Nicole for Sept, 15th 2009
“In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
And I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects for the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.”
-Walt Whitman
The more I reread the poems the more I understand them, Reading them aloud is the key, well to me at-least.
I say to myself, how can Walt be so explicit in his period in time, he’s a rebel, he crosses boundaries between different races, cultures and ethics. He asks direct and provoking question and gives an answer to them in such a manner you have to gasp.
He is one with the world, a white man who feels the pain of others whom are told they are different. He is a man who knows he is different and he tells the world out loud, rather than hiding and being secretive like most other men back then.
Reading his work makes me blush at times, it sends you through different emotions, the different periods in his life I feel it, as though I can see.
He achieves this equality or oneness with the reader, I think that’s why when I read I see what he see’s.
| A woman waits for me—she contains all, nothing is lacking, | |
| Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking. | |
| Sex contains all, | |
| Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, | |
| Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk; | |
| All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, | |
| All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth, | |
| All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the earth, | |
| These are contain’d in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of itself. | |
| Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex, | |
| Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers. | |
| Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women, | |
| I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me; | |
| I see that they understand me, and do not deny me; | |
| I see that they are worthy of me—I will be the robust husband of those women. | |
| They are not one jot less than I am, | |
| They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing winds, | |
| Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength, | |
| They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves, | |
| They are ultimate in their own right—they are calm, clear, well-possess’d of themselves. |
September 14th, 2009 at 10:49 pm
I feel the same way when I read Whitman’s poetry. I feel like I have to read it aloud in order to truly feel the emotions packed in each line. It’s rather amazing that Whitman can make a 21st century reader feel the emotions of a 19th century populace. Although, as he shows with his poem “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” the truth of reality transcends time, “it avails not, time nor place.”
September 15th, 2009 at 12:52 am
It’s great isn’t it? how words can transcend throughout time. I haven’t gotten to “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” but I can’t wait