Walt Whitman 1819-1892

by Nynke Passi

Whitman in 1887

Do anything, but let it produce joy.–Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Walt Whitman on wikipedia:
Walt Whitman

From wikipedia:
Walter “Walt” Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist and journalist. A humanist, he was a part of the transition between transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass.

“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”― Walt Whitman

Whitman at 28

From Song of Myself, 20:
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 chant the chant of dilation or pride;
We have had ducking and deprecating about enough;
I show that size is only development.

Have you outstript the rest? Are you the President?
It is a trifle — they will more than arrive there, every one,
and still pass on.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night;
I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night.

Press close, bare-bosom’d night! Press close, magnetic, nourishing night!
Night of south winds! night of the large few stars!
Still, nodding night! mad, naked, summer night.

Smile, O voluptuous, cool-breath’d earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees;
Earth of departed sunset! earth 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’d earth! rich, apple-blossom’d earth!
Smile, for your lover comes!

Prodigal, you have given me love! Therefore I to you give love!
O unspeakable, passionate love!

Whitman at 37

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large–I contain multitudes.–Walt Whitman

From: The Writer’s Almanac
From Song of Myself Whitman, Writer’s Almanac

from Song of Myself, 48
I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his
own funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of
the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod
confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man
following it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the
wheel’d universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool
and composed before a million universes.
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God
not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than
myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and
each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own
face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is
sign’d by God’s name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that
wheresoe’er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

Whitman 1854

Song of Myself, 50
There is that in me-I do not know what it is-but I know
it is in me.

Wrench’d and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes,
I sleep-I sleep long.

I do know know it-it is without name-it is a word unsaid,
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.

Perhaps I might tell more Outlines! I plead for my brothers
and sisters.

Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death-it is form, union, plan-it is eternal
life-it is Happiness.
–Writer’s Almanac (see link above)

Whitman photographed by Matthew Brady

Song of Myself, 51
The past and present wilt-I have fill’d them, emptied them,
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! What have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a
minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Who has done his day’s work? who will soonest be through
with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already
too late?
–From Writer’s Almanac (see link above)

Walt Whitman’s handwritten manuscript for “Broadway, 1861”

Song of Myself, 52
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, complains
of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the
shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh and eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

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.
–From Writer’s Almanac (see link above)

Whitman was influenced by the Song of Songs (Bible) in his use of long flowing lines and the grammatical construct of parallelism.

Song of Songs on wikipedia:
Song of Songs

The Song of Songs, also known as Song of Solomon, is a book of the Old Testament of the Bible. In spite of the lack of explicitly religious content, Song of Songs has often been interpreted as a parable of the relationship of God and Israel, or for Christians, Christ and the Church or Christ and the human soul, as husband and wife.

The Bride’s Reverie
By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city
in the streets, and in the broad ways
I will seek him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.
The watchmen that go about the city found me:
to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?
It was but a little that I passed from them,
but I found him whom my soul loveth:
I held him, and would not let him go,
until I had brought him into my mother’s house,
and into the chamber of her that conceived me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
by the roes, and by the hinds of the field,
that ye stir not up, nor awake my love,
till he please.

You can find more here, Song of Songs (Song of Solomon):
Song of Songs

In turn, Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997), one of the Beat poets, was influenced by the Song of Songs and Whitman both in his use of long flowing lines and parallel constructions in his famous epic poem Howl, in which he celebrated his fellow “angel-headed hipsters” and denounced the destructive forces of capitalism and conformity.

Here you can read Howl:
Howl by Ginsberg

Howl, manuscript page

I 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.
One world is aware, and by the far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness, I can wait.
― Walt Whitman

I celebrate myself, and sing 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.
–Walt Whitman

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

There is no God anymore Divine than Yourself.–Walt Whitman

I am satisfied–I see, dance, laugh, sing.–Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
― Walt Whitman