Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

1819–1892 · lived 72 years US US

Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist, journalist, and a deliberate humanist who became one of the most influential figures in American poetry. He is often called the "father of free verse." His seminal work, "Leaves of Grass," was a radical departure from the conventional poetry of its time, celebrating the individual, democracy, the body, and the spirit in expansive, cataloging lines. Whitman's poetry embraced a wide range of subjects, from the natural world and urban life to the experiences of laborers and soldiers. His work is characterized by its inclusive spirit, its celebration of the sensual and the spiritual, and its democratic vision. He sought to capture the diverse American experience in all its complexity and vitality, making him a truly unique voice in literature.

n. 1819-05-31, West Hills · m. 1892-03-26, Camden

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Years Of The Modern

Years Of The Modern

YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform'd!
Your horizon rises--I see it parting away for more august dramas;
I see not America only--I see not only Liberty's nation, but other


nations preparing;
I see tremendous entrances and exits--I see new combinations--I see
the solidarity of races;
I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world's
stage;
(Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts? are the acts
suitable to them closed?)
I see Freedom, completely arm'd, and victorious, and very haughty,

with Law on one side, and Peace on the other,
A stupendous Trio, all issuing forth against the idea of caste;
--What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach?
I see men marching and countermarching by swift millions; 10
I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken;
I see the landmarks of European kings removed;
I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all others give

way;)
--Never were such sharp questions ask'd as this day;
Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a God;
Lo! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest;
His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere--he colonizes the

Pacific, the archipelagoes;
With the steam-ship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the
wholesale engines of war,
With these, and the world-spreading factories, he interlinks all
geography, all lands;
--What whispers are these, O lands, running ahead of you, passing
under the seas? 20
Are all nations communing? is there going to be but one heart to the
globe?
Is humanity forming, en-masse?--for lo! tyrants tremble, crowns grow
dim;
The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine
war;
No one knows what will happen next--such portents fill the days and
nights;
Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to

pierce it, is full of phantoms;
Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me;
This incredible rush and heat--this strange extatic fever of dreams,


O years!
Your dreams, O year, how they penetrate through me! (I know not
whether I sleep or wake!)
The perform'd America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind
me,
The unperform'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon
me. 30
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist, journalist, and humanist. Born on Long Island, New York, he is considered one of the most influential figures in American literature. He wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Whitman's formal schooling was limited; he left school at the age of eleven to work. He became a printer and later worked as a journalist, editor, and teacher. This practical experience exposed him to a wide range of society and ideas, which deeply informed his writing. He was largely self-educated, voraciously reading literature, philosophy, and the Bible, and absorbing the democratic ideals of his time.

Literary trajectory

Whitman began his literary career as a journalist and editor, writing essays, short stories, and editorials. His major turning point was the publication of the first edition of 'Leaves of Grass' in 1855, a collection of poems that he would revise and expand throughout his life. This work was controversial but also groundbreaking, establishing his unique voice and style. He continued to write and publish new poems and editions of 'Leaves of Grass' for the rest of his life, self-publishing some editions and revising extensively.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Whitman's magnum opus is 'Leaves of Grass,' first published in 1855 and issued in numerous expanded editions until his death. Other notable works include 'Democratic Vistas' (prose essays) and 'Specimen Days' (autobiographical sketches). Whitman's poetry is characterized by its radical use of free verse, lengthy, incantatory lines, and an expansive, catalogues approach to imagery. He celebrated the "self" as a microcosm of humanity and the cosmos, championing democracy, equality, the physical body, sensuality, nature, and the spiritual interconnectedness of all things. His tone is often prophetic, embracing, and deeply democratic. His language is robust, colloquial, and American, incorporating a vast vocabulary and a direct, unadorned style that sought to capture the essence of American experience.

Cultural and historical context

Whitman lived and wrote during a period of immense national transformation in the United States, including westward expansion, industrialization, and the tumultuous lead-up to and aftermath of the Civil War. He was a staunch advocate for democracy and envisioned a uniquely American poetry that reflected the diverse peoples and landscapes of the nation. His work was informed by Transcendentalist ideas, particularly the writings of Emerson, and he engaged with the social and political issues of his day, notably abolitionism.

Personal life

Whitman's personal life was complex and somewhat elusive. He never married and had no children. He served as a volunteer nurse in army hospitals during the Civil War, an experience that deeply affected him and led to poems like "The Wound-Dresser." His intense friendships, often with men, were significant, and he celebrated physical and spiritual connection. He lived a relatively simple life, often in poverty, but remained committed to his poetic vision.

Recognition and reception

Whitman's work was met with both fierce criticism and enthusiastic praise during his lifetime. While initially seen as scandalous and incomprehensible by many, he gradually gained recognition from literary figures like Emerson and was eventually hailed as a major American poet. His reputation grew posthumously, and he is now considered a cornerstone of American literature.

Influences and legacy

Whitman was influenced by Emerson, the Bible, and classical literature, but he forged a completely new poetic voice. He profoundly influenced the development of American poetry, paving the way for free verse and modern poetic sensibilities. His celebration of the individual, democracy, and the body continues to inspire poets and thinkers worldwide.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical interpretations of Whitman's poetry often center on his innovative use of free verse, his democratic ideals, his embrace of the body and sexuality, and his complex exploration of American identity. Debates have occurred regarding the sincerity of his democratic vision and the autobiographical elements within his work.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Whitman was known for his distinctive appearance, often sporting a beard and informal clothing. He was also a skilled carpenter and builder in his youth. His extensive revisions of 'Leaves of Grass' show his meticulous attention to craft, despite his unconventional style.

Death and memory

Whitman died in Camden, New Jersey. He is remembered as one of America's most important and original poets, a visionary voice who captured the spirit of a nation in transformation and celebrated the inherent dignity of all human beings.

Poems

168

Here The Frailest Leaves Of Me

Here The Frailest Leaves Of Me

HERE the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting:
Here I shade and hide my thoughts--I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
316

God

God

THOUGHT of the Infinite--the All!
Be thou my God.


Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade!
Waiting, content, invisible yet, but certain,
Be thou my God.


Thou--thou, the Ideal Man!
Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving,
Complete in Body, and dilate in Spirit,
Be thou my God.


O Death--(for Life has served its turn;) 10
Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion!
Be thou my God.


Aught, aught, of mightiest, best, I see, conceive, or know,
(To break the stagnant tie--thee, thee to free, O Soul,)
Be thou my God.


Or thee, Old Cause, when'er advancing;
All great Ideas, the races' aspirations,
All that exalts, releases thee, my Soul!
All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts,
Be ye my Gods! 20


Or Time and Space!
Or shape of Earth, divine and wondrous!
Or shape in I myself--or some fair shape, I, viewing, worship,
Or lustrous orb of Sun, or star by night:
Be ye my Gods.
495

Give Me The Splendid, Silent Sun

Give Me The Splendid, Silent Sun

GIVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling;
Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard;
Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows;
Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape;
Give me fresh corn and wheat--give me serene-moving animals, teaching


content;
Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west of the
Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars;
Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers, where I can
walk undisturb'd;
Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman, of whom I should never
tire;
Give me a perfect child--give me, away, aside from the noise of the
world, a rural, domestic life;
Give me to warble spontaneous songs, reliev'd, recluse by myself, for
my own ears only; 10
Give me solitude--give me Nature--give me again, O Nature, your
primal sanities!
--These, demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless excitement,

and rack'd by the war-strife;)
These to procure, incessantly asking, rising in cries from my heart,
While yet incessantly asking, still I adhere to my city;
Day upon day, and year upon year, O city, walking your streets,
Where you hold me enchain'd a certain time, refusing to give me up;
Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich'd of soul--you give me forever


faces;
(O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries;
I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.)


Keep your splendid, silent sun; 20
Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods;
Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and


orchards;
Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth-month bees hum;
Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms incessant and

endless along the trottoirs!
Give me interminable eyes! give me women! give me comrades and lovers
by the thousand!
Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every

day!
Give me such shows! give me the streets of Manhattan!
Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching--give me the sound of


the trumpets and drums!
(The soldiers in companies or regiments--some, starting away, flush'd
and reckless;
Some, their time up, returning, with thinn'd ranks--young, yet very
old, worn, marching, noticing nothing;) 30
--Give me the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed with the black
ships!
O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, and varied!



The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me!
The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for me! the torchlight
procession!
The dense brigade, bound for the war, with high piled military wagons

following;
People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, pageants;
Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the beating

drums, as now;
The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even
the sight of the wounded;)
Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus--with varied
chorus, and light of the sparkling eyes;
Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. 40
427

Full Of Life, Now

Full Of Life, Now

FULL of life, now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States,
To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence,
To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you.


When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible;
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me;
Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you, and become your


comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with
you.)
512

From Paumanok Starting

From Paumanok Starting

FROM Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird,
Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;
To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,
To Kanada, till I absorb Kanada in myself--to Michigan then,
To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are


inimitable;)
Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs--to Missouri and Kansas and
Arkansas, to sing theirs,
To Tennessee and Kentucky--to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing
theirs,
To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted

everywhere;
To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be,)
The idea of all--of the western world, one and inseparable. 10
And then the song of each member of These States.
444

For Him I Sing

For Him I Sing

FOR him I sing,
I raise the Present on the Past,
(As some perennial tree, out of its roots, the present on the past:)
With time and space I him dilate--and fuse the immortal laws,
To make himself, by them, the law unto himself.
472

From Far Dakota's Canons

From Far Dakota's Canons

FROM far Dakota's cañons,
Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the
silence,
Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.

The battle-bulletin,
The Indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment,
The cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism,
In the midst of their little circle, with their slaughter'd horses


for breastworks,
The fall of Custer and all his officers and men.


Continues yet the old, old legend of our race,
The loftiest of life upheld by death, 10
The ancient banner perfectly maintain'd,
O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee!
As sitting in dark days,
Lone, sulky, through the time's thick murk looking in vain for light,


for hope,
From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof,
(The sun there at the centre though conceal'd,
Electric life forever at the centre,)
Breaks forth a lightning flash.


Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle,
I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a


bright sword in thy hand, 20
Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds,
(I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,)
Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious,
After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color
Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers,
Thou yieldest up thyself.
442

Excelsior

Excelsior

WHO has gone farthest? For lo! have not I gone farther?
And who has been just? For I would be the most just person of the


earth;
And who most cautious? For I would be more cautious;
And who has been happiest? O I think it is I! I think no one was ever


happier than I;
And who has lavish'd all? For I lavish constantly the best I have;
And who has been firmest? For I would be firmer;
And who proudest? For I think I have reason to be the proudest son


alive--for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city;
And who has been bold and true? For I would be the boldest and truest
being of the universe;
And who benevolent? For I would show more benevolence than all the
rest;

And who has projected beautiful words through the longest time? Have
I not outvied him? have I not said the words that shall stretch
through longer time? 10

And who has receiv'd the love of the most friends? For I know what it
is to receive the passionate love of many friends;
And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body? For I do not believe
any one possesses a more perfect or enamour'd body than mine;
And who thinks the amplest thoughts? For I will surround those
thoughts;
And who has made hymns fit for the earth? For I am mad with devouring
extasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth!
487

Facing West From California's Shores

Facing West From California's Shores

FACING west, from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the


land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western Sea--the circle almost circled;
For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
From Asia--from the north--from the God, the sage, and the hero,
From the south--from the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;
Long having wander'd since--round the earth having wander'd,
Now I face home again--very pleas'd and joyous;
(But where is what I started for, so long ago? 10
And why is it yet unfound?)
369

Eidólons

Eidólons


I MET a Seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,

To glean Eidólons.

Put in thy chants, said he,
No more the puzzling hour, nor day--nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest, as light for all, and entrance-song of

all,
That of Eidólons.


Ever the dim beginning;
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle; 10
Ever the summit, and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)


Eidólons! Eidólons!

Ever the mutable!
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering;
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,


Issuing Eidólons!

Lo! I or you!
Or woman, man, or State, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,


But really build Eidólons. 20

The ostent evanescent;
The substance of an artist's mood, or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,


To fashion his Eidólon.

Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted--not a thought, emotion, deed, left out;)
The whole, or large or small, summ'd, added up,

In its Eidólon.

The old, old urge;
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo! newer, higher pinnacles; 30
From Science and the Modern still impell'd,

The old, old urge, Eidólons.

The present, now and here,
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate, for only thence releasing,


To-day's Eidólons.

These, with the past,
Of vanish'd lands--of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,


Joining Eidólons. 40

Densities, growth, façades,


Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,

Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidólons everlasting.

Exaltè, rapt, extatic,

The visible but their womb of birth,

Of orbic tendencies to shape, and shape, and shape,
The mighty Earth-Eidólon.

All space, all time,

(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, 50

Swelling, collapsing, ending--serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with Eidólons only.

The noiseless myriads!

The infinite oceans where the rivers empty!

The separate, countless free identities, like eyesight;
The true realities, Eidólons.

Not this the World,

Nor these the Universes--they the Universes,

Purport and end--ever the permanent life of life,
Eidólons, Eidólons. 60

Beyond thy lectures, learn'd professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope, observer keen--beyond all
mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy--beyond the chemist with his
chemistry,
The entities of entities, Eidólons.

Unfix'd, yet fix'd;

Ever shall be--ever have been, and are,

Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidólons, Eidólons, Eidólons.

The prophet and the bard,

Shall yet maintain themselves--in higher stages yet, 70

Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy--interpret yet to them,
God, and Eidólons.

And thee, My Soul!

Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!

Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, Eidólons.

Thy Body permanent,

The Body lurking there within thy Body,

The only purport of the Form thou art--the real I myself,
An image, an Eidólon. 80

Thy very songs, not in thy songs;


No special strains to sing--none for itself;
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round, full-orb'd Eidólon.
417

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