, where his health further declined. When he died at the age of 72, his funeral was a public event.
Whitman's influence on poetry remains strong. Art historian Mary Berenson wrote, "You cannot really understand America without Walt Whitman, without Leaves of Grass... He has expressed that civilization, 'up to date,' as he would say, and no student of the philosophy of history can do without him." Modernist poet Ezra Pound called Whitman "America's poet... He is America."
Whitman was born in Huntington on Long Island, and lived in Brooklyn as a child and through much of his career. At the age of 11, he left formal schooling to go to work. He worked as a journalist, a teacher, and a government clerk. Whitman's major poetry collection, Leaves of Grass, first published in 1855, was financed with his own money and became well known. The work was an attempt to reach out to the common person with an American epic. Whitman continued expanding and revising Leaves of Grass until his death in 1892.
During the American Civil War, he went to Washington, D.C., and worked in hospitals caring for the wounded. His poetry often focused on both loss and healing. On the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, whom Whitman greatly admired, he authored two poems, "O Captain! My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd", and gave a series of lectures on Lincoln. After suffering a stroke towards the end of his life, Whitman moved to Camden, New Jersey, where his health further declined. When he died at the age of 72, his funeral was a public event.
Whitman's influence on poetry remains strong. Art historian Mary Berenson wrote, "You cannot really understand America without Walt Whitman, without Leaves of Grass... He has expressed that civilization, 'up to date,' as he would say, and no student of the philosophy of history can do without him." Modernist poet Ezra Pound called Whitman "America's poet... He is America."
Ratings & Reviews
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 4,102 reviews
March 22, 2019
Don't pay attention to me, I'm currently high on poetry.
April 27, 2025
" I am the poet of the body
And I am the poet of the soul. "
I do not know how to review poetry or what to look for when I am reading it. All I can say is whether I liked it or not. I really, really liked this. Although it was written in 1855, the free verse felt fresh and actual. It was an ode to nature, love, sex and the self. I was recommended the 1855 version because it has some interesting punctuation and I thought it complemented the text well.
" I celebrate myself
And what i assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"
and the famous " I am large.... I contain multitudes"
And I am the poet of the soul. "
I do not know how to review poetry or what to look for when I am reading it. All I can say is whether I liked it or not. I really, really liked this. Although it was written in 1855, the free verse felt fresh and actual. It was an ode to nature, love, sex and the self. I was recommended the 1855 version because it has some interesting punctuation and I thought it complemented the text well.
" I celebrate myself
And what i assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"
and the famous " I am large.... I contain multitudes"
April 3, 2025
毓賳賵丕賳 爻丕丨乇
鬲賯賵賱 乇囟丕 亘廿丨爻丕爻 毓賲賷賯
賳丕亘毓 賲賳 賳賮爻 噩賲賷賱丞 鬲匕賵賯鬲 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿 賲孬賱賲丕 鬲匕賵賯鬲 胤毓賲 丕賱賯賴賵丞 丕賱賲乇賰夭
亘丿乇噩丞 丕賱爻賰乇 丕賱禺賮賷賮丞 丕賱鬲賷 賱丕 鬲睾賷賾乇賴丕
賴匕賴 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱鬲賷 兀丨亘賴丕 賱賴丕
賵賴匕丕 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱匕賷 賷馗賱 賲鬲乇丿丿丕 賮賷 賳賮爻賷
兀爻兀賱賴丕 毓賳 賲氐丿乇 爻丨乇 丕賱毓賳賵丕賳
鬲乇賮毓 丕賱賮賳噩丕賳 賱鬲賱丕賲爻賴 卮賮鬲丕賴丕
賵鬲賯賵賱 亘賴丿賵亍
兀賵乇丕賯 賷丕 亘乇卮賵賲賷
賵賲丕匕丕 賷氐賱 亘丕賱噩賲丕賱 廿賱賷賳丕 爻賵賶 丕賱兀賵乇丕賯
噩爻丿 丕賱兀乇囟 賷賳亘鬲 賯氐丕卅丿賴 丕賱禺囟乇丕亍
噩賲丕賱 毓囟賵賷 禺丕賱氐 亘賱丕 廿囟丕賮丕鬲 囟丕乇丞
兀賵乇丕賯 丕賱兀乇囟 鬲乇丕賴丕 丕賱賰丕卅賳丕鬲 賰賱賴丕
賷爻乇賷 賱賵賳賴丕 丕賱兀禺囟乇 賮賷 亘氐賷乇丞 丕賱乇丕卅賷
賷鬲賳賮爻 丕賱兀孬賷乇 毓胤乇賴丕 賵賷賲賳丨賴 賱賳丕 噩賲賷毓丕
鬲兀賰賱 賲賳賴丕 丕賱禺乇丕賮 賵丕賱賲丕毓夭 賵丕賱廿亘賱 賵丕賱胤賷賵乇
賲兀丿亘丞 賰賵賳賷丞
賲孬賱 丕賱卮毓乇 丕賱匕賷 賷賳亘鬲 賲賳 噩爻丿 賲卮丕毓乇賳丕 賵兀匕賴丕賳賳丕
鬲噩賲毓賳丕 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲 毓亘乇 丕賱賲賰鬲亘丕鬲
兀賱賷爻 丕賱毓賳賵丕賳 爻丕丨乇丕 賷丕 氐丿賷賯賷責 賰兀賳賰 鬲乇賶 賱賵賳 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賮賷 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿
鬲鬲匕賵賯賴丕 賲孬賱 亘賳 丕賱賯賴賵丞
賲孬賱 爻賰乇 丕賱賯氐亘 賵丕賱亘賳噩乇
鬲賱賲爻賴丕 賮鬲丨爻 亘禺胤賵胤賴丕
卮毓乇賷丞 丕賱賰賵賳 賮賷 氐賵乇 賵丕賱鬲 賵丕賷鬲賲丕賳
賯乇丕亍丞 乇囟丕 賱賱毓賳賵丕賳 鬲鬲乇賰 兀孬乇丕 賮賷 賳賮爻賷 賮兀胤賱亘 賲賳賴丕 丕賱丿賷賵丕賳
丕賱匕賷 丕禺鬲丕乇賴 爻毓丿賷 賷賵爻賮 賲賳 兀卮毓丕乇 賵丕賷鬲賲丕賳
鬲賯賵賱 賱賷 賵胤毓賲 賯賴賵鬲賴丕 賷爻乇賷 賮賷 爻賲毓賷
兀鬲賲賳賶 兀賳 鬲賰鬲亘 毓賳賴 賷丕 賳氐乇 貙 孬賲 兀賳丕賯卮賰 賷毓丿 兀賳 兀賯乇兀 賲毓 兀氐丿賯丕亍 噩賵丿乇賷丿夭 賲丕 爻鬲囟賷賮賴
兀賵乇丕賯 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 鬲賲鬲丿 賮賷 爻丕丨丞 丕賱賵賯鬲
氐賵乇丞 毓丕賱賲 鬲鬲噩丕賵乇 賮賷賴 丕賱胤亘亘毓丞 賵丕賱氐賳丕毓丞
兀卮噩丕乇 賵賲丿丕禺賳
亘丨丕乇 賵亘賵丕禺乇
賲丿 賷乇鬲賮毓 賵賳亘囟 賷鬲丿賮賯 賮賷 孬賯丕賮丞 丕賱睾乇亘
賷毓丕賱噩賴丕 亘胤丕賯鬲賴 丕賱噩丿賷丿丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲丨賵賱 丕賱兀賮賰丕乇 丕賱賲噩乇丿丞 賱爻賱賵賰 賱丕 賷賴丿兀
賲卮賴丿 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱卮丕賲賱丞 丕賱賲鬲丨乇賰丞 丕賱丨丕賮賱丞 亘毓賳丕氐乇 賱丕 丨氐乇 賱賴丕
爻賷賳賲丕 賲丕 賯亘賱 丕賱爻賷賳賲丕 鬲賳毓賰爻 賮賷 卮丕卮丞 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 丕賱禺囟乇丕亍
丕賱賰賱丕賲 賰氐賵鬲 丕賱乇丕賵賷 丕賱賲氐丕丨亘 丕賱匕賷 賷丿賱賰 毓賱賶 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 卮丕爻毓丞
鬲爻鬲賵毓亘 賲毓胤賷丕鬲 丕賱毓氐乇 丕賱賯丕丿賲
氐賵乇 賲鬲賮乇賯丞 賷噩賲毓賴丕 廿丨爻丕爻 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱賵丕孬賯 丕賱賲毓鬲夭 亘賵丕賯毓賴 賵丨賱賲賴
賲鬲賳丕孬乇丕鬲 賷噩賲毓賴丕 毓賯丿 丕賱賲卮丕毓乇
丕賱卮毓乇 賴賵 廿丿乇丕賰賳丕 賱賱馗賵丕賴乇
賵卮丕毓乇賳丕 賴賳丕 賷賰鬲亘 亘毓賷賳 賲禺乇噩 賷賵噩賴 丕賱賰丕賲賷乇丕 賱賲卮賴丿 賰賱賷 賷賱鬲賯胤賴 賲賳 爻賷丕賯賴 賰賲丕 賷乇丕賴 賮賷 賳賮爻賴 賵賷乇爻賱賴 賮賷 賮囟丕亍 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿 賱賷賳賯賱 乇丐賷鬲賴 丕賱噩賲丕賱賷丞 賱賲鬲匕賵賯賷 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲
賷丨鬲賮賷 亘乇丐賷丞 鬲氐賱 丕賱禺賷丕賱 亘丕賱賵丕賯毓
賮賷 禺賷胤 丕賱賵毓賷
賵乇賳賷賳 丕賱兀氐賵丕鬲 丕賱賲鬲丿賮賯丞 亘丕賱丨乇賰丞
賲毓 禺賱賮賷丞 鬲丨鬲囟賳 丕賱毓賯賱 丕賱兀賵乇賵亘賷
賵鬲毓賷丿 亘乇賲噩鬲賴 賮賷 丨賵丕乇 噩丿賱賷
鬲賳胤賱賯 賮賷賴 丿乇丕賲丕 丕賱賮毓賱
賵賷鬲賵丕乇賷 鬲賳馗賷乇 丕賱賲睾乇賯賷賳 賮賷 丕賱鬲噩乇賷丿
夭賴賵 丕賱賯賵丞 賵丕賱賲睾丕賲乇丞 賵丕賱丕賳賮鬲丕丨 丕賱賰賵賳賷 亘毓丿 氐乇丕毓 丿丕禺賱賷 賵禺丕乇噩賷 胤賵賷賱 丕賳鬲賴賶 亘氐賷睾丞 丕賱丿賷賲賯乇丕胤賷丞 丕賱賱賷亘乇丕賱賷丞 賵睾乇賮 乇噩丕賱 丕賱兀毓賲丕賱
賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 賳丕胤賯 亘賴匕賴 丕賱兀噩賵丕亍
賷乇賶 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱賰賱賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 賷爻乇賷 氐賵鬲賴丕 亘丿丕禺賱賴 賵丨賵賱賴
賱賰賳
賴丕 賯丿 兀鬲賷鬲 賱賱丕賳鬲賯丕丿 賷丕 賳氐乇
賴賰匕丕 鬲賯賵賱 乇囟丕 亘毓丿賲丕 兀賯賵賱 賱賰賳
賰賱賲丞 賱賰賳 兀賷賯賵賳丞 丕賱丕毓鬲乇丕囟
賴賰匕丕 鬲爻賲賷賴丕 乇囟丕
賱賰賳 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱賰賱賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 賷丿賷乇賴丕 賲禺乇噩 賱賲 鬲馗賴乇 丕賱爻賷賳賲丕 毓賳丿賴 賮賷 丕賱賯乇賳 丕賱鬲丕爻毓 毓卮乇
鬲禺鬲賮賷 賲賳賴丕 丕賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱毓賲賷賯丞
賱丕 鬲賵噩丿 賲鬲賳丕賯囟丕鬲 丕賱賳賮爻 賵鬲毓賯賷丿丕鬲賴丕
賱丕 鬲賵噩丿 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 丕賱氐乇丕毓 丕賱丨賵丕乇賷 丕賱賲鬲毓丿丿 丕賱匕賷 賷鬲噩丕賵夭 丕賱兀丨丕丿賷丞
囟賮賷乇丞 丕賱賳爻賷噩 丕賱賳氐賷 鬲賰丕丿 鬲禺賱賵 賲賳 丕賱丌禺乇
丿賷賲賯乇丕胤賷丞 丕賱氐賵乇丞 賱丕 鬲鬲賵睾賱 賮賷 禺賮丕賷丕 丕賱丕禺鬲賱丕賮
鬲賲乇 爻乇賷毓丕 毓賱賶 丕賱毓賲賯 丕賱賳賮爻賷 賵丕賱鬲乇賰賷亘 丕賱賲毓賯丿 賱賲賰賵賳丕鬲 丕賱卮毓賵乇 賵丕賱兀賮賰丕乇
丕賱賰丕賲賷乇 丕賱卮毓乇賷丞 賱賴匕丕 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱卮毓乇賷 丕賱賳丕胤賯 亘丕爻賲 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱噩丿賷丿
鬲賰鬲賮賷 亘毓乇囟 丕賱馗賵丕賴乇 賰賲丕 鬲乇丕賴丕 毓賱賶 丕賱爻胤丨
兀賵 賰賲丕 鬲乇賷丿 兀賳 鬲乇丕賴丕
丕賵乇丕賯 丕賱毓卮亘 毓賳賵丕賳 毓亘賯乇賷 亘丕賱賮毓賱貙 氐丕睾賴 賵丕賱鬲 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 亘禺亘乇丞 廿丿乇丕賰賷丞 賵丨爻 噩賲丕賱賷貙 賱賷賲賳丨 丕賱卮毓乇貙 賵丕賱賮賳賵賳 亘丕賱胤亘毓 賵馗賷賮丞 丨賷賵賷丞貙 丕賱賮賳賵賳 鬲賰鬲卮賮 賲賰賳賵賳丕鬲賳丕 丕賱賮胤乇賷丞貙 鬲胤賱賯 胤丕賯鬲賳丕 丕賱賰賵賳賷丞貙 鬲爻鬲禺賱氐 兀丨賱丕賲賳丕 丕賱賰丕賲賳
丕賱賮賳 卮噩乇丞 賳賳鬲賲賷 廿賱賷賴丕 賱兀賳賴丕 賳丕亘毓丞 賲賳 廿賳爻丕賳賷鬲賳丕 丕賱毓丕亘乇丞 賱賱毓氐賵乇
卮噩乇丞 賳丕賲賷丞 賲賳 賷賳丕亘賷毓 乇睾亘丕鬲賳丕 賵廿乇丕丿丕鬲賳丕 賵丕卮賵丕賯賳丕
卮噩乇丞 囟丕乇亘丞 賮賷 兀乇囟 禺氐亘丞 亘丕賱鬲胤賱毓丕鬲 賵丕賱乇丐賷 賵丕賱丌賲丕賱 賵丕賱禺賵賮 賵丕賱卮賮賯丞 賵丕賱賮囟賵賱
卮噩乇丞 鬲鬲爻丕賯胤 丕賱賲毓丕賳賷 賲賳 賳丿賶 丕賵乇丕賯賴丕 賱鬲賳卮乇 丕賱毓卮亘 賮賷 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 丕賱噩賮丕賮 賵氐丨丕乇賶 丕賱賮乇丕睾
毓卮亘 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 賴賵 丕賱亘爻丕胤 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷 丕賱賲卮鬲乇賰
賵賴賵 丕賱睾匕丕亍 丕賱卮毓賵乇賷 丕賱匕賷 賳爻鬲賱賴賲賴 賮賷 廿匕賰丕亍 毓賵丕胤賮賳丕 鬲噩丕賴 毓卮賯 丕賱毓丕賱賲
鬲賯賵賱 乇囟丕 亘廿丨爻丕爻 毓賲賷賯
賳丕亘毓 賲賳 賳賮爻 噩賲賷賱丞 鬲匕賵賯鬲 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿 賲孬賱賲丕 鬲匕賵賯鬲 胤毓賲 丕賱賯賴賵丞 丕賱賲乇賰夭
亘丿乇噩丞 丕賱爻賰乇 丕賱禺賮賷賮丞 丕賱鬲賷 賱丕 鬲睾賷賾乇賴丕
賴匕賴 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱鬲賷 兀丨亘賴丕 賱賴丕
賵賴匕丕 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱匕賷 賷馗賱 賲鬲乇丿丿丕 賮賷 賳賮爻賷
兀爻兀賱賴丕 毓賳 賲氐丿乇 爻丨乇 丕賱毓賳賵丕賳
鬲乇賮毓 丕賱賮賳噩丕賳 賱鬲賱丕賲爻賴 卮賮鬲丕賴丕
賵鬲賯賵賱 亘賴丿賵亍
兀賵乇丕賯 賷丕 亘乇卮賵賲賷
賵賲丕匕丕 賷氐賱 亘丕賱噩賲丕賱 廿賱賷賳丕 爻賵賶 丕賱兀賵乇丕賯
噩爻丿 丕賱兀乇囟 賷賳亘鬲 賯氐丕卅丿賴 丕賱禺囟乇丕亍
噩賲丕賱 毓囟賵賷 禺丕賱氐 亘賱丕 廿囟丕賮丕鬲 囟丕乇丞
兀賵乇丕賯 丕賱兀乇囟 鬲乇丕賴丕 丕賱賰丕卅賳丕鬲 賰賱賴丕
賷爻乇賷 賱賵賳賴丕 丕賱兀禺囟乇 賮賷 亘氐賷乇丞 丕賱乇丕卅賷
賷鬲賳賮爻 丕賱兀孬賷乇 毓胤乇賴丕 賵賷賲賳丨賴 賱賳丕 噩賲賷毓丕
鬲兀賰賱 賲賳賴丕 丕賱禺乇丕賮 賵丕賱賲丕毓夭 賵丕賱廿亘賱 賵丕賱胤賷賵乇
賲兀丿亘丞 賰賵賳賷丞
賲孬賱 丕賱卮毓乇 丕賱匕賷 賷賳亘鬲 賲賳 噩爻丿 賲卮丕毓乇賳丕 賵兀匕賴丕賳賳丕
鬲噩賲毓賳丕 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲 毓亘乇 丕賱賲賰鬲亘丕鬲
兀賱賷爻 丕賱毓賳賵丕賳 爻丕丨乇丕 賷丕 氐丿賷賯賷責 賰兀賳賰 鬲乇賶 賱賵賳 丕賱丨賷丕丞 賮賷 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿
鬲鬲匕賵賯賴丕 賲孬賱 亘賳 丕賱賯賴賵丞
賲孬賱 爻賰乇 丕賱賯氐亘 賵丕賱亘賳噩乇
鬲賱賲爻賴丕 賮鬲丨爻 亘禺胤賵胤賴丕
卮毓乇賷丞 丕賱賰賵賳 賮賷 氐賵乇 賵丕賱鬲 賵丕賷鬲賲丕賳
賯乇丕亍丞 乇囟丕 賱賱毓賳賵丕賳 鬲鬲乇賰 兀孬乇丕 賮賷 賳賮爻賷 賮兀胤賱亘 賲賳賴丕 丕賱丿賷賵丕賳
丕賱匕賷 丕禺鬲丕乇賴 爻毓丿賷 賷賵爻賮 賲賳 兀卮毓丕乇 賵丕賷鬲賲丕賳
鬲賯賵賱 賱賷 賵胤毓賲 賯賴賵鬲賴丕 賷爻乇賷 賮賷 爻賲毓賷
兀鬲賲賳賶 兀賳 鬲賰鬲亘 毓賳賴 賷丕 賳氐乇 貙 孬賲 兀賳丕賯卮賰 賷毓丿 兀賳 兀賯乇兀 賲毓 兀氐丿賯丕亍 噩賵丿乇賷丿夭 賲丕 爻鬲囟賷賮賴
兀賵乇丕賯 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 鬲賲鬲丿 賮賷 爻丕丨丞 丕賱賵賯鬲
氐賵乇丞 毓丕賱賲 鬲鬲噩丕賵乇 賮賷賴 丕賱胤亘亘毓丞 賵丕賱氐賳丕毓丞
兀卮噩丕乇 賵賲丿丕禺賳
亘丨丕乇 賵亘賵丕禺乇
賲丿 賷乇鬲賮毓 賵賳亘囟 賷鬲丿賮賯 賮賷 孬賯丕賮丞 丕賱睾乇亘
賷毓丕賱噩賴丕 亘胤丕賯鬲賴 丕賱噩丿賷丿丞 丕賱鬲賷 鬲丨賵賱 丕賱兀賮賰丕乇 丕賱賲噩乇丿丞 賱爻賱賵賰 賱丕 賷賴丿兀
賲卮賴丿 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱卮丕賲賱丞 丕賱賲鬲丨乇賰丞 丕賱丨丕賮賱丞 亘毓賳丕氐乇 賱丕 丨氐乇 賱賴丕
爻賷賳賲丕 賲丕 賯亘賱 丕賱爻賷賳賲丕 鬲賳毓賰爻 賮賷 卮丕卮丞 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 丕賱禺囟乇丕亍
丕賱賰賱丕賲 賰氐賵鬲 丕賱乇丕賵賷 丕賱賲氐丕丨亘 丕賱匕賷 賷丿賱賰 毓賱賶 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 卮丕爻毓丞
鬲爻鬲賵毓亘 賲毓胤賷丕鬲 丕賱毓氐乇 丕賱賯丕丿賲
氐賵乇 賲鬲賮乇賯丞 賷噩賲毓賴丕 廿丨爻丕爻 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱賵丕孬賯 丕賱賲毓鬲夭 亘賵丕賯毓賴 賵丨賱賲賴
賲鬲賳丕孬乇丕鬲 賷噩賲毓賴丕 毓賯丿 丕賱賲卮丕毓乇
丕賱卮毓乇 賴賵 廿丿乇丕賰賳丕 賱賱馗賵丕賴乇
賵卮丕毓乇賳丕 賴賳丕 賷賰鬲亘 亘毓賷賳 賲禺乇噩 賷賵噩賴 丕賱賰丕賲賷乇丕 賱賲卮賴丿 賰賱賷 賷賱鬲賯胤賴 賲賳 爻賷丕賯賴 賰賲丕 賷乇丕賴 賮賷 賳賮爻賴 賵賷乇爻賱賴 賮賷 賮囟丕亍 丕賱賯氐丕卅丿 賱賷賳賯賱 乇丐賷鬲賴 丕賱噩賲丕賱賷丞 賱賲鬲匕賵賯賷 丕賱賰賱賲丕鬲
賷丨鬲賮賷 亘乇丐賷丞 鬲氐賱 丕賱禺賷丕賱 亘丕賱賵丕賯毓
賮賷 禺賷胤 丕賱賵毓賷
賵乇賳賷賳 丕賱兀氐賵丕鬲 丕賱賲鬲丿賮賯丞 亘丕賱丨乇賰丞
賲毓 禺賱賮賷丞 鬲丨鬲囟賳 丕賱毓賯賱 丕賱兀賵乇賵亘賷
賵鬲毓賷丿 亘乇賲噩鬲賴 賮賷 丨賵丕乇 噩丿賱賷
鬲賳胤賱賯 賮賷賴 丿乇丕賲丕 丕賱賮毓賱
賵賷鬲賵丕乇賷 鬲賳馗賷乇 丕賱賲睾乇賯賷賳 賮賷 丕賱鬲噩乇賷丿
夭賴賵 丕賱賯賵丞 賵丕賱賲睾丕賲乇丞 賵丕賱丕賳賮鬲丕丨 丕賱賰賵賳賷 亘毓丿 氐乇丕毓 丿丕禺賱賷 賵禺丕乇噩賷 胤賵賷賱 丕賳鬲賴賶 亘氐賷睾丞 丕賱丿賷賲賯乇丕胤賷丞 丕賱賱賷亘乇丕賱賷丞 賵睾乇賮 乇噩丕賱 丕賱兀毓賲丕賱
賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 賳丕胤賯 亘賴匕賴 丕賱兀噩賵丕亍
賷乇賶 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱賰賱賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 賷爻乇賷 氐賵鬲賴丕 亘丿丕禺賱賴 賵丨賵賱賴
賱賰賳
賴丕 賯丿 兀鬲賷鬲 賱賱丕賳鬲賯丕丿 賷丕 賳氐乇
賴賰匕丕 鬲賯賵賱 乇囟丕 亘毓丿賲丕 兀賯賵賱 賱賰賳
賰賱賲丞 賱賰賳 兀賷賯賵賳丞 丕賱丕毓鬲乇丕囟
賴賰匕丕 鬲爻賲賷賴丕 乇囟丕
賱賰賳 丕賱氐賵乇丞 丕賱賰賱賷丞 丕賱鬲賷 賷丿賷乇賴丕 賲禺乇噩 賱賲 鬲馗賴乇 丕賱爻賷賳賲丕 毓賳丿賴 賮賷 丕賱賯乇賳 丕賱鬲丕爻毓 毓卮乇
鬲禺鬲賮賷 賲賳賴丕 丕賱鬲賮丕氐賷賱 丕賱毓賲賷賯丞
賱丕 鬲賵噩丿 賲鬲賳丕賯囟丕鬲 丕賱賳賮爻 賵鬲毓賯賷丿丕鬲賴丕
賱丕 鬲賵噩丿 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 丕賱氐乇丕毓 丕賱丨賵丕乇賷 丕賱賲鬲毓丿丿 丕賱匕賷 賷鬲噩丕賵夭 丕賱兀丨丕丿賷丞
囟賮賷乇丞 丕賱賳爻賷噩 丕賱賳氐賷 鬲賰丕丿 鬲禺賱賵 賲賳 丕賱丌禺乇
丿賷賲賯乇丕胤賷丞 丕賱氐賵乇丞 賱丕 鬲鬲賵睾賱 賮賷 禺賮丕賷丕 丕賱丕禺鬲賱丕賮
鬲賲乇 爻乇賷毓丕 毓賱賶 丕賱毓賲賯 丕賱賳賮爻賷 賵丕賱鬲乇賰賷亘 丕賱賲毓賯丿 賱賲賰賵賳丕鬲 丕賱卮毓賵乇 賵丕賱兀賮賰丕乇
丕賱賰丕賲賷乇 丕賱卮毓乇賷丞 賱賴匕丕 丕賱氐賵鬲 丕賱卮毓乇賷 丕賱賳丕胤賯 亘丕爻賲 丕賱毓丕賱賲 丕賱噩丿賷丿
鬲賰鬲賮賷 亘毓乇囟 丕賱馗賵丕賴乇 賰賲丕 鬲乇丕賴丕 毓賱賶 丕賱爻胤丨
兀賵 賰賲丕 鬲乇賷丿 兀賳 鬲乇丕賴丕
丕賵乇丕賯 丕賱毓卮亘 毓賳賵丕賳 毓亘賯乇賷 亘丕賱賮毓賱貙 氐丕睾賴 賵丕賱鬲 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 亘禺亘乇丞 廿丿乇丕賰賷丞 賵丨爻 噩賲丕賱賷貙 賱賷賲賳丨 丕賱卮毓乇貙 賵丕賱賮賳賵賳 亘丕賱胤亘毓 賵馗賷賮丞 丨賷賵賷丞貙 丕賱賮賳賵賳 鬲賰鬲卮賮 賲賰賳賵賳丕鬲賳丕 丕賱賮胤乇賷丞貙 鬲胤賱賯 胤丕賯鬲賳丕 丕賱賰賵賳賷丞貙 鬲爻鬲禺賱氐 兀丨賱丕賲賳丕 丕賱賰丕賲賳
丕賱賮賳 卮噩乇丞 賳賳鬲賲賷 廿賱賷賴丕 賱兀賳賴丕 賳丕亘毓丞 賲賳 廿賳爻丕賳賷鬲賳丕 丕賱毓丕亘乇丞 賱賱毓氐賵乇
卮噩乇丞 賳丕賲賷丞 賲賳 賷賳丕亘賷毓 乇睾亘丕鬲賳丕 賵廿乇丕丿丕鬲賳丕 賵丕卮賵丕賯賳丕
卮噩乇丞 囟丕乇亘丞 賮賷 兀乇囟 禺氐亘丞 亘丕賱鬲胤賱毓丕鬲 賵丕賱乇丐賷 賵丕賱丌賲丕賱 賵丕賱禺賵賮 賵丕賱卮賮賯丞 賵丕賱賮囟賵賱
卮噩乇丞 鬲鬲爻丕賯胤 丕賱賲毓丕賳賷 賲賳 賳丿賶 丕賵乇丕賯賴丕 賱鬲賳卮乇 丕賱毓卮亘 賮賷 賲爻丕丨丕鬲 丕賱噩賮丕賮 賵氐丨丕乇賶 丕賱賮乇丕睾
毓卮亘 賵廿賷鬲賲丕賳 賴賵 丕賱亘爻丕胤 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷 丕賱賲卮鬲乇賰
賵賴賵 丕賱睾匕丕亍 丕賱卮毓賵乇賷 丕賱匕賷 賳爻鬲賱賴賲賴 賮賷 廿匕賰丕亍 毓賵丕胤賮賳丕 鬲噩丕賴 毓卮賯 丕賱毓丕賱賲
March 15, 2017
In sings nature and his symbiosis with America, he sings the universe and his awareness of it all, but above all he sings the people and their quest for individuality and immortality. 鈥楾he proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.鈥� And here he includes himself with all his mysticism and spiritual illuminations. In that, it is a celebration of humanity, his country and everything in it. Some parts of his poems were so beautiful it spoke to me, however not all touched me. For one I am not American, and for other, he wrote it in another time that is long gone. But there are times when he comes through more our contemporary than many other writers I read.
I loved him for his love of the common people, for his praise of the most unlucky human beings 鈥� like slaves and prostitutes 鈥� as for his sense of justice. 鈥楾he attitude of the great poets is to cheer up slaves and horrify despots.鈥� It鈥檚 an ode to equality, and for that, we cannot praise him enough. His words sometimes sounded like music in my ears. It really sang to me. 鈥榊ou shall stand by my side and look in the mirror with me.鈥� Sometimes playful, often insightful and timeless, Leaves of Grass is not to be missed. 鈥業t is the medium that shall well express the inexpressible.鈥�
Let鈥檚 let Whitman speak for himself:
Song of Myself
I CELEBRATE myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer grass.
<<>>
Clear and sweet is my soul . . . . and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
<<>>
I resist anything better than my own diversity,
And breathe the air and leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
<<>>
I am the poet of the body,
And I am the poet of the soul.
The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself . . . . the latter I translate into a new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
<<>>
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'ouvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is a miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer鈥檚 girls boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking short-cake.
<<>>
The disdain and calmness of martyrs,
The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on;
The hounded slave that flags in the race and leans by the fence, blowing and covered with sweat,
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck,
The murderous buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.
Finally, the three last superb stanzas:
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
A Song for Occupations
Come closer to me,
Push close my lovers and take the best I possess,
Yield closer and closer and give me the best you possess.
<<>>
The wife 鈥� and she is not one jot less than the husband,
The daughter 鈥� and she is just good as the son,
The mother 鈥� and she is every bit as much as the father.
<<>>
We thought our Union grand and our Constitution grand;
I do not say they are not grand and good 鈥� for they are,
I am this day just as much in love with them as you,
But I am eternally in love with you and with all my fellows upon the earth.
<<>>
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you.
The Sleepers
Be careful, darkness . . . . already, what was it touched me?
I thought my lover was gone . . . . else darkness and he are one,
I hear the heart-beat . . . . I follow . . I fade away.
___
I loved him for his love of the common people, for his praise of the most unlucky human beings 鈥� like slaves and prostitutes 鈥� as for his sense of justice. 鈥楾he attitude of the great poets is to cheer up slaves and horrify despots.鈥� It鈥檚 an ode to equality, and for that, we cannot praise him enough. His words sometimes sounded like music in my ears. It really sang to me. 鈥榊ou shall stand by my side and look in the mirror with me.鈥� Sometimes playful, often insightful and timeless, Leaves of Grass is not to be missed. 鈥業t is the medium that shall well express the inexpressible.鈥�
Let鈥檚 let Whitman speak for himself:
Song of Myself
I CELEBRATE myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer grass.
<<>>
Clear and sweet is my soul . . . . and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
<<>>
I resist anything better than my own diversity,
And breathe the air and leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
<<>>
I am the poet of the body,
And I am the poet of the soul.
The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself . . . . the latter I translate into a new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
<<>>
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'ouvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is a miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer鈥檚 girls boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking short-cake.
<<>>
The disdain and calmness of martyrs,
The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on;
The hounded slave that flags in the race and leans by the fence, blowing and covered with sweat,
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck,
The murderous buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.
Finally, the three last superb stanzas:
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
A Song for Occupations
Come closer to me,
Push close my lovers and take the best I possess,
Yield closer and closer and give me the best you possess.
<<>>
The wife 鈥� and she is not one jot less than the husband,
The daughter 鈥� and she is just good as the son,
The mother 鈥� and she is every bit as much as the father.
<<>>
We thought our Union grand and our Constitution grand;
I do not say they are not grand and good 鈥� for they are,
I am this day just as much in love with them as you,
But I am eternally in love with you and with all my fellows upon the earth.
<<>>
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you.
The Sleepers
Be careful, darkness . . . . already, what was it touched me?
I thought my lover was gone . . . . else darkness and he are one,
I hear the heart-beat . . . . I follow . . I fade away.
___
October 8, 2013
When Leaves of Grass was first published, critics applauded Whitman "only that he did not burn" the "mass of stupid filth" immediately upon completion. They primarily objected to its sensual and occasionally (rather overtly) homoerotic content. Nowadays, of course, it seems entirely too mild to raise an objection on those grounds, but man, oh man, I understand the impulse to want to turn this book into kindling.
It's less like THIS...
...and more like THIS.
This weighty poetic tome has all the weaknesses inherent to self-publication: unjustified overlong length, tedious repetition of images and ideas, wildly uneven quality from one poem to the next, irritating authorial tics, and a pervasive self-important focus.
It's really impossible to document the amazing repetitions in Leaves of Grass short of simply handing you the book itself. It is repetitive in syntax, in word choice, in tone, in content, in message, in perspective. And the collection is inexcusably padded past any hope of delivering the forceful emotional impact that poems are so uniquely capable of.
And man, what gives with the crappy words!? English's strongest selling point as a language is its vast, incredibly nuanced vocabulary. It's not a particularly beautiful or intuitive dictionary, but the thesaurus is stellar--we have an endless supply of synonyms at our disposal. There's really no excuse for a native English-speaking poet to resort to such dull, texture-less language. Take this brief ditty, After the Sea-Ship:
Guys, did you know that winds whistle? Or that ship sails are white-gray? Or that the ocean has both "larger and smaller waves?" Are you kidding me? (And yes, that's the whole poem, by the way, I didn't pull him off the stage with a cane right before he got to the good part.)
Am I being too unfair? Let's compare with another short, nautically-themed poem from a contemporary from the same transcendental school. Here is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's sonnet The Sound of the Sea.
Even given the additional constraints of rhyming meter, Wadsworth (whom I'm honestly not that excited about in general) manages to deliver a concise, impactful message with an interesting scope and vocabulary. Also, The Sound of the Sea was not padded with flabby rephrasings of the same idea in an overlong collection. The point is, Whitman was mediocre, at best, even in his own time.
Less THIS...
...more THIS.
I know I'm being a bit vicious, but from six hundred pages of poetry, I gathered fewer insights than from a collection of half-a-dozen from a better poet. I have already started reading a new poetry collection, and I'm compelled to read and reread, discovering new depths, awestruck at the emotional viscera. Reading Leaves of Grass was, in comparison, watching a slightly interesting shade of paint dry.
The wide-eyed transcendental awe that Whitman is famous for grates under the relentless single-minded repetition. Whitman's spirit may have been remarkable, but his language is uninspired, hobbled by a limited vocabulary and overburdened by his didactic approach to inspiration. He tries too hard to educate and persuade, and sounds like a salesmen hustling flora and fauna door-to-door. The man's never met a thing he wasn't ready to romanticize: toiling farmers, shackled slaves, dying soldiers--they are noble savages, one and all.
Less THIS...
...more THIS.
His relentless optimism at the splendor of America (politically, geographically, socially--every part of it is super-duper splendid, according to Walt) displays a total unwillingness to look critically at the world he lives in, which is a tremendous failure for a poet. Page after page documents the unending beauty of the territories he'd never visited, but there are only a handful of passing acknowledgements that Americans were actively slaughtering one another over the right to own other living humans. Whitman is not being naive here, but rather deliberately myopic.
An extremely tedious "classic" that is really nothing more than rambling sermons from an inept poet. I can see someone being charmed by his incessant enthusiasm for life, but for a pragmatist like myself, I can't stomach the lack of emotional maturity. The world has all kinds of grace and majesty and stars and perfection, but it also has human beings killing other human beings for no clear reason. A robust poet can make sense of this dilemma--Whitman is no robust poet, so he merely turns away from it.
It's less like THIS...
...and more like THIS.
This weighty poetic tome has all the weaknesses inherent to self-publication: unjustified overlong length, tedious repetition of images and ideas, wildly uneven quality from one poem to the next, irritating authorial tics, and a pervasive self-important focus.
"As I look at stuff,
I think about stuff.
O stuff! O synonym for stuff!
O six-page list of things that are
similar yet different!"
It's really impossible to document the amazing repetitions in Leaves of Grass short of simply handing you the book itself. It is repetitive in syntax, in word choice, in tone, in content, in message, in perspective. And the collection is inexcusably padded past any hope of delivering the forceful emotional impact that poems are so uniquely capable of.
And man, what gives with the crappy words!? English's strongest selling point as a language is its vast, incredibly nuanced vocabulary. It's not a particularly beautiful or intuitive dictionary, but the thesaurus is stellar--we have an endless supply of synonyms at our disposal. There's really no excuse for a native English-speaking poet to resort to such dull, texture-less language. Take this brief ditty, After the Sea-Ship:
After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds,
After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship,
Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great vessel sailing and tacking displaced the surface,
Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean yearnfully flowing,
The wake of the sea-ship after she passes, flashing and frolicsome under the sun,
A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following.
Guys, did you know that winds whistle? Or that ship sails are white-gray? Or that the ocean has both "larger and smaller waves?" Are you kidding me? (And yes, that's the whole poem, by the way, I didn't pull him off the stage with a cane right before he got to the good part.)
Am I being too unfair? Let's compare with another short, nautically-themed poem from a contemporary from the same transcendental school. Here is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's sonnet The Sound of the Sea.
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain's side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
Of things beyond our reason or control.
Even given the additional constraints of rhyming meter, Wadsworth (whom I'm honestly not that excited about in general) manages to deliver a concise, impactful message with an interesting scope and vocabulary. Also, The Sound of the Sea was not padded with flabby rephrasings of the same idea in an overlong collection. The point is, Whitman was mediocre, at best, even in his own time.
Less THIS...
...more THIS.
I know I'm being a bit vicious, but from six hundred pages of poetry, I gathered fewer insights than from a collection of half-a-dozen from a better poet. I have already started reading a new poetry collection, and I'm compelled to read and reread, discovering new depths, awestruck at the emotional viscera. Reading Leaves of Grass was, in comparison, watching a slightly interesting shade of paint dry.
The wide-eyed transcendental awe that Whitman is famous for grates under the relentless single-minded repetition. Whitman's spirit may have been remarkable, but his language is uninspired, hobbled by a limited vocabulary and overburdened by his didactic approach to inspiration. He tries too hard to educate and persuade, and sounds like a salesmen hustling flora and fauna door-to-door. The man's never met a thing he wasn't ready to romanticize: toiling farmers, shackled slaves, dying soldiers--they are noble savages, one and all.
Less THIS...
...more THIS.
His relentless optimism at the splendor of America (politically, geographically, socially--every part of it is super-duper splendid, according to Walt) displays a total unwillingness to look critically at the world he lives in, which is a tremendous failure for a poet. Page after page documents the unending beauty of the territories he'd never visited, but there are only a handful of passing acknowledgements that Americans were actively slaughtering one another over the right to own other living humans. Whitman is not being naive here, but rather deliberately myopic.
An extremely tedious "classic" that is really nothing more than rambling sermons from an inept poet. I can see someone being charmed by his incessant enthusiasm for life, but for a pragmatist like myself, I can't stomach the lack of emotional maturity. The world has all kinds of grace and majesty and stars and perfection, but it also has human beings killing other human beings for no clear reason. A robust poet can make sense of this dilemma--Whitman is no robust poet, so he merely turns away from it.
June 9, 2011
Alright, my rating here is very misleading. I haven't read Leaves Of Grass. I don't even intend to read Leaves Of Grass. Not all the way through any way. It seems sort of weird to just read a big fat collection of poetry all the way through. The five star rating is for one poem, "Song of the Open Road".
I've never really appreciated poetry. I've liked song lyrics and that's poetry, but it seemed like I needed a tune to go with it. I've liked scripture which can be pretty poetic, but it seemed I needed religious sentiment to go with it. Over the last few years , I've been trying to correct this character flaw, and I've felt like I was improving, but I didn't feel like I was there yet.
So, I finished Atlas Shrugged recently and it left me feeling afraid of commitment, so I took Leaves Of Grass to work with me, so I'd have something to read on my lunch hour without feeling obligated to finish and that might help me grow in my appreciation of poetry. I looked in the table of contents and saw "Song of the Open Road" and thought that it might appeal to me as a runner/hiker guy and read it. Appeal to me, it did. I found myself reading it over and over again and having a very positive emotional reaction. It was visceral and inexplicable, so I won't try to detail it for you, but I thought as I was reading it, "This must be what appreciating poetry feels like."
I wanted to memorize it and quote applicable sections at apropos moments to friends and family and all that other lame stuff that people who appreciate poetry do.
So it gets five stars for providing me with something of a break through. I think I'll go read it again.
I've never really appreciated poetry. I've liked song lyrics and that's poetry, but it seemed like I needed a tune to go with it. I've liked scripture which can be pretty poetic, but it seemed I needed religious sentiment to go with it. Over the last few years , I've been trying to correct this character flaw, and I've felt like I was improving, but I didn't feel like I was there yet.
So, I finished Atlas Shrugged recently and it left me feeling afraid of commitment, so I took Leaves Of Grass to work with me, so I'd have something to read on my lunch hour without feeling obligated to finish and that might help me grow in my appreciation of poetry. I looked in the table of contents and saw "Song of the Open Road" and thought that it might appeal to me as a runner/hiker guy and read it. Appeal to me, it did. I found myself reading it over and over again and having a very positive emotional reaction. It was visceral and inexplicable, so I won't try to detail it for you, but I thought as I was reading it, "This must be what appreciating poetry feels like."
I wanted to memorize it and quote applicable sections at apropos moments to friends and family and all that other lame stuff that people who appreciate poetry do.
So it gets five stars for providing me with something of a break through. I think I'll go read it again.
April 23, 2022
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
This is the first edition of Leaves of Grass published in 1855, which consists of 12 poems. In his poems Whitman exalts nature and humans, regardless of sex, race, class and profession. For him a prostitute is worth as much as a nobleman. The body is as worthy as the soul. The woman is honored as the man鈥�
I have perceiv鈥檇 that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
This is the first edition of Leaves of Grass published in 1855, which consists of 12 poems. In his poems Whitman exalts nature and humans, regardless of sex, race, class and profession. For him a prostitute is worth as much as a nobleman. The body is as worthy as the soul. The woman is honored as the man鈥�
I have perceiv鈥檇 that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.
April 25, 2025
Walt Whitman writes an ode to America, life, and Nature, to democratic individualism, with impressive vigor, sincerity, and health.
We follow him throughout a busy life in which Nature鈥攁nd the History of men鈥攁nd wars, especially the Civil War and the technical inventions of the Industrial Age鈥攁ppear to be equal.
After reading Leaves of Grass, I think I understand the American spirit in its specific and non-European aspects better now.
There is a freshness, energy, vitality, optimism, and unconditional love for life that amazes and delights simultaneously.
We follow him throughout a busy life in which Nature鈥攁nd the History of men鈥攁nd wars, especially the Civil War and the technical inventions of the Industrial Age鈥攁ppear to be equal.
After reading Leaves of Grass, I think I understand the American spirit in its specific and non-European aspects better now.
There is a freshness, energy, vitality, optimism, and unconditional love for life that amazes and delights simultaneously.
July 11, 2017
Whitman sings the song of America like no other poet I know--the outsized joy and pain, the affinity for common folk and the love of nature and the sheer overwhelming feeling of every sight and sound and industrious noise around him. "I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear," he wrote. Because of this some are tempted to see Whitman as a poet of pure exuberance--like a proto-hippie or, worse, like a garrulous Hallmark card. But Whitman doesn't shy away from pain at all--he embraces it like he embraces everything else--not in a way that cheapens or ignores it but in a way that feels it deeply too. He did, after all, endure the civil war (he served as a nurse in army hospitals--we might shudder to think what those were like) and wrote about the experience in his typically direct, personal way.
Speaking of the personal, for many years I always brought an old tattered copy of Whitman with me backpacking, and whenever I had to endure a particularly awful commute, I'd listen to Whitman to calm down, to step outside myself and encounter something beautiful amid the soul-crushing traffic. Whitman has become like an old friend to me now, one I'll no doubt keep coming back to, no matter my station in life or what I'm going through.
Speaking of the personal, for many years I always brought an old tattered copy of Whitman with me backpacking, and whenever I had to endure a particularly awful commute, I'd listen to Whitman to calm down, to step outside myself and encounter something beautiful amid the soul-crushing traffic. Whitman has become like an old friend to me now, one I'll no doubt keep coming back to, no matter my station in life or what I'm going through.
June 7, 2016
It is becoming increasingly trendy to chalk up success to practice and hard work. We have the famous 10,000 hours from Malcolm Gladwell鈥檚 Outliers, and a similar theme from Joshua Foer鈥檚 Moonwalking with Einstein, just to name two examples. But it seems to me that some people were just born to do what they did, that no amount of practice could ever have produced something so fresh, original, new, and revolutionary.
Take Montaigne. He invented a new genre (the essay), pioneered a free and easy prose style, and popularized a down-to-earth skeptical attitude. There was no precedent to his proclamation that he would write about only himself. To be sure, he worked very hard on his essays鈥攇oing over them again and again, crossing out a line here, adding one there. But it wasn鈥檛 the practicing that made him special, it was that his essays were the expression of an entirely original type of person, who effortlessly broke every rule.
Walt Whitman is a similar case. Though free verse had precedents in the Biblical psalms, no poet had emancipated himself so completely from prosody, rhythm, and rhyme. Though deism was trendy with the Transcendentalists, Emerson鈥檚 and Thoreau鈥檚 perspectives were a far cry from Whitman鈥檚 mysticism. Not to mention that his celebration of the bodily pleasures and sexuality scandalized nearly everybody. Could 10,000 hours of anything have produced that? How do you practice to be original?
This is all besides the point, I suppose. This poem is gorgeous. It鈥檚 so modern in its sensibilities, I almost want to say that it could have been written in the 50s or 60s; but Whitman鈥檚 reverence for nature, love, and life was so pure and raw, that no disillusioned Cold War drug fueled Beats or Hippies could have come close. There is nothing trendy in his poetry鈥攈e was a member of no movement. He was not writing in verse to 'rebel鈥� against anything, but to celebrate everything he saw worth celebrating.
At his worst, Whitman is repetitive: continually rehashing ideas and imagery, and producing some uninspiring lists. But at his best, Whitman is revelatory. When the force of his original perspective is married to the force of his original style, the product is as extraordinary as it is inimitable. The words and ideas are woven around each other like a vine growing around a tree, producing a poem that lives and breathes鈥攕o freshly harvested from his mind, that even now it seems to still have dirt and roots clinging to it.
I鈥檓 happy to see that America has produced a poet capable of upholding the democratic principle without descending into 鈥榡ust one of us plain folksiness鈥�. And I鈥檓 glad to see that America has produced an individualist that is not peevish and immature. I鈥檓 saying 鈥淎merica produced," but I鈥檓 not really sure what mysterious force results in people like Whitman and Montaigne. But it sure as hell ain鈥檛 10,000 hours.
Take Montaigne. He invented a new genre (the essay), pioneered a free and easy prose style, and popularized a down-to-earth skeptical attitude. There was no precedent to his proclamation that he would write about only himself. To be sure, he worked very hard on his essays鈥攇oing over them again and again, crossing out a line here, adding one there. But it wasn鈥檛 the practicing that made him special, it was that his essays were the expression of an entirely original type of person, who effortlessly broke every rule.
Walt Whitman is a similar case. Though free verse had precedents in the Biblical psalms, no poet had emancipated himself so completely from prosody, rhythm, and rhyme. Though deism was trendy with the Transcendentalists, Emerson鈥檚 and Thoreau鈥檚 perspectives were a far cry from Whitman鈥檚 mysticism. Not to mention that his celebration of the bodily pleasures and sexuality scandalized nearly everybody. Could 10,000 hours of anything have produced that? How do you practice to be original?
This is all besides the point, I suppose. This poem is gorgeous. It鈥檚 so modern in its sensibilities, I almost want to say that it could have been written in the 50s or 60s; but Whitman鈥檚 reverence for nature, love, and life was so pure and raw, that no disillusioned Cold War drug fueled Beats or Hippies could have come close. There is nothing trendy in his poetry鈥攈e was a member of no movement. He was not writing in verse to 'rebel鈥� against anything, but to celebrate everything he saw worth celebrating.
At his worst, Whitman is repetitive: continually rehashing ideas and imagery, and producing some uninspiring lists. But at his best, Whitman is revelatory. When the force of his original perspective is married to the force of his original style, the product is as extraordinary as it is inimitable. The words and ideas are woven around each other like a vine growing around a tree, producing a poem that lives and breathes鈥攕o freshly harvested from his mind, that even now it seems to still have dirt and roots clinging to it.
I鈥檓 happy to see that America has produced a poet capable of upholding the democratic principle without descending into 鈥榡ust one of us plain folksiness鈥�. And I鈥檓 glad to see that America has produced an individualist that is not peevish and immature. I鈥檓 saying 鈥淎merica produced," but I鈥檓 not really sure what mysterious force results in people like Whitman and Montaigne. But it sure as hell ain鈥檛 10,000 hours.
Want to read
January 17, 2020
We can look at this one of two ways, either I'm a bit late to do a or I'm hella early for next year.
(Click the link to see what other books arrived via the polar express).
July 30, 2019
Primer acercamiento a este poeta! O por lo menos, el primer roce de mi mano sobre sus palabras. Una gozada :)
March 25, 2008
Leaves of Grass is like reading every single instant message that I and a friend of mine ever wrote to one another over the course of the last ten years. Likely way too long, too self-serving and would have shocked the general public if they cared to read it when it was written. But nestled in there are some real, true brilliant moments.
This is after all Whitman's life work, laid bare and un-edited for the most part. What else are we to expect? He is literally singing a song of himself, which he believes to be American - and is American by all accounts. He shouts it loud and strong and keeps repeating it until the reader gets it. But in there in that persistance is a thing of real, American beauty - a self-made man in love with his country and the people in it. Real unhumble patriotism. To understand this in all it's ragged glory is to understand Whitman and his America.
This is after all Whitman's life work, laid bare and un-edited for the most part. What else are we to expect? He is literally singing a song of himself, which he believes to be American - and is American by all accounts. He shouts it loud and strong and keeps repeating it until the reader gets it. But in there in that persistance is a thing of real, American beauty - a self-made man in love with his country and the people in it. Real unhumble patriotism. To understand this in all it's ragged glory is to understand Whitman and his America.
August 11, 2024
When I was reading 'Leaves of Grass' I kept thinking that I would have liked to meet Walt Whitman for he certainly was an extraordinary personality for his time and for any time and a revolutionary in both poetry and his world outlook. The word which comes first to mind to describe Whitman's poetry in general is 'energy' because it is charged with sheer endless energy and deep passion.
Other adjectives that come to mind are 'powerful', 'monumental' (sometimes too monumetal for me), 'daring', both 'American' and 'universal' and 'humanist'.
O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather鈥檇 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鈥揻or you the flag is flung鈥揻or you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon鈥檇 wreaths鈥揻or 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鈥檝e 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鈥檇 safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close
emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics,
had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass鈥�
innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful
face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Stronger Lessons
HAVE you learned lessons only of those who admired
you, and were tender with you, and stood aside
for you? Have you not learned the great lessons of those who
rejected you, and braced themselves against
you? or who treated you with contempt, or
disputed the passage with you?
Other adjectives that come to mind are 'powerful', 'monumental' (sometimes too monumetal for me), 'daring', both 'American' and 'universal' and 'humanist'.
O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather鈥檇 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鈥揻or you the flag is flung鈥揻or you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon鈥檇 wreaths鈥揻or 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鈥檝e 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鈥檇 safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close
emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics,
had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass鈥�
innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful
face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Stronger Lessons
HAVE you learned lessons only of those who admired
you, and were tender with you, and stood aside
for you? Have you not learned the great lessons of those who
rejected you, and braced themselves against
you? or who treated you with contempt, or
disputed the passage with you?
April 24, 2025
One of the positive things for me when I am in a book slump, is that it allows me to re-visit books I have already read. A while back, this book was donated to my Little Free Library Shed. Interestingly enough, it was a Doubleday Dolphin Master Mass Market Paperback that originally sold for 95 cents.
In considering this book, I remembered it vaguely as a classic, one referred to a lot in reference to how to view the world. And, it wouldn鈥檛 be uncommon to find some of Whitman鈥檚 quotes offered on Facebook. So, when it was donated, I couldn鈥檛 help but open its pages and explore again this man and his words.
As I read, I became more curious about the intention of his message. Whitman self-published this collection of poetry in 1855, and continued to edit and expand it until his death in 1892.
The cover of this book, is also the same as the original first edition, which includes an engraving by Samuel Hollyer that depicts Whitman in work clothes and a hat with his arms by his side amongst grass. Many surmised the figure represented an American working-class man of the time.
His writings feel like a celebration of individuality in relation to society and nature, and of America. It also exposes Whitman鈥檚 philosophy of life and humanity, where nature has an important place in the forefront. And, he presses on the importance of our role as individuals within nature.
鈥淚 bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want to find me again look for me under your bootsoles.鈥�
Whitman was known to be fairly unpopular during his lifetime. People saw Whitman鈥檚 characteristics as self-centered, egotistical, and one, who as a loner would defy conventions. Even so, within a century, his words apparently defined American poetry. Even if what he presented didn鈥檛 rhyme or follow conventional rules for meter and line length.
What was particularly interesting was that the first 28 pages of the book was an essay on his beliefs for America. It was clear that he saw himself as a voice for the marginalized while promoting democratic ideals. I wonder what he would think of today鈥檚 politics?
As I continued reading, knowing there was some familiarity to the experience (having been exposed to his poetry in high school and college), I was reminded that his poems were not an easy read. (I am attracted usually to traditional poetry 鈥� rhyming or in cadence.)
And, at times, I found myself not sure what he was trying to say. I just concluded that it must be a journey into his mind, where he evoked random thoughts of what he perceived to be important. Still, I couldn鈥檛 help but feel from the words he wrote that he must have been a lover of life, who truly believed his role was to change people鈥檚 views 鈥� maybe even our lives by his words. And, in those moments of understanding, I felt he probably was leaving us readers time for reflection.
鈥淚 exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.鈥�
鈥淚 celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.鈥�
Let us鈥ause. Reflect. Discuss.
Whatever our experience with this classic, I believe Whitman wanted humanity/readers to know that we too are natural wonders.
In considering this book, I remembered it vaguely as a classic, one referred to a lot in reference to how to view the world. And, it wouldn鈥檛 be uncommon to find some of Whitman鈥檚 quotes offered on Facebook. So, when it was donated, I couldn鈥檛 help but open its pages and explore again this man and his words.
As I read, I became more curious about the intention of his message. Whitman self-published this collection of poetry in 1855, and continued to edit and expand it until his death in 1892.
The cover of this book, is also the same as the original first edition, which includes an engraving by Samuel Hollyer that depicts Whitman in work clothes and a hat with his arms by his side amongst grass. Many surmised the figure represented an American working-class man of the time.
His writings feel like a celebration of individuality in relation to society and nature, and of America. It also exposes Whitman鈥檚 philosophy of life and humanity, where nature has an important place in the forefront. And, he presses on the importance of our role as individuals within nature.
鈥淚 bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want to find me again look for me under your bootsoles.鈥�
Whitman was known to be fairly unpopular during his lifetime. People saw Whitman鈥檚 characteristics as self-centered, egotistical, and one, who as a loner would defy conventions. Even so, within a century, his words apparently defined American poetry. Even if what he presented didn鈥檛 rhyme or follow conventional rules for meter and line length.
What was particularly interesting was that the first 28 pages of the book was an essay on his beliefs for America. It was clear that he saw himself as a voice for the marginalized while promoting democratic ideals. I wonder what he would think of today鈥檚 politics?
As I continued reading, knowing there was some familiarity to the experience (having been exposed to his poetry in high school and college), I was reminded that his poems were not an easy read. (I am attracted usually to traditional poetry 鈥� rhyming or in cadence.)
And, at times, I found myself not sure what he was trying to say. I just concluded that it must be a journey into his mind, where he evoked random thoughts of what he perceived to be important. Still, I couldn鈥檛 help but feel from the words he wrote that he must have been a lover of life, who truly believed his role was to change people鈥檚 views 鈥� maybe even our lives by his words. And, in those moments of understanding, I felt he probably was leaving us readers time for reflection.
鈥淚 exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.鈥�
鈥淚 celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.鈥�
Let us鈥ause. Reflect. Discuss.
Whatever our experience with this classic, I believe Whitman wanted humanity/readers to know that we too are natural wonders.
November 18, 2010
Did you know that the letters in "Leaves of Grass" can be rearranged to spell "Asses of Gravel"?
If you find yourself anagramming the letters in the title rather than reading the poetry, it's a good sign you're not into the book. But I really wanted some of whatever Whitman was smoking that made him so ecstatically, ebulliently enthusiastic about every molecule on the planet. Including his own b.o.
"The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer."
Huh??? Was this guy sniffing glue along with those arm-pits?
I made it through about 85 pages, then let it go. Maybe I'll come back to it in the future. There ARE some beautiful passages hiding in among all those exclamation marks.
If you find yourself anagramming the letters in the title rather than reading the poetry, it's a good sign you're not into the book. But I really wanted some of whatever Whitman was smoking that made him so ecstatically, ebulliently enthusiastic about every molecule on the planet. Including his own b.o.
"The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer."
Huh??? Was this guy sniffing glue along with those arm-pits?
I made it through about 85 pages, then let it go. Maybe I'll come back to it in the future. There ARE some beautiful passages hiding in among all those exclamation marks.
November 13, 2019
To read American poetry
is to breathe America.
With Whitman I inhale
the kosmos. I expand.
With Dickinson I exhale,
become nobody. I contract.
Visionaries both. They are
the Yang and Yin of
American poetry.
is to breathe America.
With Whitman I inhale
the kosmos. I expand.
With Dickinson I exhale,
become nobody. I contract.
Visionaries both. They are
the Yang and Yin of
American poetry.
February 17, 2021
Credo di non aver mai letto nulla del genere.
Volendo trovare una connessione con le poesie che ho letto fino ad oggi, credo calzi l鈥檌mmagine di un vaso che si crepa e fa filtrare goccia a goccia il suo contenuto fino a farlo straripare.
Non so se mi spiego ma la poesia, fino ad ora, me l'era figurata cos矛:
come un bisogno di comunicare qualcosa che si ha dentro e come capacit脿 di dipingere con le parole.
Con Withman la mia esperienza 猫 stata diversa perch茅 nei suoi versi (tra l鈥檃ltro assai poco canonici) non c鈥櫭� un movimento dall鈥橧o del poeta ad un punto indefinito fuori di lui.
Ogni poema 猫 una liberazione di se stesso ma solo e a patto che trovi connessione con tutto il mondo esterno e quando dico tutto, dico Tutto:
esseri umani, animali, vegetali ma anche il mondo della materia.
Gi脿 dal titolo avrei dovuto presagire: Leaves of grass鈥�, tradotto come 鈥淔oglie d鈥檈rba鈥� ma Leaves 猫 un sostantivo che pu貌 s矛 riferirsi alla dimensione organica ma anche a quella della scrittura visto che l鈥檜lteriore significato 猫 鈥淔ogli鈥�.
Una serie di ripubblicazioni in cui W. aggiunge e (ri)sistema (nella prima edizione, ad esempio non ci sono i titoli) per un totale di otto (!!) edizioni stampate tra il 1855 ed 1891 poco prima della morte.
Se c鈥櫭� un filo conduttore 猫 sicuramente quello che rispecchia i molti temi sociali che attraversarono il paese in quegli anni.
Primo fra tutti 猫 quello dell鈥檌dentit脿 statunitense ma anche la schiavit霉, i diritti delle donne e il lavoro salariato.
La prima poesia della raccolta 猫 in questo senso emblematica.
鈥淧oesia di Walt Whitman, un americano鈥�, 猫 un inno alla vita, alla coscienza del proprio corpo (鈥滳elebro me stesso鈥�) che esprime la felicit脿 dell鈥檈ssere qui e ora.
Cos矛 per 32 poesie si dispiega una felicit脿 che vuole unione rivolgendosi a tutti e declamando che 鈥漧e parole non sono un traguardo ma solo l鈥檌nizio鈥�
Da leggere e rileggere.
鈥�Attraverso di me molte voci che sono state a lungo mute,
Voci di interminabili generazioni di schiavi,
Voci di prostitute, e di persone deformi,
Voci di malati e disperati, e di ladri e di nani,
Voci di cicli di preparazione e di crescita,
E di fili che collegano le stelle, e di uteri, e di sperma paterno,
E dei diritti di coloro che altri calpestano,
Di ci貌 che 猫 banale, piatto, sciocco, disprezzato,
Nebbia nell鈥檃ria, scarafaggi che rotolano palline di sterco鈥�
[鈥淧oesia di Walt Whitman, un americano鈥�,]
Volendo trovare una connessione con le poesie che ho letto fino ad oggi, credo calzi l鈥檌mmagine di un vaso che si crepa e fa filtrare goccia a goccia il suo contenuto fino a farlo straripare.
Non so se mi spiego ma la poesia, fino ad ora, me l'era figurata cos矛:
come un bisogno di comunicare qualcosa che si ha dentro e come capacit脿 di dipingere con le parole.
Con Withman la mia esperienza 猫 stata diversa perch茅 nei suoi versi (tra l鈥檃ltro assai poco canonici) non c鈥櫭� un movimento dall鈥橧o del poeta ad un punto indefinito fuori di lui.
Ogni poema 猫 una liberazione di se stesso ma solo e a patto che trovi connessione con tutto il mondo esterno e quando dico tutto, dico Tutto:
esseri umani, animali, vegetali ma anche il mondo della materia.
Gi脿 dal titolo avrei dovuto presagire: Leaves of grass鈥�, tradotto come 鈥淔oglie d鈥檈rba鈥� ma Leaves 猫 un sostantivo che pu貌 s矛 riferirsi alla dimensione organica ma anche a quella della scrittura visto che l鈥檜lteriore significato 猫 鈥淔ogli鈥�.
Una serie di ripubblicazioni in cui W. aggiunge e (ri)sistema (nella prima edizione, ad esempio non ci sono i titoli) per un totale di otto (!!) edizioni stampate tra il 1855 ed 1891 poco prima della morte.
Se c鈥櫭� un filo conduttore 猫 sicuramente quello che rispecchia i molti temi sociali che attraversarono il paese in quegli anni.
Primo fra tutti 猫 quello dell鈥檌dentit脿 statunitense ma anche la schiavit霉, i diritti delle donne e il lavoro salariato.
La prima poesia della raccolta 猫 in questo senso emblematica.
鈥淧oesia di Walt Whitman, un americano鈥�, 猫 un inno alla vita, alla coscienza del proprio corpo (鈥滳elebro me stesso鈥�) che esprime la felicit脿 dell鈥檈ssere qui e ora.
Cos矛 per 32 poesie si dispiega una felicit脿 che vuole unione rivolgendosi a tutti e declamando che 鈥漧e parole non sono un traguardo ma solo l鈥檌nizio鈥�
Da leggere e rileggere.
鈥�Attraverso di me molte voci che sono state a lungo mute,
Voci di interminabili generazioni di schiavi,
Voci di prostitute, e di persone deformi,
Voci di malati e disperati, e di ladri e di nani,
Voci di cicli di preparazione e di crescita,
E di fili che collegano le stelle, e di uteri, e di sperma paterno,
E dei diritti di coloro che altri calpestano,
Di ci貌 che 猫 banale, piatto, sciocco, disprezzato,
Nebbia nell鈥檃ria, scarafaggi che rotolano palline di sterco鈥�
[鈥淧oesia di Walt Whitman, un americano鈥�,]
September 4, 2008
Holy shit this is self-important and tedious.
--update: This has sat untouched on my desk all year. I can think of a hundred books I'd rather start than finish this, so I doubt I'll pick it back up unless I run out of books to read, I'm too poor to buy any more books, all my friends turn on me and refuse to loan me anything else, and all the nearby libraries are set on fire simultaneously.
--update: This has sat untouched on my desk all year. I can think of a hundred books I'd rather start than finish this, so I doubt I'll pick it back up unless I run out of books to read, I'm too poor to buy any more books, all my friends turn on me and refuse to loan me anything else, and all the nearby libraries are set on fire simultaneously.
November 8, 2020
self-love 鉁� diversity 馃寛 equality 鉁� ; oh, how I love Whitman!! his preface to the first edition was particularly enlightening, but let me just say Song of Myself has got to be one of the best poems I鈥檝e ever come across. I can鈥檛 give this book 5 stars because there were times when I found Whitman to be a bit tiring and ~over the top~, but consider this a 4,5.
allow me to bless you with some of my favourite lines:
The female contains all qualities and tempers them... she is in her place... she moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veiled...she is both passive and active... (I Sing the Body Electric)
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from;
The scent of these arm-pits is aroma finer than prayer,
This head is more than churches or bibles or creeds. (Song of Myself)
Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of slaves,
Voices of prostitutes and deformed persons,
Voices of the diseased and despairing, and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars 鈥� and of wombs, and of the fatherstuff,
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the trivial and flat and foolish and despised,
Of fog in the air and beetles rolling balls of dung. (Song of Myself)
allow me to bless you with some of my favourite lines:
The female contains all qualities and tempers them... she is in her place... she moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veiled...she is both passive and active... (I Sing the Body Electric)
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from;
The scent of these arm-pits is aroma finer than prayer,
This head is more than churches or bibles or creeds. (Song of Myself)
Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of slaves,
Voices of prostitutes and deformed persons,
Voices of the diseased and despairing, and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars 鈥� and of wombs, and of the fatherstuff,
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the trivial and flat and foolish and despised,
Of fog in the air and beetles rolling balls of dung. (Song of Myself)
March 19, 2021
The most impressive, of course, is "Song of Myself", after, the style of the poems becomes rather repetitive. And though it is said that "he uses repetition, which helps to develop a certain type of magical rhythm to accentuate the ideas stated in the poem", it becomes too much when it reoccurs in every single poem.
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color鈥檇sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch鈥檇 words of my voice loos鈥檇 to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed andmeeting the sun.
*
Night of south winds鈥攏ight of the large few stars!
Still nodding night鈥攎ad naked summer night.
Smile O voluptuous cool-breath鈥檇 earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset鈥攅arth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow鈥檇 earth鈥攔ich apple-blossom鈥檇 earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
*
Sea of stretch鈥檇 ground-swells,
Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,
Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell鈥檇 yet always-ready graves,
Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea,
I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
*
And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other withoutever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other, is every bit aswonderful.
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color鈥檇sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch鈥檇 words of my voice loos鈥檇 to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed andmeeting the sun.
*
Night of south winds鈥攏ight of the large few stars!
Still nodding night鈥攎ad naked summer night.
Smile O voluptuous cool-breath鈥檇 earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset鈥攅arth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow鈥檇 earth鈥攔ich apple-blossom鈥檇 earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
*
Sea of stretch鈥檇 ground-swells,
Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,
Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell鈥檇 yet always-ready graves,
Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea,
I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
*
And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other withoutever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other, is every bit aswonderful.
Want to read
September 30, 2015There's only so much rhetoric on American imperialism I can ingest and assimilate at a stretch. Later, Mr Whitman.
(paused at 47%)
(paused at 47%)
July 5, 2023
I do like Walt and I enjoy most of his poetry in Leaves of Grass. It鈥檚 a classic that deserves reading 馃摉 you鈥檒l need to decide if it fits your heart. Like Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, Walt never could get along with the churches, which is not a criticism, for he could not abide any that were halls of judgment and legalism. Like Thomas, he was bursting with love, grace, creativity and spirituality, and refused to be restricted or confined by how various clergy and religious denominations defined and delineated God and faith.
May 21, 2021
鈥淚 celebrate myself, and sing myself"
I read a translation in Dutch of the original edition of 1855, with only 12 poems, and the first one occupies half of the book. This minimal approach (later versions were much, much more elaborate) has the effect of a trumpet call, it's pure vitalism, colored by a strong physical sensuality. It expresses deep faith in life and death, and a sense of belonging to all (a kind of transcendentalism), the organic and the anorganic, the whole universe. At the same time it testifies to a fundamental feeling of unfettered freedom, indissolubly linked with the 'I', the ego.
Style and language of these poems together form a real verbal orgy. Whitman presents grass as a symbol of life: it's persistent, wild, bending with the wind, present all around. The secret of life?: that's life itself, but with the 'ego' at its center, a complete universe orbiting around itself. 鈥淚 am large, I contain multitudes".
While reading, the rational and moral voice inside myself whispered that it's not that simple, and that all this egocentrism comes with a price. I know a lot of people can't stand the exuberance of the Whitman-show (especially in his later, more elaborate versions). But what the heck: it's a dazzling experience to read this, a breath of fresh air in times of darkness. I can take on the world now.
I read a translation in Dutch of the original edition of 1855, with only 12 poems, and the first one occupies half of the book. This minimal approach (later versions were much, much more elaborate) has the effect of a trumpet call, it's pure vitalism, colored by a strong physical sensuality. It expresses deep faith in life and death, and a sense of belonging to all (a kind of transcendentalism), the organic and the anorganic, the whole universe. At the same time it testifies to a fundamental feeling of unfettered freedom, indissolubly linked with the 'I', the ego.
Style and language of these poems together form a real verbal orgy. Whitman presents grass as a symbol of life: it's persistent, wild, bending with the wind, present all around. The secret of life?: that's life itself, but with the 'ego' at its center, a complete universe orbiting around itself. 鈥淚 am large, I contain multitudes".
While reading, the rational and moral voice inside myself whispered that it's not that simple, and that all this egocentrism comes with a price. I know a lot of people can't stand the exuberance of the Whitman-show (especially in his later, more elaborate versions). But what the heck: it's a dazzling experience to read this, a breath of fresh air in times of darkness. I can take on the world now.
May 13, 2022
I am the man, I suffer鈥檇, I was there.
Walt Whitman first wrote and published this collection in his tender age of 37 and it was just 150 pages long. For whatever reason, instead of writing another collection, he kept tinkering with it his whole life, adding and adding to it and that's how we got a deathbed version. I don't know which one was this, but since it had 680 pages, I would guess a later one.
It started out being very quiet, melancholy, tender and private and, as Walt was getting older, started to remind sermons and preachings, including patriotic ones. And I must admit, that's were I lost interest, I'm much more about his shy quiet personal poetry myself.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn鈥檇 over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach鈥檇 till you felt my beard, and reach鈥檇 till you held my feet.
What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me,
Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns,
Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me,
Not asking the sky to come down to my good will,
Scattering it freely forever.
The young man that wakes deep at night, the hot hand seeking to repress what would master him,
The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats,
The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers, the young man all color鈥檇, red, ashamed, angry;
The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my place when I am through,
The wholesome relief, repose, content,
And this bunch pluck鈥檇 at random from myself,
It has done its work鈥擨 toss it carelessly to fall where it may.
But this was the first collection of poetry I've read for fun, not counting epic poetry, and I enjoyed it a lot. It's very sexual, especially in the beginning, Walt is obsessed and worships human body, mostly male (he does remember woman's body, but it was obvious to me, his heart wasn't that into it). But isn't it crazy to think this collection was a contemporary of Jane Eyre and David Copperfield.
Good-bye my Fancy!
Farewell dear mate, dear love!
I鈥檓 going away, I know not where,
Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again,
So Good-bye my Fancy.
Now for my last鈥攍et me look back a moment;
The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me,
Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping.
Long have we lived, joy鈥檇, caress鈥檇 together;
Delightful!鈥攏ow separation鈥擥ood-bye my Fancy.
Yet let me not be too hasty,
Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter鈥檇, become really blended into one;
Then if we die we die together, (yes, we鈥檒l remain one,)
If we go anywhere we鈥檒l go together to meet what happens,
May-be we鈥檒l be better off and blither, and learn something,
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs, (who knows?)
May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning鈥攕o now finally,
Good-bye鈥攁nd hail! my Fancy.
May 24, 2022
My first foray into Whitman territory, and I decided to go with the 1855 text of Leaves of Grass. My purist tendencies made me pick up this edition, despite knowing that Whitman preferred his 鈥渄eathbed鈥� edition, one that had seen him tinker with the main text for approximately 40 years. I have never watched Dead Poets Society, so I went in blind. I did know, however, that the famous 鈥淥 Captain! My Captain鈥� is not in this edition.
What an enlightening experience. I had heard shouts of critics (mostly the loud, erudite, and yet bleating voice of Bloom) who had placed this right beside Melville, Twain, and Emerson as the peak of American literature. I haven鈥檛 read much of Twain and Emerson, but I have read Melville. When Whitman is hitting, it鈥檚 hitting as good as anything I have read in Melville. There were entire pages of poetry that were nothing but flow. I would be wrapped with the warm hug of his words, not knowing where I was or what was happening, only to come out with goosebumps and a shiver down the nape of my neck. The origin of the American Religion, as Bloom mentions. I have yet to truly grasp the influence that this work has had on poets and writers after it. To think that Whitman and Melville were doing their thing at the same time and in the same location is wild to me.
Some special highlights in this collection:
鈥� Whitman鈥檚 Preface. Before even getting into the main body of the work, you are slammed with his thoughts on America and living within what the country and its people represent for him. Interesting to see the strong theme of a unified collection of states, as the name of the country suggests, not just one mass nation. He finds similarity, sympathy, and unification in the sum of the whole of the parts, rather than a uniform glob.
鈥� Song of Myself. Not surprising at all, the beating heart of the collection. Section 33 had me chanting and shedding tears. Also home to a classic: Do I contradict myself? Very well then鈥�. I contradict myself. I am large鈥�. I contain multitudes.
鈥� To Think of Time. A theme that is sure to make me want to come back to a work again and again: the passage of time, ageing, senescence.
鈥� There Was a Child Went Forth. Honestly, not sure how he is able to achieve this effect of a life contained in what is probably a span of 2-3 weeks. Perhaps there isn鈥檛 a time period set. Perhaps we are just looking back at a life already passed.
鈥� Great Are the Myths. A perfect sign off.
I don鈥檛 usually rate poetry, but man. Away with that. A resounding 5 stars. I am headed to the bookstore to pick up the complete collection of Whitman right after this.
What an enlightening experience. I had heard shouts of critics (mostly the loud, erudite, and yet bleating voice of Bloom) who had placed this right beside Melville, Twain, and Emerson as the peak of American literature. I haven鈥檛 read much of Twain and Emerson, but I have read Melville. When Whitman is hitting, it鈥檚 hitting as good as anything I have read in Melville. There were entire pages of poetry that were nothing but flow. I would be wrapped with the warm hug of his words, not knowing where I was or what was happening, only to come out with goosebumps and a shiver down the nape of my neck. The origin of the American Religion, as Bloom mentions. I have yet to truly grasp the influence that this work has had on poets and writers after it. To think that Whitman and Melville were doing their thing at the same time and in the same location is wild to me.
Some special highlights in this collection:
鈥� Whitman鈥檚 Preface. Before even getting into the main body of the work, you are slammed with his thoughts on America and living within what the country and its people represent for him. Interesting to see the strong theme of a unified collection of states, as the name of the country suggests, not just one mass nation. He finds similarity, sympathy, and unification in the sum of the whole of the parts, rather than a uniform glob.
鈥� Song of Myself. Not surprising at all, the beating heart of the collection. Section 33 had me chanting and shedding tears. Also home to a classic: Do I contradict myself? Very well then鈥�. I contradict myself. I am large鈥�. I contain multitudes.
鈥� To Think of Time. A theme that is sure to make me want to come back to a work again and again: the passage of time, ageing, senescence.
鈥� There Was a Child Went Forth. Honestly, not sure how he is able to achieve this effect of a life contained in what is probably a span of 2-3 weeks. Perhaps there isn鈥檛 a time period set. Perhaps we are just looking back at a life already passed.
鈥� Great Are the Myths. A perfect sign off.
I don鈥檛 usually rate poetry, but man. Away with that. A resounding 5 stars. I am headed to the bookstore to pick up the complete collection of Whitman right after this.
Read
December 22, 2020Atmospheric, ephemeral. Transcendental. It鈥檚 like going on a long walk during a misty rain 鈥� everything is being presented as new and fresh, but a little bit blurry and sometimes it is hard to see where you are or the way ahead.
There鈥檚 not much that Whitman fails to elucidate in this epic prose-poem. I read it in stages, slowly, while reading another novel. I think it was best digested this way. Subject wise it is very dense, but because of the poetic style, Whitman has had to choose his words with extreme care 鈥� making for a very precise, crystal cut piece of writing, that while seemingly sparse is actually very meaty.
Meaning and insightful messaging literally lift off the pages 鈥� in the most pertinent and evocative way. While every American may be encouraged to have a copy of Leaves of Grass on their bookshelf, I think it would be amiss to not recommend that everyone can benefit from reading Whitman鈥檚 masterpiece at least once in their life.
There鈥檚 not much that Whitman fails to elucidate in this epic prose-poem. I read it in stages, slowly, while reading another novel. I think it was best digested this way. Subject wise it is very dense, but because of the poetic style, Whitman has had to choose his words with extreme care 鈥� making for a very precise, crystal cut piece of writing, that while seemingly sparse is actually very meaty.
Meaning and insightful messaging literally lift off the pages 鈥� in the most pertinent and evocative way. While every American may be encouraged to have a copy of Leaves of Grass on their bookshelf, I think it would be amiss to not recommend that everyone can benefit from reading Whitman鈥檚 masterpiece at least once in their life.
August 26, 2023
I loved reading this amazing book. Whitman has the ability to blur the lines between the self and the nature. For example, through the poem "Song of the Open Road" uses the metaphor of the road to symbolize life's limitless possibilities and encourages readers to connect with the beauty of the Earth.
Another central theme throught the book is about Unity, his verses envisions a harmonious society where differences of race, class, and nationality are transcended.
The collection concludes with "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," an elegy for Abraham Lincoln that expresses grief on a national scale.
Whitman's poetic style is characterized by free verse, vivid imagery, and a fluid, cascading rhythm that mirrors life's cadence. It's a book that's gonna have a lasting impact on me, igniting contemplation about the intricacies of life and the interconnectedness of all living beings.
Another central theme throught the book is about Unity, his verses envisions a harmonious society where differences of race, class, and nationality are transcended.
The collection concludes with "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," an elegy for Abraham Lincoln that expresses grief on a national scale.
Whitman's poetic style is characterized by free verse, vivid imagery, and a fluid, cascading rhythm that mirrors life's cadence. It's a book that's gonna have a lasting impact on me, igniting contemplation about the intricacies of life and the interconnectedness of all living beings.
June 5, 2007
"Song of Myself" is a work of pure genius comparable to Shakespeare's greatest. I love these last three stanzas especially. When my wife and I were dating long distance and when I was deployed, I would end alot of my letters with "I stop somewhere waiting for you."
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
July 6, 2019
Confesso que parti para esta leitura com uma expectativa que se revelou completamente errada, e acredito que em parte por isso tenha a minha experiencia deste livro se tornado t茫o pouco interessante. A expectativa foi criada por todo o respeito que a obra de Whitman carrega, mas especialmente pela compara莽茫o constante que 茅 feita com Pessoa, surgindo este rotulado por Harold Bloom como 鈥淲hitman portugu锚s鈥�, enquanto Lobo Antunes, numa entrevista de 2015 ao El Pa铆s, dizia: 鈥淥 livro do n茫o sei o qu锚 me aborrece at茅 a morte. A poesia do heter贸nimo 脕lvaro de Campos 茅 uma c贸pia de Walt Whitman鈥�.
Deixando de lado o rid铆culo das afirma莽玫es de ALA, Whitman n茫o 茅 Pessoa, e 鈥淎s Folhas da Erva鈥� 茅 uma obra completamente diferente do 鈥淟ivro do Desassossego鈥�. Pode-se analisar a poesia na sua forma, estrutura, ritmo, nas abordagens liter谩rias que se quiser e dizer que os autores se aproximam, n茫o vou dizer que n茫o possa existir proximidade, mas quando falamos de sentimento, de perfura莽茫o do Eu, a escrita de Pessoa tem um registo completamente distinto. Enquanto Whitman fala liberalmente para os demais, f谩-lo de forma bela, mas n茫o sem pela repeti莽茫o deixar de se tornar tamb茅m petulante.
Li a tradu莽茫o de Maria de Lourdes Guimar茫es, recipiente do Pr茅mio Tradu莽茫o do Pen Club em 2002, e comparada com a de Jos茅 Agostinho Baptista, por quem li o excerto 鈥淐anto de Mim Mesmo鈥�, pode at茅 ser mais correta, formalmente mais pr贸xima, contudo perde em intimidade e profundidade. O texto parece escrito de forma mais solta, desprendida, o que me faz afastar ainda mais do autor, e do livro. Pode at茅 ser que assim seja no original, do que li em ingl锚s n茫o consigo chegar suficientemente dentro da l铆ngua para o aferir, mas de algum modo n茫o cola com a imagem que tinha criado do autor, muito provavelmente pela culpa de ter povoado o meu imagin谩rio com sentires de Pessoa. Ou ent茫o, 茅 apenas a demonstra莽茫o final de que n茫o sou um verdadeiro amante de poesia, que nunca o fui, e dificilmente algum dia virei a ser.
Diz Whitman, "Propus-me representar, sem qualquer des芒nimo, a humanidade tal como ela 茅.鈥�, e 茅 isso que podemos dizer ter em 鈥淎s Folhas da Erva鈥�, com Whitman a dissertar sobre tudo e mais alguma coisa, levando-nos pela m茫o atrav茅s da cultura americana do s茅culo XIX adentro. Planamos pelo meio da cultura feita de lugares e pessoas, passeamos, viajamos com o autor, mas para mim fica-se por isso mesmo. Com imensa pena minha, porque contava ter algo de muito diferente para dizer ao chegar a este momento.
Deixando de lado o rid铆culo das afirma莽玫es de ALA, Whitman n茫o 茅 Pessoa, e 鈥淎s Folhas da Erva鈥� 茅 uma obra completamente diferente do 鈥淟ivro do Desassossego鈥�. Pode-se analisar a poesia na sua forma, estrutura, ritmo, nas abordagens liter谩rias que se quiser e dizer que os autores se aproximam, n茫o vou dizer que n茫o possa existir proximidade, mas quando falamos de sentimento, de perfura莽茫o do Eu, a escrita de Pessoa tem um registo completamente distinto. Enquanto Whitman fala liberalmente para os demais, f谩-lo de forma bela, mas n茫o sem pela repeti莽茫o deixar de se tornar tamb茅m petulante.
Li a tradu莽茫o de Maria de Lourdes Guimar茫es, recipiente do Pr茅mio Tradu莽茫o do Pen Club em 2002, e comparada com a de Jos茅 Agostinho Baptista, por quem li o excerto 鈥淐anto de Mim Mesmo鈥�, pode at茅 ser mais correta, formalmente mais pr贸xima, contudo perde em intimidade e profundidade. O texto parece escrito de forma mais solta, desprendida, o que me faz afastar ainda mais do autor, e do livro. Pode at茅 ser que assim seja no original, do que li em ingl锚s n茫o consigo chegar suficientemente dentro da l铆ngua para o aferir, mas de algum modo n茫o cola com a imagem que tinha criado do autor, muito provavelmente pela culpa de ter povoado o meu imagin谩rio com sentires de Pessoa. Ou ent茫o, 茅 apenas a demonstra莽茫o final de que n茫o sou um verdadeiro amante de poesia, que nunca o fui, e dificilmente algum dia virei a ser.
Diz Whitman, "Propus-me representar, sem qualquer des芒nimo, a humanidade tal como ela 茅.鈥�, e 茅 isso que podemos dizer ter em 鈥淎s Folhas da Erva鈥�, com Whitman a dissertar sobre tudo e mais alguma coisa, levando-nos pela m茫o atrav茅s da cultura americana do s茅culo XIX adentro. Planamos pelo meio da cultura feita de lugares e pessoas, passeamos, viajamos com o autor, mas para mim fica-se por isso mesmo. Com imensa pena minha, porque contava ter algo de muito diferente para dizer ao chegar a este momento.
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