jackieg

In one of Whitman’s “laundry lists”, so to speak, in Song of Myself he mentions
“Over the western Persimmion…”
Since I, like so many people, rely on my mind’s eye to illustrate what I’m reading, it occured to me that persimmion was something that I couldn’t picture at all. I had heard the word before, but I really didn’t know what it was until now.

A persimmion is known as “the fruit of the Gods” and is found on many species of trees in the ebony wood family. The name comes Powhatan, which is an Algonquian language and means “a dry fruit”.  In chinese medicine, persimmions are used to regulate ch’i.

I just thought that it was interesting that Whitman would include the fruit of the Gods in his poem that is so saturated with his own egotism. However, I don’t necessarily think that his egotism is a bad thing in his work, I think that it would be more accurate to say that he is celebrating himself and suggesting that we celebrate our own selves as well. It’s just interesting to see the kind’s of things that he manages to slip into his work that we might, more often that not, overlook.

I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff cut from
the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a
knoll,
My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and a plain
public road.

Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

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