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November 13th, 2009:

Whitman & Wharton

Nov 13th, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post
It isn’t particularly difficult to find parallels in subject matter and approach between Walt Whitman and Edith Wharton.  While we’ve only had a chance to discuss a few of these overlaps so far in class, one that stood out to me while reviewing Summer was Wharton’s portrayal of bustling city scenes.  While preparing my bibliographic essay on Whitman as a citizen poet, I found a great deal of scholarship analyzing Whitman’s role as both a flaneur and a participant in city life.  The use of cataloging and listing in Whitman’s poetry is one way in which the citizen poet fulfills his duty of recording the daily activities of his readers.  Wharton seems to use a similar technique in her portrayal of the trip to Nettleton in Chapter IX.  While Charity and Harney wait for a train in Hepburn, the other passengers surrounding them are described as follows:

Pale mothers were struggling with fretful babies, or trying to keep their older offspring from the fascination of the track; girls with their ‘fellows’ were giggling and shoving, and passing about candy in sticky bags; and older men, collarless and perspiring, were shifting heavy children from one arm to the other, and keeping a haggard eye on the scattered members of their families. (89)

This carefully detailed portrait of those waiting on the train platform is constructed in such a way to emphasize how busy and populated the city is, which contrasts with the bland and boring state of North Dormer.  Listing occurs again on the very next page, this time providing scenic details:

The street swarmed with their fellow-travelers, with other excursionists arriving from other directions, with Nettleton’s own population, and with the mill-hands trooping in from the factories on the Creston.  The shops were close, but one would scarcely have noticed it, so numerous were the glass doors swinging open on saloons, on restraints, on drugstores gushing from every soda-water tap, on fruit and confectionary shops stacked with strawberry-cake, cocoanut drops, trays of glistening molasses candy, strawberries, and dangling branches of bananas.  Outside of some of the doors were trestles with banked-up oranges and apples, spotted pears and dusty raspberries; and the air reeked with the smell of fruit and stale coffee, beer and sarsaparilla and fried potatoes. (90-91)

Here again, Wharton mimics Whitman’s style in order to achieve a description of city life that makes use of listed details in such a way to emphasize a level of excitement and busyness associated with city life.  Both examples enable the reader to recognize how Charity (like Whitman) acts as both an observer and one who longs to participate in city life.  Both also bring me back to “Song of Myself.”  I can’t help but sense a clear connection between Whitman’s seemingly endless catalogs and Wharton’s own presentation of details about Nettleton.  Both suggest the vitality and productivity of city life—Whitman through his lengthy lists and Wharton through her lengthy sentences and carefully placed punctuation.

Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton

Work Cited

Wharton, Edith. Summer. New York: Bantam Classics, 1993.

Whitman & Wharton

Nov 13th, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post
It isn’t particularly difficult to find parallels in subject matter and approach between Walt Whitman and Edith Wharton.  While we’ve only had a chance to discuss a few of these overlaps so far in class, one that stood out to me while reviewing Summer was Wharton’s portrayal of bustling city scenes.  While preparing my bibliographic essay on Whitman as a citizen poet, I found a great deal of scholarship analyzing Whitman’s role as both a flaneur and a participant in city life.  The use of cataloging and listing in Whitman’s poetry is one way in which the citizen poet fulfills his duty of recording the daily activities of his readers.  Wharton seems to use a similar technique in her portrayal of the trip to Nettleton in Chapter IX.  While Charity and Harney wait for a train in Hepburn, the other passengers surrounding them are described as follows:

Pale mothers were struggling with fretful babies, or trying to keep their older offspring from the fascination of the track; girls with their ‘fellows’ were giggling and shoving, and passing about candy in sticky bags; and older men, collarless and perspiring, were shifting heavy children from one arm to the other, and keeping a haggard eye on the scattered members of their families. (89)

This carefully detailed portrait of those waiting on the train platform is constructed in such a way to emphasize how busy and populated the city is, which contrasts with the bland and boring state of North Dormer.  Listing occurs again on the very next page, this time providing scenic details:

The street swarmed with their fellow-travelers, with other excursionists arriving from other directions, with Nettleton’s own population, and with the mill-hands trooping in from the factories on the Creston.  The shops were close, but one would scarcely have noticed it, so numerous were the glass doors swinging open on saloons, on restraints, on drugstores gushing from every soda-water tap, on fruit and confectionary shops stacked with strawberry-cake, cocoanut drops, trays of glistening molasses candy, strawberries, and dangling branches of bananas.  Outside of some of the doors were trestles with banked-up oranges and apples, spotted pears and dusty raspberries; and the air reeked with the smell of fruit and stale coffee, beer and sarsaparilla and fried potatoes. (90-91)

Here again, Wharton mimics Whitman’s style in order to achieve a description of city life that makes use of listed details in such a way to emphasize a level of excitement and busyness associated with city life.  Both examples enable the reader to recognize how Charity (like Whitman) acts as both an observer and one who longs to participate in city life.  Both also bring me back to “Song of Myself.”  I can’t help but sense a clear connection between Whitman’s seemingly endless catalogs and Wharton’s own presentation of details about Nettleton.  Both suggest the vitality and productivity of city life—Whitman through his lengthy lists and Wharton through her lengthy sentences and carefully placed punctuation.

Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton

Work Cited

Wharton, Edith. Summer. New York: Bantam Classics, 1993.

Whitman & Wharton

Nov 13th, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post
It isn’t particularly difficult to find parallels in subject matter and approach between Walt Whitman and Edith Wharton.  While we’ve only had a chance to discuss a few of these overlaps so far in class, one that stood out to me while reviewing Summer was Wharton’s portrayal of bustling city scenes.  While preparing my bibliographic essay on Whitman as a citizen poet, I found a great deal of scholarship analyzing Whitman’s role as both a flaneur and a participant in city life.  The use of cataloging and listing in Whitman’s poetry is one way in which the citizen poet fulfills his duty of recording the daily activities of his readers.  Wharton seems to use a similar technique in her portrayal of the trip to Nettleton in Chapter IX.  While Charity and Harney wait for a train in Hepburn, the other passengers surrounding them are described as follows:

Pale mothers were struggling with fretful babies, or trying to keep their older offspring from the fascination of the track; girls with their ‘fellows’ were giggling and shoving, and passing about candy in sticky bags; and older men, collarless and perspiring, were shifting heavy children from one arm to the other, and keeping a haggard eye on the scattered members of their families. (89)

This carefully detailed portrait of those waiting on the train platform is constructed in such a way to emphasize how busy and populated the city is, which contrasts with the bland and boring state of North Dormer.  Listing occurs again on the very next page, this time providing scenic details:

The street swarmed with their fellow-travelers, with other excursionists arriving from other directions, with Nettleton’s own population, and with the mill-hands trooping in from the factories on the Creston.  The shops were close, but one would scarcely have noticed it, so numerous were the glass doors swinging open on saloons, on restraints, on drugstores gushing from every soda-water tap, on fruit and confectionary shops stacked with strawberry-cake, cocoanut drops, trays of glistening molasses candy, strawberries, and dangling branches of bananas.  Outside of some of the doors were trestles with banked-up oranges and apples, spotted pears and dusty raspberries; and the air reeked with the smell of fruit and stale coffee, beer and sarsaparilla and fried potatoes. (90-91)

Here again, Wharton mimics Whitman’s style in order to achieve a description of city life that makes use of listed details in such a way to emphasize a level of excitement and busyness associated with city life.  Both examples enable the reader to recognize how Charity (like Whitman) acts as both an observer and one who longs to participate in city life.  Both also bring me back to “Song of Myself.”  I can’t help but sense a clear connection between Whitman’s seemingly endless catalogs and Wharton’s own presentation of details about Nettleton.  Both suggest the vitality and productivity of city life—Whitman through his lengthy lists and Wharton through her lengthy sentences and carefully placed punctuation.

Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton

Work Cited

Wharton, Edith. Summer. New York: Bantam Classics, 1993.

Whitman & Wharton

Nov 13th, 2009
by lisar.
Comments are off for this post
It isn’t particularly difficult to find parallels in subject matter and approach between Walt Whitman and Edith Wharton.  While we’ve only had a chance to discuss a few of these overlaps so far in class, one that stood out to me while reviewing Summer was Wharton’s portrayal of bustling city scenes.  While preparing my bibliographic essay on Whitman as a citizen poet, I found a great deal of scholarship analyzing Whitman’s role as both a flaneur and a participant in city life.  The use of cataloging and listing in Whitman’s poetry is one way in which the citizen poet fulfills his duty of recording the daily activities of his readers.  Wharton seems to use a similar technique in her portrayal of the trip to Nettleton in Chapter IX.  While Charity and Harney wait for a train in Hepburn, the other passengers surrounding them are described as follows:

Pale mothers were struggling with fretful babies, or trying to keep their older offspring from the fascination of the track; girls with their ‘fellows’ were giggling and shoving, and passing about candy in sticky bags; and older men, collarless and perspiring, were shifting heavy children from one arm to the other, and keeping a haggard eye on the scattered members of their families. (89)

This carefully detailed portrait of those waiting on the train platform is constructed in such a way to emphasize how busy and populated the city is, which contrasts with the bland and boring state of North Dormer.  Listing occurs again on the very next page, this time providing scenic details:

The street swarmed with their fellow-travelers, with other excursionists arriving from other directions, with Nettleton’s own population, and with the mill-hands trooping in from the factories on the Creston.  The shops were close, but one would scarcely have noticed it, so numerous were the glass doors swinging open on saloons, on restraints, on drugstores gushing from every soda-water tap, on fruit and confectionary shops stacked with strawberry-cake, cocoanut drops, trays of glistening molasses candy, strawberries, and dangling branches of bananas.  Outside of some of the doors were trestles with banked-up oranges and apples, spotted pears and dusty raspberries; and the air reeked with the smell of fruit and stale coffee, beer and sarsaparilla and fried potatoes. (90-91)

Here again, Wharton mimics Whitman’s style in order to achieve a description of city life that makes use of listed details in such a way to emphasize a level of excitement and busyness associated with city life.  Both examples enable the reader to recognize how Charity (like Whitman) acts as both an observer and one who longs to participate in city life.  Both also bring me back to “Song of Myself.”  I can’t help but sense a clear connection between Whitman’s seemingly endless catalogs and Wharton’s own presentation of details about Nettleton.  Both suggest the vitality and productivity of city life—Whitman through his lengthy lists and Wharton through her lengthy sentences and carefully placed punctuation.

Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton

Work Cited

Wharton, Edith. Summer. New York: Bantam Classics, 1993.

Finding Whitman Project

Nov 13th, 2009
by Allison Crerie.
Comments are off for this post

*Wardrobe provided by the University of Mary Washington.

Finding Whitman Project

Nov 13th, 2009
by Allison Crerie.
Comments are off for this post

*Wardrobe provided by the University of Mary Washington.

By That Long Scan of Waves

Nov 13th, 2009
by cellatreis.
Comments are off for this post

By that long scan of waves, myself call’d back, resumed upon myself,

In every crest some undulating light or shade – some retrospect,

Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas-scenes ephemeral,

The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,

Myself through every by-gone phase – my idle youth – old age at hand,

My three-score years of life summ’d up, and more, and past,

By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,

And haply yet some drop within God’s scheme’s ensemble – some wave, or part of wave,

Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.

Calamus

Nov 13th, 2009
by sanja.
Comments are off for this post

Calamus 1

 

IN paths untrodden, 

In the growth by margins of pond-waters, 

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, 

From all the standards hitherto published—from

         the pleasures, profits, conformities,

(Calamus, 1860)

 

margin

 

Here, of all words I have highlighted one that is by no means unusual or unknown to me, and it was completely in its place to me when I first read the poem. Indeed, the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English provides the following definition of the word margin:

Margin – technical or literary – the edge of something, especially an area of land or water

This definition of the word margin fits the context of the poem perfectly and gives no reason to ponder over the possibility of some deeper, hidden meaning of the word. Still, something was a bit awkward about that particular choice of words that made me push my way a little deeper in the word itself. Therefore, I wondered, apart from the very clear and appropriate denotation of the word in question, which connotation of the same word can be applied to the same context to produce just as legitimate interpretation, and several ideas emerged.

Firstly, the word margin can have a very strong negative connotation as in social marginalization, and if read this way, the poem acquires a new level of reading which made sense, especially if we consider that the passage is from the Calamus 1, the first (introductory?) poem of the Calamus cluster, which was more than radical at the time it was published in 1860. Given that some poems of the Calamus are somewhat radical even today, 150 years later, it is justified to claim that Whitman himself was well aware that his poetry will be marginalized, that it will not be accepted nor understood for generations to come. Indeed, later throughout the Calamus poems, there exist several instances in which Whitman “speaks” of and to generations to come, and puts his faith in them (us?) to really read his poetry with much less prejudice and much more open-mindedness. I have tried to imagine what was it like for someone to write the poetry such as the Leaves of Grass in the mid nineteenth century, and I could not find a way how that someone could not be marginalized, how they could be properly understood by more than a dozen equally talented and equally misunderstood people.

Furthermore, thinking about this negative idea of margin, one another possibility came to my mind which is related with the previously discussed interpretation of the word. One of the basic meanings of the word margin is the blank space on one side of the paper where one can take notes. Now, if we expand and deepen this definition to fit the entire body of works of Walt Whitman, we might claim that the use of the word margin here indicates Whitman’s realization that when a new kind of poetry is to be born, and especially if it springs from a philosophical and moral system radically different from the existing one, it has no other place available to be written on than on margins of literature. And only after the supporting social and cultural systems change, the new poetry will be allowed to shift from margins to a more central position in literature. So could it be that Whitman was aware that his poetry will inevitably have to spend its share of time on the margin, but still carried on knowing that one day, just as inevitably, it will be appreciated by the multitudes?

These two interpretations of the word margin might be my reading in into the poem, but I still would like to provide one other proof of my readings of the poem. Namely, one other word used in the poem supports my readings – the word standards. These can be standards of what is considered good or appropriate by a society, supporting my first interpretation, but can also stand as the centre, as opposed to the margin, which is then consistent with my second interpretation. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

      

Calamus

Nov 13th, 2009
by sanja.
Comments are off for this post

Calamus 1

 

IN paths untrodden, 

In the growth by margins of pond-waters, 

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, 

From all the standards hitherto published—from

         the pleasures, profits, conformities,

(Calamus, 1860)

 

margin

 

Here, of all words I have highlighted one that is by no means unusual or unknown to me, and it was completely in its place to me when I first read the poem. Indeed, the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English provides the following definition of the word margin:

Margin – technical or literary – the edge of something, especially an area of land or water

This definition of the word margin fits the context of the poem perfectly and gives no reason to ponder over the possibility of some deeper, hidden meaning of the word. Still, something was a bit awkward about that particular choice of words that made me push my way a little deeper in the word itself. Therefore, I wondered, apart from the very clear and appropriate denotation of the word in question, which connotation of the same word can be applied to the same context to produce just as legitimate interpretation, and several ideas emerged.

Firstly, the word margin can have a very strong negative connotation as in social marginalization, and if read this way, the poem acquires a new level of reading which made sense, especially if we consider that the passage is from the Calamus 1, the first (introductory?) poem of the Calamus cluster, which was more than radical at the time it was published in 1860. Given that some poems of the Calamus are somewhat radical even today, 150 years later, it is justified to claim that Whitman himself was well aware that his poetry will be marginalized, that it will not be accepted nor understood for generations to come. Indeed, later throughout the Calamus poems, there exist several instances in which Whitman “speaks” of and to generations to come, and puts his faith in them (us?) to really read his poetry with much less prejudice and much more open-mindedness. I have tried to imagine what was it like for someone to write the poetry such as the Leaves of Grass in the mid nineteenth century, and I could not find a way how that someone could not be marginalized, how they could be properly understood by more than a dozen equally talented and equally misunderstood people.

Furthermore, thinking about this negative idea of margin, one another possibility came to my mind which is related with the previously discussed interpretation of the word. One of the basic meanings of the word margin is the blank space on one side of the paper where one can take notes. Now, if we expand and deepen this definition to fit the entire body of works of Walt Whitman, we might claim that the use of the word margin here indicates Whitman’s realization that when a new kind of poetry is to be born, and especially if it springs from a philosophical and moral system radically different from the existing one, it has no other place available to be written on than on margins of literature. And only after the supporting social and cultural systems change, the new poetry will be allowed to shift from margins to a more central position in literature. So could it be that Whitman was aware that his poetry will inevitably have to spend its share of time on the margin, but still carried on knowing that one day, just as inevitably, it will be appreciated by the multitudes?

These two interpretations of the word margin might be my reading in into the poem, but I still would like to provide one other proof of my readings of the poem. Namely, one other word used in the poem supports my readings – the word standards. These can be standards of what is considered good or appropriate by a society, supporting my first interpretation, but can also stand as the centre, as opposed to the margin, which is then consistent with my second interpretation. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

      

Calamus

Nov 13th, 2009
by sanja.
Comments are off for this post

Calamus 1

 

IN paths untrodden, 

In the growth by margins of pond-waters, 

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, 

From all the standards hitherto published—from

         the pleasures, profits, conformities,

(Calamus, 1860)

 

margin

 

Here, of all words I have highlighted one that is by no means unusual or unknown to me, and it was completely in its place to me when I first read the poem. Indeed, the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English provides the following definition of the word margin:

Margin – technical or literary – the edge of something, especially an area of land or water

This definition of the word margin fits the context of the poem perfectly and gives no reason to ponder over the possibility of some deeper, hidden meaning of the word. Still, something was a bit awkward about that particular choice of words that made me push my way a little deeper in the word itself. Therefore, I wondered, apart from the very clear and appropriate denotation of the word in question, which connotation of the same word can be applied to the same context to produce just as legitimate interpretation, and several ideas emerged.

Firstly, the word margin can have a very strong negative connotation as in social marginalization, and if read this way, the poem acquires a new level of reading which made sense, especially if we consider that the passage is from the Calamus 1, the first (introductory?) poem of the Calamus cluster, which was more than radical at the time it was published in 1860. Given that some poems of the Calamus are somewhat radical even today, 150 years later, it is justified to claim that Whitman himself was well aware that his poetry will be marginalized, that it will not be accepted nor understood for generations to come. Indeed, later throughout the Calamus poems, there exist several instances in which Whitman “speaks” of and to generations to come, and puts his faith in them (us?) to really read his poetry with much less prejudice and much more open-mindedness. I have tried to imagine what was it like for someone to write the poetry such as the Leaves of Grass in the mid nineteenth century, and I could not find a way how that someone could not be marginalized, how they could be properly understood by more than a dozen equally talented and equally misunderstood people.

Furthermore, thinking about this negative idea of margin, one another possibility came to my mind which is related with the previously discussed interpretation of the word. One of the basic meanings of the word margin is the blank space on one side of the paper where one can take notes. Now, if we expand and deepen this definition to fit the entire body of works of Walt Whitman, we might claim that the use of the word margin here indicates Whitman’s realization that when a new kind of poetry is to be born, and especially if it springs from a philosophical and moral system radically different from the existing one, it has no other place available to be written on than on margins of literature. And only after the supporting social and cultural systems change, the new poetry will be allowed to shift from margins to a more central position in literature. So could it be that Whitman was aware that his poetry will inevitably have to spend its share of time on the margin, but still carried on knowing that one day, just as inevitably, it will be appreciated by the multitudes?

These two interpretations of the word margin might be my reading in into the poem, but I still would like to provide one other proof of my readings of the poem. Namely, one other word used in the poem supports my readings – the word standards. These can be standards of what is considered good or appropriate by a society, supporting my first interpretation, but can also stand as the centre, as opposed to the margin, which is then consistent with my second interpretation. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

      

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