Now that i’ve finshed reading Leaves of Grass i think i get a small glimpse into Whitman’s mindset.
Flaunt of the sunshine, I need not your bask,—lie over!
You light surfaces only—I force surfaces and depths also.
Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands;
Say, old Top-knot! what do you want?
Man or woman! I might tell how I like you, but cannot;
And might tell what it is in me, and what it is in you, but cannot;
And might tell that pining I have—that pulse of my nights and days.
Behold! I do not give lectures, or a little charity;
When I give, I give myself.
You there, impotent, loose in the knees!
Open your scarf’d chops till I blow grit within you;
Spread your palms, and lift the flaps of your pockets;
I am not to be denied—I compel—I have stores plenty and to spare;
And anything I have I bestow. (Whitman)
I love how Whitman doesn’t care for whom he speaks to. He sees past creed, color or sex. He just wants to let his story be known regardless of who you are. i get a sense of wanteing to be heard that no mater whatm through rain or shine his voice will be heard. Nowadays people are more reserved to push people into hearing what they have to say. Whitman shows great courage that is very aspring. Now on a completly differnt topic when he talks about death. Whitmantalks so much about religon and death towards teh end like it was life. he open with ” I celebrate my life” but goes to talk about death life he’s checking off a list of things to write inside a story. He writes about wheres he from, nature, entertainment and much more. Its almost like a biograpghy of Whitman. You definetly get to know who is by his writing.
And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes;
I see the elder-hand, pressing, receiving, supporting;
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.
And as to you, Corpse, I think you are good manure—but that does not offend me;
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips—I reach to the polish’d breasts of melons.
And as to you Life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths;
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
I hear you whispering there, O stars of heaven;
O suns! O grass of graves! O perpetual transfers and promotions!
If you do not say anything, how can I say anything? (Whitman)
This enitre scene is interestign to me. i love the way he goes about dealing with “Death”. It appears to me like he’s not really content with life or death. He’s kind of taunting them. I get the sense that he views life as death..both unavoible. I like his use of certain words also. The white rose sticks out to me mostly. White rose symbolism means purity, innocence and secrecy. i also believe he is talking/writing from a pure place. Which makes his writing so authentic and amazing!
Leave a Reply