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

Other May Praise What They Like

Other May Praise What They Like

OTHERS may praise what they like;
But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise nothing, in
art, or aught else,
Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river--also the
western prairie-scent,
And fully exudes it again.
334

One's Self I Sing

One's Self I Sing

ONE'S-SELF I sing--a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.


Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse--I say
the Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful--for freest action form'd, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
335

One Song, America, Before I Go

One Song, America, Before I Go

ONE song, America, before I go,
I'd sing, o'er all the rest, with trumpet sound,
For thee--the Future.


I'd sow a seed for thee of endless Nationality;
I'd fashion thy Ensemble, including Body and Soul;
I'd show, away ahead, thy real Union, and how it may be accomplish'd.


(The paths to the House I seek to make,
But leave to those to come, the House itself.)


Belief I sing--and Preparation;
As Life and Nature are not great with reference to the Present


only, 10
But greater still from what is yet to come,
Out of that formula for Thee I sing.
495

On The Beach At Night

On The Beach At Night

ON the beach, at night,
Stands a child, with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.


Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter;
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate brothers, the Pleiades. 10


From the beach, the child, holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious, soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.


Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears;
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky--shall devour the stars only in


apparition:
Jupiter shall emerge--be patient--watch again another night--the
Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal--all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall
shine out again, 20
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again--they
endure;
The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive moons, shall
again shine.

Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?


Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding, I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter, 30
Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades.
526

Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City

Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City

ONCE I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for
future use, with its shows, architecture, customs, and
traditions;

Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a woman I casually met
there, who detain'd me for love of me;
Day by day and night by night we were together,--All else has long

been forgotten by me;
I remember, I say, only that woman who passionately clung to me;
Again we wander--we love--we separate again;
Again she holds me by the hand--I must not go!
I see her close beside me, with silent lips, sad and tremulous.
407

On Journeys Through The States

On Journeys Through The States

ON journeys through the States we start,
(Ay, through the world--urged by these songs,
Sailing henceforth to every land--to every sea;)
We, willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all.


We have watch'd the seasons dispensing themselves, and passing on,
We have said, Why should not a man or woman do as much as the
seasons, and effuse as much?

We dwell a while in every city and town;
We pass through Kanada, the north-east, the vast valley of the


Mississippi, and the Southern States;
We confer on equal terms with each of The States,
We make trial of ourselves, and invite men and women to hear; 10
We say to ourselves, Remember, fear not, be candid, promulge the body

and the Soul;
Dwell a while and pass on--Be copious, temperate, chaste, magnetic,
And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return,
And may be just as much as the seasons.
450

Offerings

Offerings

A THOUSAND perfect men and women appear,
Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay children and
youths, with offerings.
372

O You Whom I Often And Silently Come

O You Whom I Often And Silently Come

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be
with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with
you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is
playing within me.
312

Of The Terrible Doubt Of Apperarances

Of The Terrible Doubt Of Apperarances

OF the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all--that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only,
May-be the things I perceive--the animals, plants, men, hills,


shining and flowing waters,

The skies of day and night--colors, densities, forms--May-be these
are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real
something has yet to be known;


(How often they dart out of themselves, as if to confound me and mock

me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of them;)
May-be seeming to me what they are, (as doubtless they indeed but

seem,) as from my present point of view--And might prove, (as
of course they would,) naught of what they appear, or naught
any how, from entirely changed points of view;

--To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously answer'd by my
lovers, my dear friends; 10
When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long while holding me
by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason
hold not, surround us and pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom--I am silent--I
require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that of identity

beyond the grave;
But I walk or sit indifferent--I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.
391

O Me! O Life!

O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the
foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the
struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me
intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O
life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
486

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