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“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” (46) ~*~*~*~*~*~ As Whitman also inscribes within these lines, life can often shed moments of heaven and hell at the same time. How, […] […] Houses and rooms are full of perfumes . . . . the shelves Are crowded with perfumes (p. 27) The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. (p. 27) Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! (p. 50) I believe in the flesh and the […] […] The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamoured of growing outdoors,Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships, of the wielders of axes and […] […] Do I contradict myself? Very well then . . . . I contradict myself; I know I have the best of time and space — and that I was never measured, and never will be measured. I too am not a bit tamed . . . . I too am untranslatable I tramp a perpetual journey I exist as I […] […] “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, … […] I see the bearer of the great fruit which is immortality the good thereof is not tasted by roues, and never can be. The male is not less the soul, nor more. He too is in his place, He too is all qualities. He is of action and power. The flush of the known universe is in him. … Where else does […] […] All page citations are from The Library of America publication of Whitman: Poetry and Prose (1982). I am satisfied….I see, dance, laugh, sing; As God comes a loving bedfellow and sleeps at my side all night and close on the peep of the day, (p. 29) I am the poet of the body, And I […] […] Song of Christina Swift wind! Space! My Soul! Now I know it is true what I guessed at; What I guessed when I loafed on the grass, What I guessed while I lay alone on my bed… and again as I walked the beach under the paling stars of the morning. For me, these […] […] “There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage; If I and you and the worlds and all beneath or upon their surfaces, and all the palpable life, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, […] […] I too am not a but 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. […] […] |