FINAL PROJECT

IN OTHER WORDS…:

A rewrite of (parts of because oh my gosh this poem is long) Walt Whitman’s “A Song of Myself” using straightforward, modern language, thus stripping it of virtually everything that makes it pretty and poetic but also making it hella easier to understand (I hope).

(Page 1)

I think I’m awesome,

And you and I think the same things

Because we are the same.

I hang around and try to be myself,

I work and relax when I want to… watching a blade of grass.

Everything in the world seems tainted with manmade artifacts,

And while I am familiar with and enjoy these things

I will not let them cloud my mind.

The earth is pure, nothing artificial about it,

It is a part of me and I love it.

I will go into the woods and take all my clothes off

Because I want to touch nature as much as possible.

When I go I am immersed in nature,

I inhale the air around me, taking in nature and exhaling myself.

I become like the world around me.

Do you ever stop to think about the earth and the land?

Why do you try so hard to read,

To understand and analyze poetry?

You just stopped and took a look around you, you’d understand where poetry comes from.

You would stop taking things for granted, stop relying on my interpretations,

You would figure it out for yourself.

I know what everyone is saying, about beginnings and endings

But I don’t talk about any of that.

Everything is balanced,

There is the best and the worst in the world

And that is what makes it wonderful.

I have been very blessed by God,

And all the things around me, the people I meet and the things I surround myself with come and go from my life

But that does not mean that they are me.

Relax with me in the grass, and stop holding back your thoughts,

You don’t need to sing or come up with some elaborate speech,

I just want to hear your natural voice.

We will lie together, bead to toes, top to bottom and

Be completely together in nature.

This makes me happy, and I know that all people are

My brothers and sisters.

A child brought me grass and asked what it was,

But I didn’t know either, because it is more than just grass.

It could represent my character, or a gift from God,

Or I could say that grass is the child of the earth.

But the grass could also come from graves, because it grows over where we bury our dead, the men that could have been my friends if I had met them, and the children who died too young.

I wish I could understand the messages of the dead.

What do you think happens to people when they die?

I think that they are still alive somewhere

Since things still grow above them. The cycle of life goes on.

And if you think you are lucky to have been born, I tell you

You are also lucky to die, because you help to carry on the cycle.

[…]

(Page 7)

A runaway slave showed up at my house,

I saw that he was hurt and tired, so I let him inside and took care of him,

Treated his wounds and gave him clothes, and let him stay for the week it

Took for him to recover enough to move one.

He sat next to me, and my gun stayed in the corner to protect him if the need arose.

A woman watched twenty-eight men bathe in a river.

She hides behind the blinds of the window,

And imagines herself among them, free and happy.

[…]

(Page 9)

I love nature and the men who work in it,

The farmers, ranchers, sailors, woodsmen,

I could spend all my time with them and never be tired of it.

[…]

(Page 12)

Everything is where it is supposed to be.

And yet, and I am not the first to think this,

Whatever doesn’t belong to you is worthless,

And whatever doesn’t effect everything is worthless,

And things that are not questions or answers are worthless.

This is just the way things are.

It’s like the band that plays after a battle has finished.

But I don’t just want music for the winners, but the losers, too.

Do you think that you have to win all battles?

There’s nothing wrong with being defeated.

You put just as much passion into the battles you lose as the ones you win.

I will play the loudest and happiest music for the dead.

Cheers to the fallen!

The unknown heroes are just as good as the well-known.

This is the food for the soul, and it is for everyone.

Good or bad, I wont turn anyone away.

Everyone is invited, and all will be equal.

Do you think I have an ulterior motive?

Cause I do, just like the rain and the rocks.

Are you surprised?

Do I surprise you more than the sun and the trees?

I am telling secrets,

Perhaps not to everyone, but to you.

Who are all these people?

How do I receive life from eating beef, dead cow?

What are we, anyway? All that is mine is balanced by yours,

Otherwise you’ve been wasting your time listening to me.

I don’t complain about the usual things,

How time flies, and the world is dirty

And how basically life sucks and then you die.

Complaining is for the weak, and I don’t conform with the rest of the world.

I do what I want.

I see myself in others, myself exactly.

So when I praise or chide myself, I am also doing the same to them.

And I know that I am solid and stable,

And all the meetings in the universe come to me,

And it is my job to understand it.

I know that I am immortal because of this writing.

I will not fade away or be forgotten.

But I am fine just existing,

Whether the whole world knows of me

Or no one knows of me,

I am happy just being alive.

But there is one person aware of my existence, and that is me.,

And no matter how long it takes for me to come to my own,

I am happy either way.

I write poetry to stimulate your body

And your mind.

I experience the best feelings and the worst pains,

The best I make a part of me, and the worst I turn into a new language,

The language of poetry.

I write poetry for everyone, man and woman.

[…]

(Page 17)

Walt Whitman, an American who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,

Imperfect and human, all food, drink, and sex,

Doesn’t fool himself into thinking he is better or worse than anyone else.

Get rid of all this crap separating us!

If you treat someone else badly, you are doing the same to me. Everything ultimately will come back to me.

And what I say and do comes back to you.

I am talking about ultimate equality.

I speak for everyone, even the people you would think of as deserving of a voice,

The deformed, the prostitutes,

All those you think of as lesser.

I will not be silent.

I think that being human and hungering for something is a good thing.

You need to go and experience the wonders of the world.

I am so human, so in touch with nature, that I can touch things and make them holy. My arm-pits smell better than prayer,

And my head holds more than churches.

[…]

(Page 21)

I am ratted out by traitors,

But I talk like a crazy person, I’ve lost my mind, so I am the greatest traitor.

I came to this cliff on my own, brought here by my own hands.

Stupid need to touch! That is the cause of all of my problems, because I just wanted to touch everything. Was it too much to ask, for it to leave me for awhile?

And now I’ll be paying for these mistakes forever.

Everything has some grain of truth to it.

They can’t force it or fight it.

But even the little things seem big to me.

[…]

(Page 22)

I wouldn’t mind living with animals for awhile.

They’re so calm and independent.

Sometimes I spend half a day just watching them.

Animals don’t complain about everything,

Or cry about the past,

Or bore me talking about the things they have to do.

Animals are happy with what they have, not driven by greed,

they don’t submit to strangers who lived ages ago,

and they aren’t working to constantly change the world.

Animals show that they care, and I’m okay with that.

I can see myself in them, parts of my nature.

I don’t know how that happened,

Maybe I was among the animals a long time ago left some part of myself behind,

While I kept moving and changing,

Picking up and leaving behind various traits,

Finding the ones that work best with me and keeping them.

There is a stallion, beautiful and with all the most desirable features,

I ride him and he is just as happy as I am to race around before returning.

The partnership only lasts a moment before I ditch the stallion because I don’t need him.

He’s fast, but I am still changing, growing, evolving, so I still outpace him.

Swift wind! Space! My Soul! I was totally right,

When I was chilling in the grass,

And laying alone in bed, and walking on the beach at night.

There is nothing to tie me down,

I will move and travel with my ideas,

Never settling down.

[…]

(Page 35)

The least wanted of people will live on in me,

We survive through each other

Because we are the same.

I know I’m vain,

I know I talk big but I’m not going to stop.

My words ask questions and point out things you might forget about.

Like this book, you might think about me, the author, but what about the printer and the assistant?

There are so many things that you forget about, the people in the background,

You think of the item instead of the meaning, the idea instead of the people.

That’s bad! Don’t forget those precious things!

[…]

(Page 37)

So now let me be blunt… stand up.

I don’t care about the things that you already know, I want you to come with me to discover new things.

You know the clock tells time, but what does forever tell?

Forever is never ending. There have been countless years before this one, and there will be countless more after.

We are not the beginning or the end.

People have changed the world,

And people will continue changing the world.

I’m not saying one time is better or worse than another,

They are all equal, just like us.

[…]

(Page 43)

Do you get it yet?

It’s not about chaos or death, it’s about patterns and life and happiness.

I have explored the past and present enough, I am tired of it,

So now I will live forever in the future.

Do you have something to say?

Just say it, no one else will know and I’ll be dead and gone soon enough.

Was that a contradiction?

(Saying I will die right after saying I will live forever).

Yeah, well, I am a complex person.

[…]

(Page 44)

I will die quietly and become a part of nature.

When I am buried my body will help the grass grow,

So if you want to find me just look to the earth.

You wont realize it’s me,

But I’ll help you out anyway,

Make you healthy and happy.

And don’t worry if you can’t find me,

Keep looking,

I am waiting for you.

Woody Guthrie

I think there are a lot of ways that art can weave itself into politics. If nothing else, art is all about expression and interpretation, which is something that is certainly shared with politics. With Guthrie and Whitman, they explore the idea of equality simply through the way they share their craft. Because neither is exclusive with their art, anyone can read/ listen to their work and experience it. It's a level playing field in a way. And I personally have never found much of a difference between music and poetry. I have always believed that music is just poetry with melody.

Allen and Whitman

So, there were several similarities I noticed between these two poets. Stylistically, they both wrote in free verse, which gave them more freedom to write the lines how they saw fit. Also, they both wrote a bit... risky? I can't think of a good word, but Whitman wrote about the runaway slave during a very heated time, and Ginsberg was pretty gritty with his writing (cuss words, etc.) which I think made them both quite brave. They were willing to speak about what they believed in despite the fact that their way of doing so had the potential to be received badly. So, yeah. Props to them.

RUKEYSER GROUP

Hey guys! Probably should have made an effort to get in touch with you all earlier, or stayed after class today, but I definitely forgot which group I was in until I got home and checked. ...oops... (Yeah, I fail at life...sorry!)

Anyway, we are apparently presenting in class next Thursday! Sooo... any plans?
(Also, if anyone wanted to move this to email instead of commenting here, just let me know your email addresses. I just put this in a post cause I didn't know any other way for us to all talk in the same place.)

Wilting Flowers

Reading through the 9/11 poems, my attention was drawn to "Late, There was an Island"(A Poem Cycle) by Meena Alexander for a few reasons. Mostly, because I felt it shared a common theme with Whitman's poem: nature. Death is an interesting theme in poetry, because it is something that you experience indirectly (I'm pretty sure no one reads a poem and goes "Oh yeah that reminds me of when I died"). You experience death through the loss of something outside yourself, a friend, family member, loved one, etc. I think tying it in to nature (lilacs with Whitman and linden trees for Alexander) helps give a more concrete visual while also serving as a subtle reminder that death is a part of nature.

The More You Learn...

When we were first told of this project expansion, I though of several possible directions. None of them good.

I debated about expanding the "Youtubing Whitman" project, since my first video was quite lackluster due to illness. In my head, I thought it would be fun/ interesting to act out and film a passage from "Leaves of Grass" twice: Once reciting it as written, and once in a modernized version, to give another way of looking at the message Whitman was trying to get across. Then I remembered how technologically inclined I am (not). So that idea got thrown away (and out here into the interspace for anyone who wants to snatch it. Feel free).

Then in class, we started discussing graphic novels. I am actually interested in pursuing a career in the comic arts, so my ears definitely perked at this. Admittedly my current skills limit my ability to produce a full graphic novel, but the idea of incorporating art was still intriguing.

So, after much deliberation, I sort of want to illustrate the relationships between Whitman and his peers (think family tree style), with perhaps some side notes (bullet points and whatnot) with corresponding pictures, just to really get the point across.

From this point, I mostly need to gather up my willpower to actually sit down and research. Once I have the information written down where I can see it all in one place and arrange as I see fit, I don't think it should be too hard. I really just want to show how much writers are a part of each others' life and work, whether it be intentional or not.

SO. Let's see how this works out...

Tweet-a-Week VII: Peter Doyle

Well, Peter Doyle appears to have a bit of an incomplete biography, so parts of his life are fuzzy. BUT, we do know that he had a very important place in Whitman's life.

Doyle was a streetcar conductor in Washington DC who met Whitman in 1865. Their friendship grew instantly, quickly turning into a romantic relationship which lasted up until Whitman's death in 1892. There relationship is unexpected for several reasons, including the fact that Whitman was Doyle's elder by 24 years, and that Doyle possessed only a rudimentary education compared to Whitman's high level of literacy. However, Whitman felt more comfortable with the "working man", which was certainly the class that Doyle belonged to. The young man also ultimately assisted Whitman in the creation of his Lincoln sketches, having been present at the president's assassination. But I suppose the most important thing is that Doyle and Whitman were simply there for each other as companions, providing the emotional intimacy that all people require.

There is Work Yet to be Done...

Hm, I suppose if I had to put aside my loafing and actually put more thought and effort into one of our past projects... I'd choose the assignment of comparing Whitman with his literary peers. There is really a lot more that I could have looked at. Originally, I simply compared the poetic styles between Whitman and two of his peers. But I now wonder how their personal backgrounds would compare, or their education. Not to mention, I'd be interested in seeing a timeline, who came first, who really influenced who, and what-not. Those would be the points that I would like to delve into deeper the second time around.

Specimen Days V: A Discovery of Old Age

This is one of my favorites so far, because I think the message is important.

Whitman describes how many of the best and most important things in life are not truly identified as such at first. It can take time, and much reevaluation, to understand something's value. Sometimes it will come suddenly, like an epiphany, and sometimes you slowly gain wisdom over weeks, months, years. But I think that is a good thing. I think it is good to take the time to truly understand something, as opposed to just declaring it the best right from the start. It gives it a deeper meaning.

It's a nice sentiment. I like it.

Tweet-a-Week VI: Martin F. Tupper, Proverbial Philosophy

Poets, poets, everywhere.

Tupper was an English poet and writer, with Proverbial Philosophy being one of his most well-know works (although it took some time, being pretty unsuccessful at first, his popularity did eventually skyrocket). A "long series of didactic moralisings", his style (at least structurally) was quite similar to Whitman's (free verse prose poems). Tupper came first, and Whitman did know of him, and may likely have taken inspiration from him.

So Whitman is not quite as unique as we might sometimes think, but I find it cool that there were groups of people who were kind of on the same page. Tupper helped Whitman grow, just as I'm sure Whitman did for others after him.

Whitman Sells

So while society may now be tempted to buy anything with a celebrity face attached to it, there was a time when Whitman could do pretty much the same thing.

First, there's the Border Bookshop Expresso Bar poster.

Adapted from a picture of Whitman holding a butterfly, the winged insect was replaced with a cup of coffee that Whitman could eternally stare at in contemplation. The message was pretty straight forward. Coffee shops are generally associated with starving artists, writers, etc. So this poster was made to appeal to those masses. Come drink our coffee and become the next great loafer poet!

Next, Camden Grocers Exchange took advantage of our poet's fame.
(Sorry, no visual available. Use your imagination!)
The store offered an assortment of products bearing Whitman's image, including coffee, ice cream, cigars and cigarettes.

Finally, there's our good friends over at Old Crow Whiskey.

Supposedly, in 1891 Whitman received a bottle of Old Crow as a gift, and the company decided that this made Whitman one of their "famous customers". (Also, come on, look at that picture. Who thinks Whitman actually looked like that, ever? Think of his portrait in Leaves of Grass!)

So what have we learned? Well, essentially that the advertising world has not changed one bit. They still like to exploit the famous to make the ordinary believe their product is extraordinary. All that has changed is the type of celebrity most commonly used (Esteemed authors vs. musicians and actors).

Still, I'd buy that coffee if it made me write like Whitman.

Eyes of the Beholders

Let's face it, reading is a very subjective art. An author can have an intention, and that's all fine and dandy. But when it comes down to it, it the the realization (or ignorance) or that intention by the reader that the work is judged by.

The first review I looked at was an anonymous review called "A Curious Title" that appeared in Life Illustrated in July 1855. This was a pretty straightforward review, outlining the format of the book itself. However what I found interesting was the comments on who they felt would be interested in Whitman's work. According to the reviewer, "respectable people would pronounce perfect nonsense", while "free-souled persons" would enjoy the book very much. I'm not saying these comments aren't true, but it's interesting that there is an entire class of people that this commenter says would not find meaning in Whitman's work. Obviously nothing can speak to everyone, but still. It's a very broad statement.

My next review was also anonymous, this time published in The Albion, A Journal of News, Politics and Literature under the title "A Pleasant Quiz". The review was short, but it was the final statement that stuck with me: "its main fault in a literary point of view—that it suggests the notice of a man reviewing his own work—is not of much importance". They fault Whitman for, essentially, writing about his own work. It's interesting that this was considered a fault, when many now find it a captivating subject. 

Finally, one last anonymous (from The Merchant's Magazine and Commercial Review). This was one of my favorite reviews if only because of their acknowledgement of Whitman himself being a remarkable aspect of the book. I also agreed with their views on how the work could be viewed as a whole, or broken down into smaller works of art.

There is a lot to look at when reading poetry, especially if your intention is to judge it and decide it's worth to others. Each review was different, and found different flaws and favors within Leaves of Grass, but none of them were wrong. Because it is individual experience that makes writing poetry; and that is unique for everyone.

Specimen Days IV: Crows and Crows

This is a very simple passage. A scene of Walt resting by a creek after a walk and watching crows fly overhead. It's so simple, so straightforward, that I feel there are many ways you can look at it.

For one, there is the growing darkness in the sky, which we could very easily connect to the growing tensions of the war that Whitman was witnessing. There's also the idea of movement, the crows flying together and part, side to side, etc. They are a symbol of change, which was something else Whitman could relate to. Then, finally, there is the notion of passing. This section ends with the crows flying into the woods, out of sight with only their caws for Whitman to hear. It's kind of optimistic if you think about it, a "this to shall pass" moment to give Whitman hope.

Tweet-a-Week V: Frances Wright

Whitman, while awesome in his sense of free thinking and nonconformity, was not the first of his kind. Neither was Frances Wright, but she did come first. A Scottish activist who proclaimed many of the ideas that Whitman would later absorb and spew back into the world in his own creative way, Wright was one of many major influences on Whitman's life and work. Whitman even saw her speak a few times, and read some of her work. As a young person trying to find his way in the world, I can see how a strong, loud, confident figure like Wright would be an inspiration. She was someone who understood some of the ideals that Whitman felt passionate for, and she helped first put to words those emotions that Whitman would come to express on his own in Leaves of Grass. They are birds of a feather, so it makes sense that they would stick together.

You Were Just Always Talking 'Bout Changing...

Writing has a way of evolving, in many ways. Along with the very broad sense of literature changing over the years, a writer is constantly re-evaluating, reinventing, re-visualizing their own work. This process doesn't stop just because you have been lucky enough to be published. If anything, I would think that would make it worse. People can actually read your stuff now! The desire to make it absolutely perfect probably increases tenfold.

Whitman was not exempt from this. In each new addition of Leaves of Grass, Whitman makes subtle edits, always striving to make it that much better. Even something as (seemingly) simple as changing the title of a piece can have a major effect. For example, the one that stood out the most to me was how Song of Myself became Poem of Walt Whitman, An American in the 1856 version. That title is so much more specific. "Myself" could be anyone, it could be whoever you the reader want, whether that be Walt, yourself, your neighbor; you are given much more freedom of interpretation. But now, it's Walt Whitman. But he doesn't stop there, oh no. He's Walt Whitman, An American. Knowing the times that Whitman lived through, that is a very powerful statement. Think about it. He's not a Northerner or a Southerner, which was probably a big deal at that time. He's an American, part of a whole, part of something big and great and idealistic.


I think that as the years went on, Whitman not only learned about his poem, his writing style; he learned about himself. Which, considering the fact that he was writing "A Song of Himself", is a major factor. The more he learns about himself, the clear the vision for what he wants to express. And that's the beauty of revision. Constant growth.

Tweet-a-Week IV: Bowery B'hoys

((Oh no. Illness setting in. Quick post QUICK POST.))

So Bowey B'hoys were apparently a New York gang in the mid 19th century. Nativist, anti-Catholic, anti-Irish, flashy and violent, they made quite a still during their time.

From what I can tell, Whitman could have at the very least related to these boys in the sense that they were going against the norm, fighting the expectations of those higher up than them. the boys were also primarily single males, so there's a kind of sexual freedom there that Whitman seemed fond of. They also had a heavy influence on language, coming up with their own distinct slang, and anyone interested in creative writing or literature can appreciate those who have power over language.

All-in-all, they were a very outspoken group, that could relate to our poet simply by making a statement.

((...Oh my head...))

I'd Rather Be Blue

Whitman made lots of notes on his own work, and hey, who doesn't? Really, no one is ever satisfied with what you make. There's always something you think you can do to make it better. Ah, the curse of art.

Anywho, I found the annotations on page 51 of The Blue Book to be quite interesting. Admittedly this page is not as note heavy as was probably ideal, but there were two things I found interesting.

First, was Whitman's decision to change the "e" in "earth" from a capitol to a lower-case. A capitol "Earth", seems more... I don't know, formal? Respectful? It's a proper noun, a name, it's giving a bit more life to it, I feel. Almost as if you are talking about a person. Which , if you look at the line, almost makes more sense.

"Far-swooping, elbowed Earth! Rich, apple-blossomed
        Earth!
Smile, for YOUR LOVER comes!" (Blue Book version)

Whitman is speaking of/ to the earth as a personified figure. So really, it would make sense to capitalize the "e". So I find it curious that he decided to change that, to take away that little bit of extra personification. (Although apparently he agreed, because the 1860 version capitalizes the "e" again. Curiouser and curiouser).

Next, in Whitman's notes, he completely crosses out the following line:

"Thruster holding me tight, and that I hold tight!
We hurt each other as the bridegroom and the bride
         hurt each other."

And yet, this line still appears in the 1855 and the 1860 version almost completely unchanged. HOWEVER, the line is removed in the 1867 version. While not my favorite line in the poem, I wonder what it is about it that bothered Whitman. Or even more, what saved it for those first two versions. Cutting out an entire stanza is a tough choice for a writer. And to go back and forth like that means that there had to have been something about it that both bothered Whitman and spoke to him, because he only ever included it, or removed it. He never changed it.

I dunno. I find it interesting...

How the Years Turn

The differences between the 1855 and the 1860 version of Leaves of Grass was surprising. Amazing what can happen in five years, yeah?

The main difference I noticed was also the most obvious: The difference in the physical structure of the poem. For whatever reason, five years later having a poem almost completely left-justified wasn't cool any more, so the poem appears more staggered. The lines themselves are different, too, with the lines beginning and ending on different words than the 1855 version. It makes the lines appear shorter, the column narrower. This might be a personal thing, but I like it better that way. First of all, I find it more visually pleasing to see a bit of movement in the words themselves. Secondly, I think there's a psychological thing with the narrower column. I think it almost makes the poem appear less daunting, as opposed to a much more full page of words. It also makes it easier for your eyes to jump from line to line, so it reads a bit smoother.

I can't help but wonder what the motivation was for that decision. Either way, quite interesting....

Specimen Days III: Locusts and Katydids

I very much enjoyed this particular excerpt. In it, Whitman describes the sounds (music) made by locusts and katydids. I mostly liked it because he paints such a beautiful picture of locusts and the sounds they make. Locusts are generally associated with very negative things, plagues, insects, and are usually viewed as another type of vermin. I love the way Whitman is able to look past the general stigma of these creature, and look at them with fresh eyes, and in doing so, forces me to do the same. What can I say? I'm a sucker for "ugly" things with pretty words.

Tweet-a-Week III: Oneida Community

Based in Oneida, New York, the Oneida Community was a religious sect focused on the practices of John Humphrey Noyes. Noyes believed in "Perfectionism", meaning once you're a Christian, you're saved from all your sins forever. The Community was most well known for it's polygamous nature. Declaring "complex marriage", it was actually a rule that every man was considered married to every woman, and vise versa.

Whitman, and Leaves of Grass, does have many sexual themes associated with it. As such, many parallels could be drawn between Whitman and the Oneida Community due to the similar nature of their "free love". There is also a parallel between the lack of boundaries between people. The "every man married to every woman, and every woman married to every man" thing, kind of reminds me of Whitman's constant "I am you and you are me" declarations made in Song of Myself. I can see how Whitman would find inspiration from this unorthodox group of people.

Speaking of Whitman...

Whitman's Peers

Writers, while each having their own distinct voice and style, can still learn a lot from each other. It's why creative writing classes bother teaching other writers at all. As such, many connections can be made between authors. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Village Blacksmith, has a similar feel of independence to Whitman, however there are also notable differences. Longfellow does not convey the same connection to nature as Whitman does, nor the value of loafing, instead displaying a hard and studious worker. Also, the structure of the poem differs, with Longfellow having a steady ababcdcd pattern, while Whitman uses freeverse.

Anne C. Lynch's An Imitaion also follows a rigid structure (this time aabb ccdd) that differs from Whitman, but she does find more of an adventure in nature, describing her journey up a mountain. John Greenleaf Whitter's The Hunters of Men follows the same structure as Lynch, but focuses more on people than setting. His poem reminds me of Whitman because it depicts conflict between people, and how they are hunting their fellow man. This could relate to Whitman's feelings during the build up and eventual start of the Civil War.

Specimen Days II: To the Spring and Brook

This was a very beautifully simple excerpt. Whitman describes the sounds of a small brook. When writing, it is easy to forget certain senses. It is easy to describe surroundings, imagery being one of those staples you are taught for any form of creative writing. It is easy to forget that sound can also be conveyed, even through written word. Whitman describes the music of nature in a way that makes you really hear it. He also ties it in with lovely metaphor, commenting on how he, like the brook, will "express what I have gather'd in my days and progress". And that is exactly what "A Song of Myself" is. It is the collection of Whitman's experiences conveyed through poetry. I can see why Whitman connected with nature so much.

Tweet-a-Week II: Barnum's American Museum

Unlike what typically comes to mind when thinking of a museum, Barnum's was a bit more on the eccentric side. Located on Broadway in New York, the museum housed various human oddities such as a 25-inch tall dwarf, a fiji mermaid, siamese twins, etc.

I can see the appeal, especially to any kind of poet. One of the goals of creative writing is to force the audience to look at things in a new or unusual way; to change their way of thinking, if only temporarily. This museum seems like a good physical example of that, by showing something we are obviously very familiar with (humans) and displaying the ways in which they vary from the norm.

Much inspiration could be drawn from a place like that. Wish I could see it...

See How the Children Laugh as They Dance Between the Graves

I like kids. What can I say? They're cute, I've worked with them frequently, and yeah, I'm a young healthy female so I've got the whole "biological clock" thing kicking. Sue me.

Whatever the reason, reading through "Song of Myself", Whitman references children, or youth, quite frequently. Seriously. Quite. Frequently. This is gonna be a long blog...

Anywho, I find this motif, especially the way Whitman uses it, to be very flexible. Imagine CHILDREN being the center of one of those fancy cluster diagrams.

First, a child is one of the best examples of tabula rasa. Innocence, a blank slate, etc. There is even a Bible verse saying to be like children in order to enter Heaven (Matthew 18:3). Whitman was living in a time of turmoil, with war slowly approaching on the horizon. 

"There was never any more inception than there is now, 
Nor any more youth or age than there is now, 
And will never be any more perfection than there is now, 
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now." (pg.2)

"Births have brought us richness and variety, 

And other births will bring us richness and variety." (pg.37)

More so, the country was at a crossroad. There was a  pretty equal chance of America continuing to exist as a slave country, or becoming a truly free country. There was a new generation that would be raised in one of these worlds. Fragile minds to be molded one way or another. That's some scary opportunity there. 

Because if we've been told anything whenever we're caught cussing within twenty feet of a playground, it's that children are impressionable. So really, that generation that could be raised on love and equality of man, could also very easily be taught about inferiority between races.

"The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions," (pg.10)

The children are our future. Sends a shiver down your spine, yeah? 

Expanding on innocence, kids are fragile. Thus, in "Song of Myself", Whitman also gives a sense of children needing to be protected. Now you, as the reader, may relate in either position: as the protector, or the one needing protection.

"Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried 

and sentenced." (pg.31)

Moving on, we get to a point we discussed in class: Nature. More specific, how children relate to nature. As Hanley stated, children are much more in tune with their senses. It's not until we are older that we begin relying on silly things like logic and reason. Kids go by touch, instinct. And they question things that deserve questioning but adults often overlook.

"A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; 

How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he." (pg.4)

"Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation." (pg.4)

"The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, 

I peeringly view them from the top." (pg.5)

"The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret and harks to the 

musical rain," (pg.10)

I think kids respect nature more than adults, because they haven't had their sense of awe and wonder beaten out of them yet...

Next, we get to tie in with another one of Whitman's fun motifs. SEX. Because come on, if you're gonna talk about sex that much, you're eventually gonna be faced with one of the natural results of sex. Children. 

"The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it 

off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots, 
The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne 
her first child, 
The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the 
factory or mill," (pg.10)

Kids are also a natural symbol of life. The beginning of that circle everyone goes on about...

"I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and 

am not contain'd between my hat and boots, 
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, 
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good." (pg.5)

"What do you think has become of the young and old men? 

And what do you think has become of the women and children?" (pg.5)

"I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt 

stick at night." (pg.14)

"It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried, 

Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, 
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back 
and was never seen again, 
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with 
bitterness worse than gall," (pg.37)

...So Whitman pairs it seamlessly with the other end of the circle: Death. Young and old. Which, in my opinion, actually gives the poem an interesting sense of immortality. Not of the individual, but of the whole. One dies as another is born. A never ending, smooth cycle of life going on.

But now let's move beyond the birth itself, and look at the implications. For when a child is born, so is a mother.

"Tenderly will I use you curling grass, 

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, 
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out 
of their mothers' laps, 
And here you are the mothers' laps." (pg.4)

"I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, 

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken 
soon out of their laps." (pg.4)

"Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, 

For me those that have been boys and that love women, 
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, 
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the 
mothers of mothers, 
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, 
For me children and the begetters of children." (pg.5)

"Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it," (pg.24)

"Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly," (pg.26)

"The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her 

children gazing on," (pg.27)

"By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for 

every person born," (pg.34)

"Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, 

My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it." (pg.38)

Mothers are protection, they are a guiding force. They are the nurturing that may determine a child's fate. Think Virgin Mary here. Whitman weaves in a sense of love, dedication, and heritage simply by mentioning that these children are not alone. They have mothers.

Finally, through kids, Whitman displays a theme of growth. 

"I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, 

Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, 
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man," (pg.11)

"Come my children, 

Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, 
Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on 
the reeds within." (pg.34)

"No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, 

But roughs and little children better than they." (pg.41)

"O span of youth! ever-push'd elasticity! 

O manhood, balanced, florid and full." (pg.38)

Let me tell you something, kids are not. stagnant. In ANY WAY. Trust me, they don't even know the meaning of the word (and I'm not even taking a crack at the educational system). Children are constantly in movement, physically (running, playing, experiencing the world), and mentally (learning, questioning, wondering). They are always growing, in some way. Part of the appeal of Whitman's poetry is the idea of the poem changing you (remember in class? It was like that crazy math thing were you go in the box and... whatever, you know what I mean). So Children can be a good way to express this, the idea that through whatever you experience in this poem, you may grow up a little, or perhaps regain some of the childishness that you had lost. But either way, same as a child, you will grow.

So there you have it. One of the reasons I love this motif, and why I chose it in the first place, is because of the way it weave within several other motifs as well. It is a backbone, giving substance and meaning throughout the entire poem in a way that is easy to relate to and envision. 

Peace out, chitlens.