Happy Birthday Walt Whitman
May. 31st, 2005 08:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zalenaTo a Stranger
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
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I don't think I've ever posted this one. I have certain Whitman poems that tend to emerge as regularly as the season; blips of Whitman that come to mind like hymns or bible verses... lodged in longterm memory. I was totally obsessed with Whitman in high school. Then hated him for a number of years because he is damn annoying. I am coming to love him again as I realize my life will never be Whiman free no matter how hard I try. (Acquiescence.)
Whitman is reported to have said, "You can destroy writing, but you can never un-write it." Sometimes I feel the same way about reading. It is certainly the case of a lot of his poetry, which has taken residence in me and refuses to shake free.
Whitman wasn't precisely part of the Concord Circle, but he did make the occasional appearance. One of my favorite fictional portrayals of Whitman is in The Dreams of Mairhe Mehan a YA book dealing with the conscription of Irish immigrants during the Civil War. The Union had something akin to press gangs, which would go to the Irish neighborhoods and conscript young men to fight for the Union. The story is told from the point of view of an Irish soldier's sister, who keeps bumping into Whitman. Whitman is portrayed as a kind of sage in the book, which is a nice fantasy, but I'm guessing who was a truly obnoxious personality in real life, the kind of guy no one REALLY wanted to have over for dinner.
I've always pictured him subjecting all his friends and acquaintances to his latest verse. I picture him in declamatory mode all the time, someone who was incapable of using an indoor voice, yawping "Pass the butter!" at family dinners, making everyone cringe. ("Oh, dear, it's Uncle Walt!" they'd say, seeing him come up the front walk, and warning all the young nieces and nephews not to repeat anything they'd hear him say.)
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
-------------
I don't think I've ever posted this one. I have certain Whitman poems that tend to emerge as regularly as the season; blips of Whitman that come to mind like hymns or bible verses... lodged in longterm memory. I was totally obsessed with Whitman in high school. Then hated him for a number of years because he is damn annoying. I am coming to love him again as I realize my life will never be Whiman free no matter how hard I try. (Acquiescence.)
Whitman is reported to have said, "You can destroy writing, but you can never un-write it." Sometimes I feel the same way about reading. It is certainly the case of a lot of his poetry, which has taken residence in me and refuses to shake free.
Whitman wasn't precisely part of the Concord Circle, but he did make the occasional appearance. One of my favorite fictional portrayals of Whitman is in The Dreams of Mairhe Mehan a YA book dealing with the conscription of Irish immigrants during the Civil War. The Union had something akin to press gangs, which would go to the Irish neighborhoods and conscript young men to fight for the Union. The story is told from the point of view of an Irish soldier's sister, who keeps bumping into Whitman. Whitman is portrayed as a kind of sage in the book, which is a nice fantasy, but I'm guessing who was a truly obnoxious personality in real life, the kind of guy no one REALLY wanted to have over for dinner.
I've always pictured him subjecting all his friends and acquaintances to his latest verse. I picture him in declamatory mode all the time, someone who was incapable of using an indoor voice, yawping "Pass the butter!" at family dinners, making everyone cringe. ("Oh, dear, it's Uncle Walt!" they'd say, seeing him come up the front walk, and warning all the young nieces and nephews not to repeat anything they'd hear him say.)
