hope everyone’s okay. i was just checking because i haven’t been on here in a minute. What’s new?? How are the searches for Whitman coming along?
September 30th, 2009:
Song of Justin
Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil’d and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur’d.
~ “Song of Myself” p. 211
I chose this passage because I like to consider myself a free spirit. Most people claim to be one, but so few actually practice what they preach. Whitman seems to be the real deal when it comes to removing whatever veils society likes to keep over things, and talking about taboo subjects frankly. He explores issues of race and sexuality in a way that was shocking for the time (even shocking to some people now) and does it so unapologetically that I have to give him props. I also like to think of this passage as his way of saying he’ll give a voice to those who aren’t allowed to speak for themselves (slaves being one example). For all of Whitman’s talk about egotism and whatnot, I find his writing to be quite altruistic.
Image Gloss: Stevedore
“The judge with hand tight to the desk, his shaky lips pronouncing a death-sentence,
The heave’e’yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves
…the refrain of the anchor-lifters…”
~ Leaves of Grass, page 54
This portion of the poem, in which Whitman describes various sounds, is probably my favorite in the entire piece. Even though these particular sounds would be jarring (alarm bells, workpeople laughing, steam-whistles, etc.) there is something incredibly soothing about the way he writes about them. I’m sure it’s Whitman’s finesse with words that is responsible for what seems to be a contradiction, because the language and composition is as beautiful as the actual sounds are ugly.
But anyway, stevedores. The word is both a noun and verb, and relates to the process of loading/unloading cargo onto/from a ship. Below is a picture of a stevedore, hard at work:
I was drawn to the word because it was one I had never heard before, and I thought it looked and sounded cool. It sounds like a rich person’s yacht or something, so when I researched it, I was surprised to learn that stevedores are just blue collar workers. Whitman seems to exalt the working class not just in this section, but throughout the whole poem. If find that refreshing after reading so much poetry and literature that focuses so much on the lives of the aristocracy/privileged classes. I like that Whitman lauds the common man by writing about him in such elevated language.
politics in art
In response to Erkkila’s article, “Whitman in Politics” I must admit that I questioned my own beliefs regarding the mixing of politics and art. I came to the conclusion that indeed art has a duty to discuss and question the politics of a nation. If the educated, thoughtful, and creative artists are not challenging and praising our societies- who will?
From Reynold’s, Walt Whitman’s America, Whitman is portrayed as a political poet whose work is greatly influenced by politics and who in turn wants to influence politics. It is this Whitman that inspires me. A man beyond his years in advocating for the rights of women,slaves, and the working class.
politics in art
In response to Erkkila’s article, “Whitman in Politics” I must admit that I questioned my own beliefs regarding the mixing of politics and art. I came to the conclusion that indeed art has a duty to discuss and question the politics of a nation. If the educated, thoughtful, and creative artists are not challenging and praising our societies- who will?
From Reynold’s, Walt Whitman’s America, Whitman is portrayed as a political poet whose work is greatly influenced by politics and who in turn wants to influence politics. It is this Whitman that inspires me. A man beyond his years in advocating for the rights of women,slaves, and the working class.
For Brooklyn
Hi CUNY Whitman scholars,
Here at UMW we’ve been finding poems that mention or respond to Whitman. This poem doesn’t do so directly, but it focuses on a love of Brooklyn that may resonate with your readings now:
“On Leaving Brooklyn”
after Psalm 137
If I forget thee
let my tongue forget the songs
it sang in this strange land
and my heart forget the secrets
only a stranger can learn.
____
Borough of churches, borough of crack,
if I forget how ailanthus trees sprout
on the rooftops, how these streets
end in water and light,
let my eyes grow nearsighted.
____
Let my blood forget
the map of its travels
and my other blood cease
its slow tug toward the sea
if I do not remember,
____
if I do not always consider thee
my Babylon, my Jerusalem.
–Julia Kasdorf, from Eve’s Striptease