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October 23rd, 2009:

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

A Pumpkin for Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post

This week we made our way across Camden to Harleigh Cemetery, the site of Whitman’s mausoleum.  As we drove through Camden (and got a little mixed up along the way), we were surrounded by what we have come to know as being very typical of this city.  Let’s just say it’s far from the bustling Brooklyn-esque environment Whitman once called home.

Turning into Harleigh, however, is like turning into a completely different place and time.  The cemetery is spacious and clean, natural and seemingly untainted by the city that surrounds it.  Made all the more beautiful by the falling leaves and perfect autumn temperatures, the view from Whitman’s resting place is nothing but ideal. 

I had seen pictures of the tomb in books before arriving there on Wednesday, so the appearance of Whitman’s grand design was not surprising.  Against the background of gray stone and dead brown leaves, though, was a quaint little pumpkin, resting comfortably against the memorial that features Whitman’s image.

100_2285

The pumpkin, not the monument, was actually the first thing that I noticed as we approached.  It probably stood out simply because of its color, but the pumpkin, I think, speaks volumes about Whitman’s effect on the average American today.  Although he rests here in the heart of a city that, many would argue, is far from his image of a unified America, someone decided Whitman might like a little pumpkin for the fall.  It’s not large and gaudy, just a little color and charm. 

The little pumpkin is an acknowledgement of Whitman’s relevance today in Camden and in America.  It, as well as the flowers left at the gate, are symbols of our attempts to give back to the old bard who gave America so much.  Some of us give by dedicating hours to scholarly work or academic blogs; others buy pumpkins.  Even in death, Whitman’s goal of appealing to the American masses seems not only fulfilled, but ongoing.

What the world thought of Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by tallersam.
Comments are off for this post

Last night, I decided that enough of the semester had passed without me trying to tie Latin America in with Walt Whitman. So, going off some vague memory, I found an article written in praise of Whitman by Cuban writer José Martí (1853-1895).

Martí was integral in motivating Cuba to separate from Spanish rule and establish itself, so it is not surprising that he would identify with Whitman’s hopes for the United States. This article is very long, so I will do my best to translate the opening paragraph that reads like this in Spanish (so that Brady can correct me :-) ):

“«Parecía un dios anoche, sentado en un sillón de terciopelo rojo, todo el cabello blanco, la barba sobre el pecho, las cejas como un bosque, la mano en un cayado.» Esto dice un diario de hoy del poeta Walt Whitman, anciano de setenta años a quien los críticos profundos, que siempre son los menos, asignan puesto extraordinario en la literatura de su país y de su época. Sólo los libros sagrados de la antigüedad ofrecen una doctrina comparable, por su profético lenguaje y robusta poesía, a la [de]… este poeta viejo, cuyo libro pasmoso está prohibido.”

“‘He resembled a god last night, seated in a chair of red velvet, the complete white gentleman, his beard on his stomach, his eyebrows like a forest, his hand on a staff.’ This is what one of today’s newspapers says about the poet Walt Whitman, an old man of 70 years whom the most profound critics, who are always the fewest in number, give an exalted position in the literature of his country and his age. Only the sacred books of antiquity offer a comparable doctrine, through his prophetic language and robust poetry, to that of… this old poet whose astonishing book is banned.”

I also found a poem about Whitman by the Nicaraguan writer Rubén Darío (1867-1916). Darío is regarded as the father of the Latin American “modernism” movement (which pre-dated the English-language movement and vastly differed in its ideas and focuses) and this poem was published in his collection Azul, which is seen as the archetypal “modernismo” work. The idealized way in which Whitman is described is characteristic of the modernismo style, which I think goes with what we’ve observed about early Whitman poetry. Not surprisingly, this poem is called Walt Whitman, and reads like this in the Spanish:

En su país de hierro vive el gran viejo,
Bello como un patriarca, sereno y santo.
Tiene en la arruga olímpica de su entrecejo
Algo que impera y vence con noble encanto.

Su alma del infinito parece espejo;
Son sus cansados hombros dignos del manto;
Y con arpa labrada de un roble añejo,
Como un profeta nuevo canta su canto.

Sacerdote que alienta soplo divino,
Anuncia, en el futuro, tiempo mejor.
Dice al águila: «¡Vuela!»; «¡Boga!», al marino,

Y «¡Trabaja!», al robusto trabajador.
¡Así va ese poeta por su camino,
Con su soberbio rostro de emperador!

And here is my attempt at translation:

In his iron country lives the great old man,

Beautiful like a patriarch, serene and holy.

In the Olympic crease between his eyebrows

He has something that prevails and defeats with noble charm.

His infinite soul is like a mirror;

His tired shoulders are worthy of a cloak;

And with a carved harp from an ancient oak,

He sings his song like a new prophet.

Priest that cheers on the divine gust,

He announces, in the future, a better time.

He says to the eagle: “Fly!”: “Row!” to the sailor, 

And “Work!” to the robust worker.

So that poet goes on his way,

With his magnificent emperor’s face!

Any thoughts or observations?

What the world thought of Whitman

Oct 23rd, 2009
by tallersam.
Comments are off for this post

Last night, I decided that enough of the semester had passed without me trying to tie Latin America in with Walt Whitman. So, going off some vague memory, I found an article written in praise of Whitman by Cuban writer José Martí (1853-1895).

Martí was integral in motivating Cuba to separate from Spanish rule and establish itself, so it is not surprising that he would identify with Whitman’s hopes for the United States. This article is very long, so I will do my best to translate the opening paragraph that reads like this in Spanish (so that Brady can correct me :-) ):

“«Parecía un dios anoche, sentado en un sillón de terciopelo rojo, todo el cabello blanco, la barba sobre el pecho, las cejas como un bosque, la mano en un cayado.» Esto dice un diario de hoy del poeta Walt Whitman, anciano de setenta años a quien los críticos profundos, que siempre son los menos, asignan puesto extraordinario en la literatura de su país y de su época. Sólo los libros sagrados de la antigüedad ofrecen una doctrina comparable, por su profético lenguaje y robusta poesía, a la [de]… este poeta viejo, cuyo libro pasmoso está prohibido.”

“‘He resembled a god last night, seated in a chair of red velvet, the complete white gentleman, his beard on his stomach, his eyebrows like a forest, his hand on a staff.’ This is what one of today’s newspapers says about the poet Walt Whitman, an old man of 70 years whom the most profound critics, who are always the fewest in number, give an exalted position in the literature of his country and his age. Only the sacred books of antiquity offer a comparable doctrine, through his prophetic language and robust poetry, to that of… this old poet whose astonishing book is banned.”

I also found a poem about Whitman by the Nicaraguan writer Rubén Darío (1867-1916). Darío is regarded as the father of the Latin American “modernism” movement (which pre-dated the English-language movement and vastly differed in its ideas and focuses) and this poem was published in his collection Azul, which is seen as the archetypal “modernismo” work. The idealized way in which Whitman is described is characteristic of the modernismo style, which I think goes with what we’ve observed about early Whitman poetry. Not surprisingly, this poem is called Walt Whitman, and reads like this in the Spanish:

En su país de hierro vive el gran viejo,
Bello como un patriarca, sereno y santo.
Tiene en la arruga olímpica de su entrecejo
Algo que impera y vence con noble encanto.

Su alma del infinito parece espejo;
Son sus cansados hombros dignos del manto;
Y con arpa labrada de un roble añejo,
Como un profeta nuevo canta su canto.

Sacerdote que alienta soplo divino,
Anuncia, en el futuro, tiempo mejor.
Dice al águila: «¡Vuela!»; «¡Boga!», al marino,

Y «¡Trabaja!», al robusto trabajador.
¡Así va ese poeta por su camino,
Con su soberbio rostro de emperador!

And here is my attempt at translation:

In his iron country lives the great old man,

Beautiful like a patriarch, serene and holy.

In the Olympic crease between his eyebrows

He has something that prevails and defeats with noble charm.

His infinite soul is like a mirror;

His tired shoulders are worthy of a cloak;

And with a carved harp from an ancient oak,

He sings his song like a new prophet.

Priest that cheers on the divine gust,

He announces, in the future, a better time.

He says to the eagle: “Fly!”: “Row!” to the sailor, 

And “Work!” to the robust worker.

So that poet goes on his way,

With his magnificent emperor’s face!

Any thoughts or observations?

Fredericksburg FieldTrip

Oct 23rd, 2009
by missvirginia.
Comments are off for this post

Field trips have classically been (for me, anyway) painfully boring, filled with bratty kids who I didn’t like, and full of humiliation if my parents attended as chaperones. Thankfully, we’re in college so our parents won’t be attending, we don’t go to school with bratty kids (well…haha, just kidding), and now the field trips are in something so terrifically engaging that you just might be heavily judged if you say it was boring. Obviously, our field trip in Fred. was AMAZING. I have never felt so engaged in history before.

The walking tour was pretty cool, our guide, LeeAnn (?), was so knowledgeable and easy to talk to. The most interesting thing were the Innis and Stephens Houses. Only the Innis house was still standing, and had even been lived in up until the 1970s!! Crazy! Even though the house was closed to the public, it had many windows that we could see in, and we could see the bullet holes peppering one of the walls, and even outside the house there were a few bullet holes (or very large woodpecker holes). It was so surreal to be standing there, faces pressed up against the glass, imagining Martha Innis running back and forth between the two houses (I’m sure she did that as little as possible during the actual battle right on her front stoop), trying to get water and food to the soldiers needing it.

The Stephens house, which is no longer standing but an outline signifies where it was.these pictures are from the NPS, since I only had the flipcam and not an actual camera.

Innis House wall peppered with bullet holes.CRAZY!

As we were standing by the Innis and where the Stephens houses were, I couldn’t help but wonder if the old trees swaying in the warm fall breeze were witness trees. Alas, they weren’t but they were so old, and tall, and their girth was amazing that I think they were planted very shortly after the war. One of the most beautiful things I learned about was the Angel of Marye’s Heights. Richard Kirkland, a soldier from SC, heard a Union soldier calling out for help and asked his superior if he had permission to run onto the battlefield, mind you that’s where bullets were whizzing by and Union soldiers were collapsing from gunfire. Kirkland was allowed to run onto the field and give water and help to the man calling for help. This is his monument. I think that if Whitman could have met this Kirkland fellow and knew of Kirkland’s good deeds, he would be moved.

Angel of Marye's HeightsAfter the walking tour on Sunken Rd (by the way, the road was closed to public just a few years ago), we went to the Chatham Mansion, where Whitman wrote about seeing the amputated limbs. In fact, the catalpa trees where the limbs were, loaded up on a buggy with a horse or mule waiting patiently, WERE STILL THERE. I have a video coming soon, if I can figure out how to load it “correctly” to youtube. The Mansion also featured a rather interesting video, not quite as dry as one might expect coming from the NPS (the movie we saw before walking Sunken Road was rather interesting too). I had no idea that the mansion had such an extensive history, being owned and built back before the Revolutionary War. It was first owned by the Fitzhugh’s, then the Jones’, then the Lacy’s (the Civil War owners), when the Lacy’s left, it was abandoned for a while. Vagrants graffitied the walls, which are still shown when touring the house along with other paraphernalia of the Civil War. In fact, the room in which we viewed the movie was the operating room, apparently there are stains on the floor from blood as well (found that on the nation park service website!). After the war, the Lacy’s moved back but were not able to maintain the property appropriately. There were a succession of owners, then the Devore’s owned it in the 20′s and probably had some swinging parties there. The Devores tried to restore the house to its original state, which included altering it so it would pretty much never have the same architecture as when Whitman saw the house. After the Devore’s, the Pratt’s owned the estate then willed it to the NPS.

I will try to post the vids from the trip shortly!

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