So Im sitting in my living room with my mom and sister, watching the History Channel special on the history of Thanksgiving…and who signed the proclamation establishing Thanksgiving? Old Abe.

I feel ya, Walt. Who wouldn’t have a crush on this man?

Here’s a link to the History Channel page.

A Song of the Rolling Earth

This must be the appeal.  Ezra Pound perfectly describes the conflict of interpreting Whitman, saying that he “is an exceedingly nauseating pill, but he accomplishes his mission.”  Whitman’s endless effort to encompass everything and everyone makes him difficult to grasp sometimes, but it also allows nearly any reader to find something that seems to speak to him or her directly.  Old Walt was a smart guy, though.  He probably knew better than anyone his broad appeal, like in ‘Song of Myself,’ when he says, “I am the mate and companion of all people. Just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.)”  Whitman is immortal, his legacy lives on the lives that he has touched and the works he has inspired.

The only selection that I was familiar with from this week’s readings was that of Allen Ginsberg.  The connection between these two men is pretty obvious: the beards, the prophetic self-images, and their “possibly-romantic-or-maybe-just-platonic” obsessions with their contemporaries.  However, my favorite poem from this week was “Ode to Walt Whitman” by Frederico Garcia Lorca.

I’ve been thinking about Whitman as an “American Poet” and I’ve decided that he does indeed fit the bill.  Here is this poet, Frederico.  He is a gay Latin-American poet living in America in the 1930s.  He picked up Leaves of Grass, and it spoke to him.  Whitman truly lived up to his promises of creating a comradeship of men from all different walks of life.  In his poem, Lorca evokes Whitman in both form and content.  I know I had a fellow Whitmaniac on my hands when I read,

“Not for a moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,

Have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies,

Nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,

Nor your thighs pure as Apollo’s,

Nor your voice like a column of ash,

Old man, beautiful as the mist…”

He calls Whitman “old man” twice in this short passage.  A term that I too have begun to use in reverence, picturing this old gray prophet dispensing wisdom down to his followers.  The repetition in the poem is something that I can easily recognize as taken from Whitman and the declarations and explanation points also hark back to our Whitman.

It’s pretty amazing to read the scope of works that have been inspired by our Walt.  Artists spanning several decades and walks of life create echoes of Whitman’s message.  Just as he predicted, he is indeed immortal and has become the voice of America.

OK, now on to Leaves of Grass.  The Whitman that I see this week is an old, gray man.  He is losing his health and his cognitive abilities but clearly has no intention of throwing in the towel no matter how badly his health fails him.  I see his determination and possibly a hint of stubbornness in his refusal to give up and go quietly, although he has clearly accepted his mortality by the end of his life.  Whitman clearly began to see himself as a patient, recording his ailments with exactly the same poetic descriptiveness with which he had used to describe the ailments of his beloved wounded soldiers.

I was saddened to read that he could no longer handle going outside, and instead spent his hours in his bedroom, or as he referred to it, his “den,” surrounded by papers and notebooks.  I see this picture of Whitman, shuffling around his dark bedroom, sorting through papers and talking about his work with his aides and friends with steadily declining mental awareness.  I think that Whitman was at this time basically the same as he had always been in at least one major way: he was obsessed with his work and making something as perfect as it could possibly be.

I see the deathbed edition of Leaves of Grass as Walt’s final masterpiece.  I think that even at the end of his life, as loopy as he may have been, he was still thinking of Leaves as a work in progress.  I think that we can assume that the finished product was the result of a lifetime of careful tinkering and reworking.  Although Walt grew old and faded away, his work has lasted because of his obsessive attention to detail and his unwavering commitment to perfecting it throughout the entire course of his life.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?

Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?

Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Well, have we?  I do feel like I, or I guess I should say, we, have been on a journey with the great grey poet for the past few months.  We have had to re-teach ourselves how to read in Whitman’s language, how to understand his rhetoric and how to interpret changes in his usual tone or subjects.  When we first met Walt, he was a cocky character smirking inside the cover of Leaves of Grass.  Early on it seemed as if he was his biggest fan.  In the 1855 version of ‘Song of Myself’ he admits, “I know perfectly well my own egotism, / And know my omnivorous words, and cannot say any less, / And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.”  This is the early Whitman, who proclaimed that America needed a great poet and that he was just the man for the job (meanwhile quietly altering the crotch region of his frontispiece.)

I know that I had trouble trudging through the idealistic language and the sprawling lists.  I mean, who exactly did this guy think he was?  I was inspired by his great hope for America and the potential he saw in the lowliest of people, but I have to admit: I wasn’t sure that I bought it.  Then, when the nation verged on falling apart and Whitman himself was surrounded by chaos, Whitman earned himself some much-needed street cred.

Sure, his early poetry is filled with language that hints at war.  He seemed to want to motivate his “troops” to join the revolution to build a new nation.  However, he didn’t seem to realize the bloody implications of such a revolution until it arrived.  His later “Song of Myself” has a certain undertone of realism, since his battle cries are laced with the real-world experience of what comes along with war.

It can feel frustrating to read as Walt tries desperately to encompass every facet of everything and everyone.  However, reading through his personal reflections I realize not just the high standards that he had for his countrymen, but for himself.  Walt didn’t paint himself as the great poet of America because he thought that he was the most qualified for the job.  He simply saw something that needed to be done and took the initiative to do it.  He explains this in his interview when he says that, “our work at present, and for a long time to come, is to lay the materialistic foundations of a great nation.”  He (shockingly) continues with a sprawling last of all that must be covered and the great scope of this challenge.

As I reflect on Walt Whitman, reflecting on Walt Whitman I am attempting to see him as he saw himself.  Somehow, the cocky, preachy sort of jargon dims in my memory as I realize what Walt was trying to do from the very beginning.  He wanted to define what it meant to be an American.  Unexpectedly, he ended up in the trenches, experiencing the darkest side of revolution during the Civil War.  As a result, Whitman was given the chance to put his money where his mouth was a write a real description of what it really means to fight for the nation that you want to see.  I’m willing to say that he succeeded.

It of course is not hard to figure out why Whitman would admire Lincoln.  The President embodied much of what Whitman called all Americans to be.  He noted Lincoln’s “perfect composure and coolness.”  Lincoln was also a outdoorsman, a man who was familiar with the common people, had experience in nature, and valued not just academic knowledge but more importantly common logic and reasoning.  His physical stature also caught Whitman’s attention.  A tall and burly man, he resembled the ideals of what Whitman thought a man should look like.  Lincoln was a new embodiment of the great poet who would come to save the nation.

As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t help but feel that Lincoln’s love for Whitman dims a bit in comparison to his other descriptions of love for different people.  Whitman really admired Lincoln as a man and as the President, and although he crafted some powerful prose in tribute to Lincoln, I have trouble equating it to some of his other descriptions of love and admiration.  In Calamus, Whitman spoke brazenly of sex and physical attraction.  Whitman spoke intimately of relations with both men and women in a way that he only could by drawing from personal experience.  In class we have explored whether or not Whitman’s relationships with the young soldiers was appropriate, but after seeing his journals yesterday, it is clear that his concern for the broken young boys was genuine.

When it comes to Lincoln, Whitman’s tone is so intimate.  It goes beyond admiration and in to this realm where is seems that Whitman is imagining that the two have a relationship that just did not exist.  I do not understand why Whitman could not express his feeling for the President without going stepping in to “creepster” territory.  I had hoped that through writing this blog I would answer some of my own questions.  Unfortunately, I am still stumped.

Although he may have popularized the style, he did not invent it.  That credit goes to John Hetherington, a hat-maker from London who designed the style in 1797.  When Hetherington debuted his prototype by wearing it out on the streets it caused such a commotion that he was arrested and fined for causing a disturbance. A subsequent law was made in London banning them after the police chief reported, “people booed, several women fainted and a small boy got his arm broken” in the riot incited by Hetherington(Scrivens, Louise).  The law was eventually abandoned and the top hat enjoyed a surge of popularity.

Originally, these hats were covered with fur.  Beaver fur was more common among the higher social classes, while the middle-class version used rabbit fur.  Covering the fur with oilcloth created a smoother look and eventually hat-makers used silk to create the style that we recognize today.   This silky style developed by Hetherington was slow to catch on until Prince Albert adopted them, making them a fashion staple in Europe and The United States(Curiosities).  As an unexpected result of the trend, the beaver-trapping trade in America greatly declined(Feinstein, Kelly).

In the 19^th century these hats reached the peak of their popularity.  Their endorsement from admired political figures made them a status symbol among the upper class and especially those involved in politics.  However, their popularity died out due to the high costs of making the specialized product.  Eventually they became a sort of caricature.  Uncle Sam wears one and it has been depicted satirically as a symbol for capitalism.  Throughout recent memory, the top hat has retained its historical ties to nobility and class.  It is still worn at some formal functions or as part of some official uniforms.  There was brief resurgence of popularity for the style when in the 1920’s and 30’s it was associated with the pop culture of the time, prompting Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to title one of their most popular productions, “Top Hat.”

Despite the changing attitudes of what the hat represents, Lincoln’s stovepipe will always serve as an iconic image and the hat he was wearing on the night of his death can be viewed today at the Smithsonian. The tattered and worn relic is still encircled with the black band that Lincoln used to tribute his dead son(Harding, Allison).  There are also two finger-sized holes in the brim, where Lincoln always touched when taking his hat on or off (BBC).

The style could even be experiencing a revival in the wake of the 200^th anniversary of President Lincoln’s birth.  The stovepipe hat is a vastly recognizable symbol for the president, and many are using it in different forms of tribute.  As part of the 21^st Century Abe Project, hat distributor; Quintin produced a modern-day spin on the original.  The reproduction is modeled after today’s baseball hat but “includes a wool outer, and satin lining with a letter written to Gideon Welles by Lincoln”(Quintin,com).  In Illinois, the town of Springfield honored Lincoln with a community-wide art project featuring fiberglass recreations of Lincoln’s hat, all several feet tall and painted with historic images(Reynolds, John).

For Whitman, a man in a top hat would have been a fairly common experience, but he identifies it with President Lincoln as in Specimen Days when he recalls, “Mr. Lincoln in the saddle…wears a black stiff hat and looks about as ordinary in attire at the commonest man”(p.733).  The stoic effect of the hat has served as a symbol for success and power since its arrival on the market.  No doubt it only amplified President Lincoln’s dignified grace, making him an even more interesting character in Whitman’s eyes.  The stove pipe hat has endured a very colorful and prominent history, from inciting riots to witnessing a presidential assissination.

Works Cited

“Abe Stove Pipe Hat by Quintin.” Quintin. 4 May 2009. Web.

“Curiosties.” Civil War Times 43.3 (2004): 67-68. Print.

Feinstein, Kelly. “Fashionable Felted Fur: The Beaver Hat.” Thesis. History Department, UC Santa Cruz, 2006. Print.

Harding, Alison. “Smithsonian exhibit pays homage to Lincoln.” CNN.com/US. Web.

Norton, R.J. “A Shot Through Abraham Lincoln’s Hat.” Abraham Lincoln Research Site. Web.

Reynolds, John. “Stovepipe hats to go on display starting today.” The Stat Journal-Register. 28 May 2009. Web. <sj-r.com>.

Scrivens, Louise. “Changing the flaws in London’s Laws.” BBC News. Web.

Zaslow, Jeffrey. “A Hatless JFK: Inaugural Moments That Became Cultural Turning Points.” Wall Street Journal- Eastern Edition. 20 Jan. 2005. Web.

Image Citations

Allan Pinkerton, President Abraham Lincoln and General John A. McClernand, October 3, 1862. Photograph. National Archives. Lincolnstudies.com. Web.

Men’s Fashion. Advertisement. La Mode 19 Mar. 1852. Print.

Perlman, Seth. Abraham Lincoln’s Hat. Photograph. AP, Seattle. The Seattle Times. 18 June 2007. Web.

Abe Stovepipe Hate. Photograph. Quintin Hats. Quintin. 4 May 2009. Web. <quintinco.com>.

It seems odd to me, however, that Whitman was so fast to give out love and affection but so reluctant to accept it.  At the army hospital, Whitman gave out his affections freely.  He wrote brazenly about kissing the soldiers and touching them but also about really caring for them in a very innocent and loving way.  He calls everyone to connect with each other as comrades and lovers, yet he seems uncomfortable with the idea of people reaching out to him.  I wonder how Whitman would have felt if he had been a wounded soldier.  Some accounts of his relationship with the soldiers indicate that the feelings were not mutual.  Is it possible that Walt could dish it out but not take it?

Much like the wounded soldiers in the hospitals, the reader too does not have a choice but to accept Whitman’s ideas.  Sometimes when I’m reading a rambling list or diluted resolution I feel like I’m just laying there having it thrown at me.  There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen.  Whitman, it seems, is more comfortable in the more powerful position in a relationship.  He thrives when he is a caregiver and can control his audience.  However he seems shy with anyone who can challenge him or mirror his madness.  Even with his brother George, he was far more affectionate and open about his concerns for his brother.

Whitman has the ability to capture his audience regardless of who they are.  He was magnetic in person, an excellent listener and a careful observer.  He was a classic introvert who craved relationships and interaction but needed time alone to reflect.

The fact that Whitman would even ask a question like, “Must I change my triumphant songs?” speaks volumes about his changing perspective.  Where we had once seen a Whitman that was so sure of himself (almost to a point of fault), we begin to see an uneasiness brought on by the terrible experiences of war and the changes that such trauma will bring.  When the smoke cleared and the battle cries finally died out, I get the feeling that Whitman was left wondering if anyone really cared about the majesty in a blade of grass anymore.

Whitman did change his “triumphant songs.”  The diaries that he kept were concise and accurate in a way that deviates from his traditional style in a very obvious way.  These notes and observations went on to become detailed accounts of his experiences.  In much of the post-war poetry, the ambiguity is cut out and replaced with jarring details of war carnage that are almost the exact opposite of his previous ramblings.

I remember reading Song of the Open Road at the beginning of class.  An avid adventurer, I was really inspired by lines like-

I think heroic deed were all conceiv’d in the open air and all free poems also,                                                                                            I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,                                                                                                                                                  I think whoever I shall meet I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,                                                                                       I think whoever I see must be happy.

Later, in Drum Taps, his attitude has changed-

LONG, too long America,                                                                                                                                                                                            Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn’d from joys and prosperity only,                                                                                   But now, ah now, to learn from the crisis of anguish, advancing, grappling with                                                                                  Direst fate and recoiling not,                                                                                                                                                                                      And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse really are,                                                                           (For who except myself has yet conciev’d what you children en-masse really  are?)

Perhaps Whitman, like America, had grown too complacent on an easy path.  It took the crisis of the Civil War for America to rebuild a stronger and freer union.  Likewise, although Whitman’s poetry was changed after the terrors he experienced, it only became stronger and more balanced.

That’s right…Civil War Nurse Barbie.  Note the complete medical kit, the shiny white apron and, of course, the golden smile.

Now, for a little contrast-

Today, the exposure that civilians get of war is so diluted and contrived.  The bloody sheets and dead bodies are kept far from view of the public; out of sight and out of mind.  Even coffins respectfully draped with an American flag are considered too controversial for public consumption.

It is especially interesting to me that Whitman saw the importance of an honest portrayal of the war, even in a time when most people were exposed to it in a much more realistic way.  I’ve been thinking about the psychological effects of a war that takes place, not on the other side of the world, but in your back yard.  And of an enemy that is not foreign and unfamiliar but your brother or neighbor.  It’s easy to throw a blanket over thousands of fallen patriots, either “North” or “South,” “Confederate” or “Yankee.”  However, Whitman seems to see the importance in looking closely at the faces of these soldiers and contemplating their experiences and motivations.

In Memoranda During the War, when he says, “The actual Soldier of 1862-’65, North and South, with all his ways, his incredible dauntlessness, habits, practices, tastes, language, his appetite, rankness, his superb strength and animality, lawless gait, and a hundred unnamed lights and shades of camp — I say, will never be written — perhaps must not and should not be,” perhaps he’s talking about the other side of the coin.  As tragic as it may be, there is a certain amount of heroism and glory in dying on the battlefield.  I think there is validity in trying to preserve this image.

To switch gears a little, I also found out this weekend that no account of Civil War Medicine is without mention of Clara Barton.  She seems a bit like a female version of Whitman himself.  She joined the throws of women, with little to no medical training, to help assist their country in the bloodiest of ways: as nurses.  These women dropped everything to support a nation that had not even granted them the right to vote.  In Barton’s poem she says calls these women, “nurses, consolers, and saviors of men.  These women truly were angels, and our history as a nation is much more complete with their stories told honestly.

Both versions of the poem echo themes of solidarity and the endless possibilities set out before “a simple, separate person.”  In the first version, Whitman hints that it may be necessary for people to come together.  However, in the later version he proposes that the “modern” man must learn to come together “EN MASSE.”  Times had changed, and Whitman advises his readers to change with them.  He directly addresses the “hapless war” that had been tearing the country apart.  Stylistically, this marked another change in Whitman’s work.  Instead of masking everything in ambiguity and mentions the war directly, right in the first poem of the book.

As interesting, perhaps, as the things that Whitman changed in the revised version, are the things that he left the same.  Although the American landscape had changed drastically, Whitman’s message of camaraderie and relationships (whether you believe Reynolds that they are all quite fraternal or have more raunchy ideas) still remains the same.  As the nation crumbled around its citizens, Whitman insisted that they continue to come together in intimate ways for the good of everyone.

It also seems that, in the wake of the Civil War, Whitman’s priorities have changed.  We all know now that, if Whitman believes something then we will be asked to believe it as well.  In “Leaves of Grass, part 4,” which originally appeared as “To You,” Whitman’s scope has changed ever so slightly.  In the original version he said, “They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops, work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying.”  However, in the later version he adds to the list, “law, science, medicine, and print.”  In the changing American landscape, Whitman felt the need to broaden his audience.  His message had to be heard by everyone now, not just the outdoorsy hermits looking for a prophet.

Whitman had always shown a strong sense of nationalistic pride, and throughout the early editions of Leaves of Grass he inspired his readers to improve upon the face of America through personal growth.  However, after the devastation of the Civil War, Whitman realized that maybe that was not enough to keep the country standing.

            Towards the end of class last Tuesday, we began to touch on the idea of the body and the soul.  Whitman discusses the interconnectivity of the two, how they work together, how they are different, and how they are the same.  This is a tricky idea, one that has been investigated by religion, science, medicine, and literature.  Yes, we are bodies made up of pumping blood and muscles and bone.  But we are also so much more.  Just where do our parts stop and or souls begin?  When you think about it, sex is a pretty perfect allegory to explain how although we are just animals composed of basic parts, it is what is inside of us that allows us to feel the experience of life.

I know all you UMW kids probably see this all the time.  It’s basically right across the street from us.  I grew up here, so have visited this very spot about a thousand times.  But I tried to look at every detail with the wonder that Walt describes finding in the simplest places.

“Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, 
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not 
even the best, 
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.”

…The work and tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block-maker,

of gutta-percha, papier-mache, colors, brushes, brush-making,

glazier’s implements…

What is Gutta Percha?

Gutta percha is a plant, native to tropical areas like Southeast Asia.  In the 1850’s, it was used in the Western world mainly to carve furniture and jewelry.  Established in 1847, the Gutta Percha Company set a standard for ornately carved furniture which were shown at the Great Exhibition in 1851.

Gutta percha was also commonly used to make bead and jewelry.  Because of its dark color, many of the pieces were called, “Mourning Beads,” which were often worn by widows.

Whitman looked out over the horizon and saw limitless possibilities.  In “Song of the Open Road,” he makes it clear that men and women are capable of nearly anything.  He encourages people to be strong, healthy, and brave.  The essence of America is the land.  Throughout all the differences that separate people, their tie to the land is one thing that holds everyone together.  I feel more “American” when I’m travelling around the country, meeting new people and experiencing new things.  Whitman speaks to these experiences and the importance of roaming around and connecting with the country.

Whitman speaks of the contradictions within himself.  He seems perhaps overly aware of all the different people battling within him.   Likewise, the blossoming America that spread before Whitman was one that was filled with different people all struggling to assert their own identity into the vastness.  It is this commonality that I notice most in these poems that seek to define a thread that bonds us.

It is also clear that Whitman believes that all men and women have the capacity for greatness.  In order for a community to thrive, all people must work together in equality.  In Song of the Broad-Axe, he describes what will make a city great.  Ironically, what he describes is a place where the people challenge the government and learn early to depend on themselves.  This juxtaposition is a vital part of what makes America unique.

            “Leaves of Grass” is a vital part of the American Literature cannon.  It is an American novel in that it explicitly investigates what it means to be American.  At the time that it was penned, America was a jumble of people struggling to find a common identity.  Whitman addressed this not as a weakness, but as a strength.  He understood that the journey is a vital step.  Just as he emphasized the journey as an important part of the process of self-realization, he also saw that with time, America would fourish.

As Walt Whitman stares at me nonchalantly from the first page of “Leaves of Grass,” I feel that he is taking subtle revenge on every picture-taker that has forced a smile out of his subjects.  I am reminded of picture day at school and I think how much happier I would have been had I been allowed to present myself in a way that was representative of myself.  Instead, I like most kids was dressed up in frills and sent grinning in the cafeteria. 

With his picture, Whitman says a thousand words.  He presents himself immediately as an outdoorsmen, someone who has no use for fashion or pretense.  He clearly does not care about presenting himself in a manner that would make him look professional or more like the other authors in his day.  He seems to be saying that while he did indeed write this book, he in no way considers himself to be an author any more than he considers himself an adventurer.  The clothes that he chose were probably what he wore on any given day; in choosing them he made a conscience effort to identify himself with the working class.

His stance reveals a certain amount of disinterest.  With his hand in his pocket and his weight shifted on one hip, he seems almost like he is being bothered by this whole photographic endeavor.  However, regardless of any appearance of nonchalance, all of these elements were still carefully chosen by Whitman to make a statement.

Whitman was perfectly aware that his work shirt and crooked hat was not the usual wardrobe for someone hoping to be viewed as a serious author. But, the expression of cadence on his face reveals that this calculated effort to appear effortless was exactly the point. 

“Leaves of Grass” was unlike the other books being released in its time and likewise, Whitman had to appear to be a different kind of author.  Although he indeed was going against the mainstream with his choice of this particular portrait, I think that the effect was carefully thought out.  His appearance and ambiguity immediately distinguished him as different.  He immediately set his work apart, shifting the attention from him as an author an allowing the book to speak for itself.

Whitman found magnificence in the simple things around him, and through “Leaves of Grass,” he inspires the reader to simplify his or her viewpoints and quietly examine all the beauty in the world.  Likewise the image that Whitman chose to represent himself is a simplified version of himself.  He presents himself with no context, no flashy persona, and with no attempt to appear to be something that he is not.  The smirking face that greets the reader when he or she first opens “Leaves of Grass” provides a hint to what can be expected in the following pages, a close examination of the world as it is, not as some professional-looking author views it.

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 place leaves me with an unsettled feeling that starts in my toes and slowly creeps up until it consumes me.  This is likely due in some part to my upbringing.  The baby of an overly-close and overly-protective family, it has fallen upon me to screw up repeatedly for most of my adolescence.  Now faced with the frightening realization of graduation, a friend offered me some great advice, “Don’t worry too much, you have all year to screw it up.”  

            So here I am, working on a degree filled with everything from business to philosophy, biology to eastern religion, political science and one called “American Rebellion.”  Starting this year I could have basically gone with any major I wanted.  I chose English because; if I have to be studying something it might as well be something I actually like.  I have no idea what I’ll do if I graduate, but I’m overwhelmingly excited about this course.    I know I’ll never again have an opportunity like this.  Who knows what’s I’ll be doing next year, but this year I’m studying Whitman.