Sometimes, I sit in front of my computer screen and wonder what I am going to write about. I try my hardest to see beyond the fickle and finicky things in life; however, sometimes, you just cant escape the fickle and finicky. Tonight, though, I am sitting in front of my computer and trying to see beyond my own existence and decided to pick up the collection of Walt Whitman's complete poems I have on my bookshelf. Sometimes, an author or a poet can give me strength to see beyond what is and see what needs to be seen. Sometimes, when I find those passages, I try to expound on them and add my own two cents. However, tonight, there is nothing that I can add to this passage but feelings. Tonight, I am just going to let the passage speak for itself and let it touch you as it has touched me.
The passage is from Whitman's Leaves of Grass from "Song of Myself." I can add nothing to it and I cannot find the words to expound on it. It is a gem hidden and waiting to be polished. All that I can say is if you haven't read at least "Song of Myself," do yourself a favor and pick it up. Without further ado, here is a passage from "Song of Myself."
Namaste.
The passage is from Whitman's Leaves of Grass from "Song of Myself." I can add nothing to it and I cannot find the words to expound on it. It is a gem hidden and waiting to be polished. All that I can say is if you haven't read at least "Song of Myself," do yourself a favor and pick it up. Without further ado, here is a passage from "Song of Myself."
...Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,/You must travel it for yourself./It is not far, it is within reach,/Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,/ Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land./Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth,/Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go./If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the cuff of your hand on my hip,/And in due time you shall repay the same service to me/For after we start we never lie by again./This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven,/And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?/And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond./...Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,/Now I wash the gum from your eyes,/You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life./Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,/Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,/To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair (118-19).
Namaste.
I, like you, feel that commenting on this passage would only lessen its impact, so I’ll just say thanks for sharing. Have you ever noticed that almost all of America’s greatest writers were born in the nineteenth century? Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emily Dickinson, Henry David Thoreau, Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, and Ambrose Bierce (my personal favorite). I always challenge my students to think of a book written in their lifetime that will be relevant in 150 years and none of them can do it. Capitalism has produced some great toys (iphones, tablets, flatscreen TVs, etc.) but mass producing literature for profit hasn’t worked so well.
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