Leaves of Grass (original 1855; edition 1993)

This delightful Illustrated Leaves of Grass, with introduction by William Carlos Williams (also a poet) and edited by Howard Chapnick, provides clarity and adds dimension to 14 complete poems and 6 excerpts of his longer works. The photos, lay side-by-side with the text, made Whitman’s words pop and dance. His message is so clear, strong, and timeless when presented in this format. Considering Leaves of Grass was written between 1855 to 1892 and these photos are from 1960 to 1970, it certainly has withstood the test of time. I can even visualize what a version with current events may look.

In the introduction by Williams, he wrote, “Whitman came from a rhetorical and long-winded age.” I laughed and didn’t feel so bad that I had said Whitman word-puked in my recent Leaves of Grass review. He also wrote, “Never to my knowledge had the subjects of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass been so presented! The poem came alive for me as if for the first time.” Well said. I uploaded a few pictures in my gallery to share.

More Quotes:

On Equality from “Song of Myself”:
“I am the poet of the woman
the same as the man;
And I say it is as great to be
a woman as to be a man;
And I say there is nothing
greater than the mother
of men.”

On Celebration of the Body and the Relationship between Men and Women, from “I Sing the Body Electric”:
“I sing the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me,
and I engirth them;
They will not let me off till I go with them,
respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full
with the charge of the Soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt
their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living
are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much
as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul,
what is the Soul?
The love of the Body of man or woman
balks account – the body itself balks account;
That of the male is perfect, and that
of the female is perfect.”

On Aging, from “To Old Age”:
“I see in you the estuary that
enlarges and spreads itself grandly
as it pours in the great Sea.” ----- I love this line

On Adventure and the Journey of Life, from “Song of the Open Road”:
“Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune – I myself am good-fortune;
Strong and content, I travel the open road.”

And

“Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious
clouds, and along the landscape and flowing currents.”

And

“Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?”

On President Lincoln’s Assassination – one of his most moving pieces:

"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."

On Whitman’s Acceptance of Death:

“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I am,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.” ( )

Whitman is today regarded as America's Homer or Dante, and his work the touchstone for literary originality in the New World. In Leaves of Grass, he abandoned the rules of traditional poetry - breaking the standard metered line, discarding the obligatory rhyming scheme, and using the vernacular. I read this most recently as part of a weekend retreat sponsored by the University of Chicago's Basic Program of Liberal Education. The music of his poetry was present as it is in the many authors who Whitman influenced.
Emily Dickinson condemned his sexual and physiological allusions as `disgraceful', but Emerson saw the book as the `most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed'. A century later it is his judgement of this autobiographical vision of the vigour of the American nation that has proved the more enduring. ( )

A friendship was broken, partly because I couldn’t understand this book. Do I continue or abandon? Continue.

The preface completely stumped me, with one paragraph that was 2-1/2 pages long. After reading about 1/3 of the first poem (my version is a reprint of the original 1855 edition without poem titles), I knew I needed help before continuing. A) I read wiki. B) I borrowed 3 other versions and the Cliff notes from the library. I read the intro in the Cliff notes to pick up on the essence of who Whitman was and a brief view to “Song of Myself” – the first poem. I thumbed through #1 of the 3 I borrowed which was also a re-print of the 1855 except with titles – score! I thumbed through #2 of 3 which was very thorough, possibly the final release. Lastly, I parked version #3 of 3, an illustrated version, to be read later. Now, I’m ready to return to my book!

Side note: From Wiki – “The title Leaves of Grass was a pun. ‘Grass’ was a term given by publishers to works of minor value and ‘leaves’ is another name for the pages on which they were printed.”

So, here’s the review finally… (Sorry)

Without context, the words of Leaves of Grass can read like a rambling psychedelic hippie doped up on happy drugs, seriously loving the world, loving ‘myself’, loving sex, loving the universe and its leaves, and simply loving everyone and everyone is equal. (Hey, Whitman is far, far ahead of his time; I wonder what would he had thought of gay marriage.) Looking past this ‘high’, I can’t help but feel a certain profoundness, even to the mediocre reader (i.e. me, reference above). I scribbled down these impressions when reading ‘Song of Myself’: Self-Awareness, Confidence, Equality, Sexuality/Sensuality, Acceptance, Basic & Humble, Empathy, Righteousness, Forgiveness, Friendship/Mentorship, Ego, Self-Esteem, Loving Life, People First, Death (i.e. death happens, accept it). These multitude of themes tell me these poems will trigger a different emotion depending on your state of mind, your surroundings, your situation. I think that's mighty powerful poetry. The majority of these themes are what I hope to have in me, even though they are rarely top of mind, as I step through life. Perhaps a purpose of LoG is a reminder to pause and reflect.

How do I review this work which I view as Whitman writing down his thoughts, his oneness with the world around him, almost in a gut-pouring, word-puking way? It is as though he poured his soul on paper, the need to share his passion for life with the world. A soul that isn’t necessarily perfect, but he has no qualm with his decisions and is proud of his choices. There is no need to judge, nor does he allow himself to be judged. I share many of his ideals. I aspire to many more, especially his joy for living. Poem #11, Who Learns My Lesson Complete, and Poem #12, Great are the Myths, were particularly delightful to read in this regard.

July 4, 1855 – The world was exposed to one man’s passion in words that had not been written before then. Bravo.

Rating: 4.5 stars for its originality in its time and being ahead of its time. Minus 0.5 for breaking a friendship. Plus 0.5 for reminding me to live life.

Some Quotes:

On Death, and more importantly the acceptance of Death:
“Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.”

And

“Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death I should die now,
Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward annihilation?

Pleasantly and well-suited I walk,
Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good,
The whole universe indicates that it is good,
The past and the present indicate that it is good.”

On Acceptance of Oneself:
“I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.”

And

“Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a kosmos,
Disorderly fleshy and sensual….eating drinking and breeding,
No sentimentalist….no stander above men and women or apart from them….no more modest than immodest”

On Sex (one of many):
“Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts….voices veiled, and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigured.

I do not press my finger across my mouth,
I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,
Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing hearing and feeling are miracles, and each part and tag of me as a miracle.”

Simple words that represented Forgiveness and Letting Go:
“Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you my brother or my sister?
I am sorry for you…they are not murderous or jealous upon me;
All has been gentle with me……I keep no account with lamentation;
What have I to do with lamentation?”

On Mentorship and Guidance:
“My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.”

Equality between male and female – very ahead of his time:
“The wife – and she is not one jot less than the husband,
The daughter – and she is just as good as the son,
The mother – and she is every bit as much as the father.”

I hadn’t thought of language as a science. This was brilliant:
“Great is language….it is the mightiest of the sciences,
It is the fullness and color and form and diversity of the earth…. And of men and women…. And of all qualities and process;
It is greater than wealth….it is greater than buildings or ships or religions or paintings or music.”

And the Last Paragraph – the beginning and the end – life is death:
“Great is life.. and real and mystical..wherever and whoever,
Great is death…. Sure as life holds all parts together, death holds all parts together;
Sure as the stars return again after they merge in the light, death is great as life.” ( )

"The American bards shall be marked for generosity and affection...by the absence in them of tricks and by the justification of perfect personal candor." That pretty much sums up Whitman for me.

Except I might add 'urgent' to the list of Whitman-esque adjectives. Sometimes the man got so carried away that he sprayed a poem with exclamation points. But I think he can be forgiven in the case of his moving lament for President Lincoln:

"O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead." ( )

A lot of the poems didn't speak to me. Particularly the war and patriotism ones. But in amongst those are some absolute gems on the topic of love and looks, work and life. And compost! How can I not approve of a man who writes a poem about compost? ( )