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One of his own countrymen (a press correspondent) thus writes of him— The only American prophet to my
He has no respect for artificial barriers to poetic inspiration:— "In my opinion the time has arrived
In my opinion, I say, while admitting that the venerable and heavenly forms of chiming versification
"Yes, my brethren, oh!
And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my body.'
I sound triumphal drums for the dead—I fling thro' my embouchures the loudest and gayest music for them
philosopher's life in the quiet woodland ways, Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be my
And my heart is a handful of dust, And the wheels go over my head, And my bones are shaken with pain,
What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side, and look in the mirror with me."
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
He rejoices to feel that he is "not stuck up and is in his [my] place," for "The moth and the fish eggs
How perfect is my soul! How perfect the earth and the minutest thing upon it!
Oh, my soul! If I realize you I have satisfaction. Laws of the earth and air!
.—" He is a painter, carver and sculptor: "A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my
I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is
head at nightfall, and he is fain to say,— I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable; I sound my
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease…observing a spear of summer grass.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeeful green stuff woven.
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I cannot tell how my ankles bend . . . . nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the
To walk up my stoop is unaccountable . . . . I pause to consider if it really be.
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes
Speech is the twin of my vision . . . . it is unequal to measure itself.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
As every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful; but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and how I was
conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed earth!
the wounded person, My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Heat and smoke I inspired…I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their
I lie in the night air in my red shirt…the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted
"I, too, am not a bit tamed…I, too, am untransla- table untranslatable ; I sound my barbaric yawp over
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far swooping elbowed earth!
by the indolent waves, I am exposed, cut by bitter and poisoned hail Steeped amid honeyed morphine , my
darkness Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking—preparations to pass to the one we had conquered— The captain
more foolish than the rest of the volume:— "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my
The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness, after the rest, and true as any, on the
I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run-away sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it
To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose-coloured flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous
Have you learned the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, pride, freedom, friendship, of my land
Earth of the limpid grey of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed Earth!
I loafe and invite my Soul, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzzed whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine
, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs
The sound of the belched words of my voice, words loosed to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses
Our poet goes on to say (105): I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or
since, after the closest inquiry, "I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones."
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some the spread of my own body."
As for Mine, Mine has the idea of my own, and what's Mine is my own, and my own is all Mine and believes
in your and my name, the Present time. 6.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt—the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted
to be found in these prurient pages and how any respectable House could publish the volume is beyond my
Come, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols?
For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful
O my breast aches with ten- der tender love for all!
See, my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter, Ages
I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores,
There are passages in the lines entitled 'Captain, My Captain,' and in the war-lyric commencing 'Beat
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!
Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it; I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half-
has yet to be known; May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) as from my
; Or rude in my home in Dakotah's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring; Or withdrawn to muse
He even dates from the United States era; in 1856, he writes: In the Year 80 of the States, My tongue
place, with my own day, here.
List close, my scholars dear!
I approached him, gave my name and reason for searching him out, and asked him if he did not find the
It still maintains: I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric yawp over
describes himself well enough in the lines, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable — , I sound my
He says (p. 31): Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
His tribute to Abraham Lincoln (p. 262), beginning "O Captain! my Captain!"
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.
My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!
woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my
lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reporduce all in my
For the great Idea, That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets.
I, the Titan, the hard-mouthed mechanic, spending my life in the hurling of words.
my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, The most prejudiced will not deny that that
puto translates from Latin to "I am a human being: I regard nothing of human concern as foreign to my
puto translates from Latin to "I am a human being: I regard nothing of human concern as foreign to my
barefooted every few minutes now and then in some neighboring black ooze, for unctuous mud- baths to my
Sometimes I took up my quarters in the hospital, and slept or watch'd there several nights in succession
excitements and physical deprivations and lamentable sights,) and, of course, the most profound lesson of my
though momentary view of them, and then of their course on and on southeast, till gradually fading—(my
Moreover, just as his one successful lyrical poem, "My Captain," is enough to disprove all his theories
in a few lines, I shall only say the espousing principle of those lines so gives breath of life to my
the army hospitals, and his noble tribute to Lincoln (not so tender as the really rhythmic verses "My
Captain"), are things for young Americans to study.
Candidly and dispassionately reviewing all my intentions, I feel that they were creditable—and I accept
Or rather, to be quite exact, a desire that had been flitting through my previous life, or hovering on
feeling or ambition to articulate and faithfully express in literary or poetic form and uncompromisingly my
in a few lines, I shall only say the espousing principle of those lines so gives breath of life to my
Difficult as it will be it has become, in my opinion, imperative to achieve a shifted attitude from superior
GOOD-BYE, MY FANCY. An Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. 8vo, pp. 66.
A very different book is the latest collection of the poems of Walt Whitman, entitled "Good-bye, My Fancy
potentates and powers, might well be dropped in oblivion by America—but never that if I could have my
Good-bye, my fancy: 2 d annex to "Leaves of grass." D. McKay. por. 8º, $1.
Review of Good-bye My Fancy
"Good-Bye, my Fancy!"
'Good-bye, my Fancy!'
These brave beliefs ring almost gayly through 'An Ended Day,' 'The Pallid Wreath,' 'My 71st Year,' 'Shakespeare-Bacon's
like the arch of the full moon, nebulous, Ossianlike, but striking in its filmy vagueness. ∗ Good-Bye, my
New York "Good-Bye, my Fancy!"
Good By My Fancy . 2d Annex to Leaves of Grass By Walt Whitman. (Philadelphia: David McKay.).
Review of Good-Bye My Fancy
GOOD-BYE MY FANCY. * T HERE is something at once very pathetic and courageous in this definitive leave-taking
My life and recitative . . . . . .I and my recitatives, with faith and love Waiting to other work, to
And again: Good-bye my Fancy, Farewell dear mate, dear love!
May-be it is you the mortal knot really undoing, turning— so now finally Good-bye—and hail, my Fancy.
Good-Bye My Fancy
are not, in any respect, worse than undetected persons— and are not in any respect worse than I am my
language: "As I have looked over the proof-sheets of the preceding pages, I have once or twice feared that my
here—said: "Only that while I can't answer them at all, I feel more settled than ever to adhere to my
past—that I have always invoked that future, and surrounded myself with it, before or while singing my
They look at me, and my eyes start out of my head; they speak to me, and I yell with de- light delight
; they touch me, and the flesh crawls off my bones.
heaven, it bears me beyond the stars, I tread upon the air, I sail upon the ether, I spread myself my
O my soul! O your soul, which is no better than my soul, and no worse, but just the same!
O my eye! 1247. These things are not in Webster's Dictionary— Unabridged, Pictorial.
death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed new- washed babe, and am not contained between my
hat and my boots.
I know perfectly well my own egotism.
strong in the knees, and of an inquiring and communicative disposi- tion disposition Also instructive in my
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the causes of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be.
A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics metaphysics of books."
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest music to them. Vivas to those who have failed.
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass.
over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my
"My days I sing, and the land's:" this is the key-note.
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows; The air tastes good to my palate.
has yet to be known; May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) as from my
grave illness, I gather up the pieces of prose and poetry left over since publishing a while since my
For some reason—not explainable or definite to my own mind, yet secretly pleasing and satisfactory to
And thee, My Soul! Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations!
Thee for my recitative!
Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music!