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Walt Whitman (UNS, 2009)

Walt Whitman’s America (1996)

Nov 28th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

Walt Whitman’s America by David S. Reynolds is trying to reconstruct the life and times of, as it states, “one of America’s most representative poets”. Furthermore it gives a wider historical background to his life and writings. But Walt Whitman’s poems do not fall into one single historical category. Not even in a double or a triple one for that matter. As Whitman himself stated, he had a deep interest in all that surrounds a writer, his age, land, environment, all the contexts that are influential in any possible way. For that reason this book explores his influences, early works, the politics and the social crisis of that time, the eroticism in his poetry as well as science, religion and the visual arts which all had a great effect on him. All in all, David S. Reynolds wanted to express his love for Whitman’s poetry by recreating his life and works in a historical context putting the focus of this book on the great love of a poet for his country.

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

Nov 14th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

Nov 14th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

Nov 14th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

Nov 14th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

Nov 14th, 2009
by indira.
Comments are off for this post

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

Song of… Me (karen)

Nov 5th, 2009
by Karen Karbiener.
Comments are off for this post


Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.

I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
(“Song of Myself”, 1855, p.86)

“I have never understood why he should be called ‘the good gray poet,’” wrote the novelist Henry Miller.  ” The color of his language, his temperament, his whole being is electric blue.”

Blue is my favorite color– the color of the eddies lapping the Brooklyn bridge and ferries, the color of the deep nightswimming sky over Mannahatta, the color of his eyes, the color of these lines.  Water imagery floats through the poems of Leaves of Grass, and it’s not just because Walt loved swimming and bathing (which he absolutely did, by the way.  In the ’40s, he frequented several ‘floating pools’ docked along the Brooklyn shore, favoring “Gray’s Salt Water Baths” through his years editing the Brooklyn Eagle).

Water, and by my own leap of imagination the color blue, represents refreshment and renewal.  Consider the daily baptisms that framed his working days as he commuted to and from Brooklyn to Manhattan’s Newspaper Row.  As Whitman suggests in “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” this ritual cleansing helped clarify his purposes, stabilize his insecurities, and purify his darkest days.  Or think of the plunge the 29th bather takes in the world’s favorite passage from “Song of Myself.”  Here is a person– maybe even a woman!– who is living out her desires for the first time, coming out from behind the curtains to celebrate her body, fulfill her soul.

On 14 October 1842, Walt was part of the massive crowd gathered in City Hall Park to see the first-time spectacle of fresh running water.  Spouting nearly 50 feet high, the Croton Fountain symbolized the successful completion of the Croton Acqueduct, one of the nineteenth century’s greatest engineering feats.  It also represented a much needed new defense against the great fires that destroyed whole neighborhoods in the early part of the century, as well as a force to combat the epidemics of yellow fever and cholera that swept through the city’s tenements and slums.

What do I see and admire in these electric blue lines?  Whitman’s celebration of beginnings (again and again!), of taking the plunge, of diving right in.  His appreciation of the beautiful different strokes of us different folks.   His developing idea of the fluidity of identity.  And our swim together through oceans and oceans of love.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

Song of… Me (karen)

Nov 5th, 2009
by Karen Karbiener.
Comments are off for this post


Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.

I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
(“Song of Myself”, 1855, p.86)

“I have never understood why he should be called ‘the good gray poet,'” wrote the novelist Henry Miller.  ” The color of his language, his temperament, his whole being is electric blue.”

Blue is my favorite color– the color of the eddies lapping the Brooklyn bridge and ferries, the color of the deep nightswimming sky over Mannahatta, the color of his eyes, the color of these lines.  Water imagery floats through the poems of Leaves of Grass, and it’s not just because Walt loved swimming and bathing (which he absolutely did, by the way.  In the ’40s, he frequented several ‘floating pools’ docked along the Brooklyn shore, favoring “Gray’s Salt Water Baths” through his years editing the Brooklyn Eagle).

Water, and by my own leap of imagination the color blue, represents refreshment and renewal.  Consider the daily baptisms that framed his working days as he commuted to and from Brooklyn to Manhattan’s Newspaper Row.  As Whitman suggests in “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” this ritual cleansing helped clarify his purposes, stabilize his insecurities, and purify his darkest days.  Or think of the plunge the 29th bather takes in the world’s favorite passage from “Song of Myself.”  Here is a person– maybe even a woman!– who is living out her desires for the first time, coming out from behind the curtains to celebrate her body, fulfill her soul.

On 14 October 1842, Walt was part of the massive crowd gathered in City Hall Park to see the first-time spectacle of fresh running water.  Spouting nearly 50 feet high, the Croton Fountain symbolized the successful completion of the Croton Acqueduct, one of the nineteenth century’s greatest engineering feats.  It also represented a much needed new defense against the great fires that destroyed whole neighborhoods in the early part of the century, as well as a force to combat the epidemics of yellow fever and cholera that swept through the city’s tenements and slums.

What do I see and admire in these electric blue lines?  Whitman’s celebration of beginnings (again and again!), of taking the plunge, of diving right in.  His appreciation of the beautiful different strokes of us different folks.   His developing idea of the fluidity of identity.  And our swim together through oceans and oceans of love.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

Song of… Me (karen)

Nov 5th, 2009
by Karen Karbiener.
Comments are off for this post


Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.

I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
(“Song of Myself”, 1855, p.86)

“I have never understood why he should be called ‘the good gray poet,’” wrote the novelist Henry Miller.  ” The color of his language, his temperament, his whole being is electric blue.”

Blue is my favorite color– the color of the eddies lapping the Brooklyn bridge and ferries, the color of the deep nightswimming sky over Mannahatta, the color of his eyes, the color of these lines.  Water imagery floats through the poems of Leaves of Grass, and it’s not just because Walt loved swimming and bathing (which he absolutely did, by the way.  In the ’40s, he frequented several ‘floating pools’ docked along the Brooklyn shore, favoring “Gray’s Salt Water Baths” through his years editing the Brooklyn Eagle).

Water, and by my own leap of imagination the color blue, represents refreshment and renewal.  Consider the daily baptisms that framed his working days as he commuted to and from Brooklyn to Manhattan’s Newspaper Row.  As Whitman suggests in “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” this ritual cleansing helped clarify his purposes, stabilize his insecurities, and purify his darkest days.  Or think of the plunge the 29th bather takes in the world’s favorite passage from “Song of Myself.”  Here is a person– maybe even a woman!– who is living out her desires for the first time, coming out from behind the curtains to celebrate her body, fulfill her soul.

On 14 October 1842, Walt was part of the massive crowd gathered in City Hall Park to see the first-time spectacle of fresh running water.  Spouting nearly 50 feet high, the Croton Fountain symbolized the successful completion of the Croton Acqueduct, one of the nineteenth century’s greatest engineering feats.  It also represented a much needed new defense against the great fires that destroyed whole neighborhoods in the early part of the century, as well as a force to combat the epidemics of yellow fever and cholera that swept through the city’s tenements and slums.

What do I see and admire in these electric blue lines?  Whitman’s celebration of beginnings (again and again!), of taking the plunge, of diving right in.  His appreciation of the beautiful different strokes of us different folks.   His developing idea of the fluidity of identity.  And our swim together through oceans and oceans of love.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

Song of… Me (karen)

Nov 5th, 2009
by Karen Karbiener.
Comments are off for this post


Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.

I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
(”Song of Myself”, 1855, p.86)

“I have never understood why he should be called ‘the good gray poet,’” wrote the novelist Henry Miller.  ” The color of his language, his temperament, his whole being is electric blue.”

Blue is my favorite color– the color of the eddies lapping the Brooklyn bridge and ferries, the color of the deep nightswimming sky over Mannahatta, the color of his eyes, the color of these lines.  Water imagery floats through the poems of Leaves of Grass, and it’s not just because Walt loved swimming and bathing (which he absolutely did, by the way.  In the ’40s, he frequented several ‘floating pools’ docked along the Brooklyn shore, favoring “Gray’s Salt Water Baths” through his years editing the Brooklyn Eagle).

Water, and by my own leap of imagination the color blue, represents refreshment and renewal.  Consider the daily baptisms that framed his working days as he commuted to and from Brooklyn to Manhattan’s Newspaper Row.  As Whitman suggests in “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” this ritual cleansing helped clarify his purposes, stabilize his insecurities, and purify his darkest days.  Or think of the plunge the 29th bather takes in the world’s favorite passage from “Song of Myself.”  Here is a person– maybe even a woman!– who is living out her desires for the first time, coming out from behind the curtains to celebrate her body, fulfill her soul.

On 14 October 1842, Walt was part of the massive crowd gathered in City Hall Park to see the first-time spectacle of fresh running water.  Spouting nearly 50 feet high, the Croton Fountain symbolized the successful completion of the Croton Acqueduct, one of the nineteenth century’s greatest engineering feats.  It also represented a much needed new defense against the great fires that destroyed whole neighborhoods in the early part of the century, as well as a force to combat the epidemics of yellow fever and cholera that swept through the city’s tenements and slums.

What do I see and admire in these electric blue lines?  Whitman’s celebration of beginnings (again and again!), of taking the plunge, of diving right in.  His appreciation of the beautiful different strokes of us different folks.   His developing idea of the fluidity of identity.  And our swim together through oceans and oceans of love.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

That's me in the corner (as dear Mr. Stipe would sing), with my NYU students at the Croton Fountain.

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