Monday, 31st of August 2009 at 11:41:35 PM“I tramp a perpetual journey, My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff cut from the woods; No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead […] […]
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Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun…there are millions of suns left, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand…nor look through the eyes of the dead…nor feed on the spectres of books You […] […]
I have heard the talkers were talking…the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth […] Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looks with its sidecurved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game, and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I […] […] twitter cartoon […] In the preface to the 1855 edition to Leaves of Grass, Whitman tells of the master poet. The qualities this poet is to have are numerous: American, embodying the American spirit, not slave to rhyme and meter, not veiling his poems in obscure language, etc. Is Whitman here speaking of what his work as a […] […] To be honest, I do not have much background knowledge of Walt Whitman or his works. However, after reading the preface to Leaves of Grass and “Song of Myself” I was overwhelmed at the powerful connection I felt to this poem. The speaker immediately establishes an intimate relationship with the reader and states, “And what […] […] Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. I am most comfortable on the move. Too long in one […] […] On the weasliness of Whitman’s generosity. […] In “Song of Myself”, Walt Whitman toys with the comparison between god, the poet, and the man; all of which are interchangeable. His “I” is a general “I”, he is every man, every women, in every shape, color, and class. As the poet, he is the constant observer, chronicling every aspect of life, from east […] […] There is a long-standing tradition in literary criticism that one should never assume that the voice something is written in is inherently the voice of the author or poet. That the writer always creates a persona through which he or she writes his or her work and although the speaker may claim that he and […] […] This is the trill of a thousand clear cornets and scream of the octave flute and strike of triangles I play not a march for victors only…I play great marches For conquered and slain persons. I sound triumphal drums for the dead…I fling through my embouchures the loudest and gayest music to them, Vivas to […] […] After reading the fifty-six (!!) page biography of Whitman, I decided to focus this blog on the “tale of the jetblack sunrise,” on pages 66-67. What got me interested was the biography’s mention that Whitman’s poetry about war and death was (not surprisingly) drastically changed by his hospital work. However, since I’m still pretty […] […] This video explains how you can customize your WordPress dashboard and become a more efficient blogger! […] Whitman’s frontispiece is one of aloofness. A type of aura extends beyond the picture and urges the viewer to read on because of the allure Whitman exudes. His facial expression almost seems like he’s thinking “think what you want about me, because I couldn’t care less”. That type of aura spellbinds me and makes me […] […] What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and 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 goodwill, Scattering it freely forever… I resist anything better than my own diversity, And breathe the air and leave […] […] What makes Whitman’s “Song of Myself” so jarring has nothing to do with his poetic syntax or clever word choice; what makes this poem worth reading, not just reading but consuming, is the insatiable life that emanates from it. The speaker of “Song of Myself” cannot be defined, touched, or contained. Never passive, utterly present, […] […] One of the remarkable and unique aspects of the Looking for Whitman project lies in the way it harnesses familiar social networking tools in service of a richer learning experience through the BuddyPress plugin and navigation bar at the top of your screen. […] Whitman as a writer kind of leaves me breathless; I always need to take an hour or two to clear my head after I put him down, because his words often fill me with more ideas and thoughts than I can express (which is why I’m sure by the time this is posted, I will […] […] “To behold the daybreak! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols, silently rising, freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.” […] Writing and publishing a post is probably the first thing you’ll need to do once you create your own Looking for Whitman blog. […] Since I’m not sure what I’m doing at this point, I decided to just blog about one of the questions for this week, “What relationship does Whitman construct with the reader?” Simple question, complex answer. There are so many facets to the connection Whitman tries to establish with the reader. At times he is impersonal and […] […] So far, I am torn between overwhelming agreement with Walt Whitman and confusion over his occasional self-contradiction. Though he seems at times to have some semblance of a self-righteous Christ complex, his ideas about the world and most particularly about poets and poetry are quite inspiring. His passion and insistence that the United States […] […] Walt Whitman Jim Groom, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking, and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their … Continue reading → […] Hey all, Here are the pictures from last Tuesday night, they are all on the Digital Whitman class Flickr page here. Hope you enjoy them, and let me know via email or direct message if you would like me to remove any. Also, feel free to start your own Flickr account for your own related […] |
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