Search Results

A.MS. draft and notes.loc.00281xxx.00263[my altar here the bleak sea-sand]about 1874poetryhandwritten1

[my altar here the bleak sea-sand]

Stopped in to see W. on my way home. He remarked my early coming. "You drop in en passant?"

"I wrote him yesterday—yes indeed—and told him that if the draft was sent for me, drawn to my order,

A young fellow called my attention to it on the boat. I related this to W.

Another of his expressions to me was this: "I do seem to have taken up my pen again.

My plan is to have my father oversee a good photographing of it—then to let it be photoengraved.

And to my "yes"—"Well, what was the result?"

Again, "I wonder if Stoddart will let me have another proof-slip of my piece?"

"I don't know why the devil he copied it—my copy was as plain—at least to me."

To my "yes"—"Well, I will see—will look it up overnight."

I wonder if he got my note?" Stoddart had told me of it.No copies "Good-Bye" in covers yet.

AN ADVENTURE ON HEMPSTEAD PLAINS, YEARS AGO One of my old friends for the last fifteen years has made

of these occasions, some ten years since, that he met with a little adventure wherewith he has, in my

My friend aforesaid had gone out to shoot on the Plains (stopping awhile on his way farther east) one

My friend was indeed tired, and thankfully accepted the honest fellow's offer.

My friend, be it known, is the most modest of men—and now what the deuce to do, was the question.

Mother, I am feeling very well these days—my head that was stopt up so & hard of hearing seems to be

hulls on—I go down to market sometimes of a morning & buy two or three quarts, for the folks I take my

little girl, (lost a fine boy about a year ago)—they have two rooms in the same house where I hire my

will have it so—that's the way it has gone on now over five months, & as I say they won't listen to my

insisted on going to market, (it is pleasant in the cool of the morning,) and getting the things, at my

Of the O'Connors, Jeff wrote on June 13, 1863: "I am real glad, my dear Walt, that you are among such

My sister has gone home. My brother is busy in the shop; & the children in school.

She dont exactly see why I can not do my work here.

I shall bring on my bust of her when I come.

My brother's wife died some years ago, leaving 3 children.

He says my copy is quite as good as the original. I dont think so myself, tho' it aproximates.

W. answering my inquiry said: "No, I didn't go down stairs today.

it won't hurt me: my caution, you remember, is six and over!

I quoted this: "I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother." "Yes," said W.

I reminded W. of one of my sisters similarly afflicted.

Here—take this bunch with my blessing and be happy.

But yet I must exchange my token for yours—brazen for golden gifts, as the Greek poet said.

The misfortune of my poem is that it presupposes much knowledge of antiquity—as for instance that this

"Any consecutive reading hurts my head—I cannot apply myself."

W. took my jog kindly.

Wrote in a firm hand in my presence, the card resting on his knees.

"He was always William's and my friend—and he will appreciate—will measure up—this piece."

Give him my love and the love of us all. Mrs.

Then give him my love—my love for all: for wife, daughters—and though I am hard beset, assure him not

the least of my benefits is his, their, love."

Repeated to him my interview with McKay.

And again: "His 'Prose Writers of Germany' has been one of my longest treasures.

I can never be shaken from my love of it.

Those two pieces on Shakespeare in 'November Boughs' are my best statement of the case, of my case.

My mind will not stick by me for consecutive work." Did his eyes fail him?

"No, my eyes are pretty good, though dimming."

I send you my love for your loving words—same to the great poet.

Morris would note my collation of [O'Connor's] reports in a Literary World letter.

And again, at my explanation of a letter I wrote Mrs.

The idea reflects my own exactly, in spirit and letter."

He mentioned the eccentric Count Joannes, in my boyhood already daft.

Wished my own article in about ten days, if possible.

the darkey says—all the day up to this afternoon, when Mary made and brought me a cup of hot tea—at my

"If it is not, it is my fault—there is plenty of wood here and I have all the time there is.

He had received my Engineering Record.

I wrote on the blank side and mailed the letter out to my niece, Jessie—at St. Louis."

with a secret wish that I had not begun to read and a vow that I would never do the like again), by my

Lowell voices in the best way it can be voiced this limitation, or to my mind wrong poetic notion, in

"Behind the hill, behind the sky, Behind my inmost thought, he sings; No feet avail; to hear it nigh,

—you say in "New York;" but I had my hearing of most of those you mention elsewhere.

Sidney Morse . ∗ "Good-Bye, my Fancy!" Walt Whitman. 1891. The Second Annex to "Leaves of Grass"

"No—it has no such significance at all: it only means that it was my humor to lie down: that is the whole

adding after my answer: "Well, I never met him myself. What is the value of the piece?" M.

Dave says: "I'll bet you my cover won't cost more than a cent more than yours."

My own choice right through has been the one I call 'the laughing philosopher.'

"My rule has been," W. continued, "so far as I could have any rule (I could have no cast-iron rule)—my

For instance, I like every day to take a bath—make it my rule, nearly—particularly in this weather—it

I don't think any of the doctors—the best doctors—have arrived at my doctrine yet—that each person who

So I took my quinine—and what did it do but set my head spinning, this way"—indicating—"like a wheel.

I find Swedenborg confirmed in all my experience. It is a peculiar discovery.

And that would be my doctrine, too!"

I always argue that all the time there is my time: so I go slow with what I do—take the reasonable maximum

Paul was too much for me and my brain actually reels. I have never seen architecture before.

My brain is too sensitive. I am not strong enough to confront these things all at once.

Paul's, but it took my breath away.

It was more than I could bear and I will have to gird up my loins and try it many times.

I said Gosse had shown a leaning my way—was more than cursorily courteous and warm.

It will serve to back up my answer. Was it you who asked me?""Yes—I asked the question."

Dear Sir:When my friend Mr.

The Leaves of Grass have become a part of my every-day thought and experience.

Harry has always been ten times over my friend where once would have done.

I must take care"—whispering—"that my shirt tail don't hang out."

father's, the ultimate for my mother, and I am to be between."

And I am Consuelo—determined to keep my head up, whatever betide."

I wish I could be with you in person, but my spirit must do instead.Please convey my affectionate greetings

My particular congratulations to you on your marriage.

reminiscences of the actors & actresses fifty years ago —Tho' I am not personally known to you—& as far as my

not yet an Octogenarian or even a Septuagenarian—I being but 66 at the close off this month—I date my

perfection & not the genius of acting—I never witnessed Forrest acting but the houses were jammed, my

look & utters with electrical effect "Maral I hate thee"—I can never forget it—it was imprinted in my

recollect Signor de Begnis (—with perhaps the exception of Lablach —whom I have heard frequently on my

Macbeth, Act V, where Macbeth says, "I have liv'd long enough: my way of life / Is fall'n into the sere

My dear Sir.

think of you, and I am sure that it affords me much more than that to give this personal expression to my

say entirely my own way, and put it unerringly on record."

In another place the feeling of pride leads to this exclamation: "My Book and I—what a period we have

These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet, For them thy faith, thy role I take, and grave it to

Whitman referred to Rossetti's edition as a "horrible dismemberment of my book" in his August 12, 1871

Visits from English friends are perhaps my chief diversion."

Philadelphia, 1883. is going off slowly—not much cared for by my friends—but I like it.

He asked me somewhat about my life and doings at home.

There is something in my nature furtive like an old hen!

Time alone can absolutely test my poems or any one's.

"Some kind words from my friend William Carey there—William Carey.

Some don't like my long lines, some do: some don't like my commas, some do: some cuss my long catalogues

My proper habitat is out-of-doors."

I spend all my time at work about the place and like it much.

"Yes, they do, and I was about to say so, but you took it out of my mouth.

Thoreau, in Brooklyn, that first time he came to see me, referred to my critics as 'reprobates.'

somehow as if none of the changes should have been made: that I should have said, take me as I am: my

bad and my good, my everything—just as I am: to hell with all cuts, all excisions, all moralistic abridgements

W. said again: "Conway could never understand my stony attitude towards expurgations: he at once flew

My dear Walt: I introduce to you Mr.

I anticipate a time, not very far distant, when I will lose my physical volition altogether—suffer an

I am extremely cautious—weighing every grain before giving in my adhesion."

All that is required under the present idea, my idea, might be a little preface, stating my reasons for

this particular issue of my works."

My first taste of the country was at Alloway, Burns' birthplace.

I sit here all day, or lie over there"—motioning towards the bed—"and that is what my life amounts to

"I see—I see: it must be wrong—but that is one of my idiocrities—to put it there and let it be, wrong

personal decency, even my goodness, and then dismissing my literary insanity and worse with a shrug

I have lived as yet but eighteen years; yet in all the constant thoughts and acts of my last few years

, your words have been my guides and true oracles.

"I regret my ignorance of German: German is the one foreign language I am sorry I did not go into when

"They are not wrong—they are only my whims, oddities: as such I must let them pass."

It is my old play-book, used many and many times in my itinerant theatre days: Richard: Shakespeare's

Yes, I have made the best of my sluggish pulse by trying to keep it sure, strong.

Every man has to learn his own best method: my method is to go slow, extra slow.

My dear Mr. Whitman:Allow me to introduce to you Mr.

My eye caught on the woodpile a bunch of manuscript. I picked it up. "What is this?

I stopped: that was always the case—always my habit."

He is seven years my senior, I believe: Herbert says, shows age, is round-shouldered, stoops."

After a pause: "My mental work was always taken easy: more-over, I have never forgotten what I owe my

:New York, Oct. 10th 1890 My dear Traubel:Still excessively busy. I enclose draft for Ad.

Don't give away an unnecessary dollar is my best judgement and advice on this.I think it well however

My best to Mr. Morris. You say nothing about cash advance to pay expenses. Don't you want any?

No amount of argument could of course remove my feeling.

my eyes in work and my right arm is very helpless and painfull—it keeps me from getting good rest at

Some of my simplest pieces have created the most noise.

to my purposes, determinations.

"There are things in there to interest you—discussing my prose and poems.

My plans at present are to be in Washington (at Med. Supt.

spiritual, godly, most of all known to my sense."

Williams'), but quickly read at my suggestion. How did he feel?

Once in my boyhood I saw his noble form and kindly face, but never have I grasped his democratic hand

from Concord, your letter reached me in Chicago, where I have been for a week awaiting the wedding of my

Give my earnest love to Walt Whitman on this memorial occasion, and tell him we think of him at Concord

I might, by setting every thing else at defiance, transport my body to the place of assembly, but by

But to the account of my adventures (for it is now necessary to drop the editorial "we,") last fall,

hook again with "fiddlers," while the fish floundered at a great rate around my feet.

word, accoutred as I was, I plunged—the fish—into an old tin kettle, and gave them, with sixpence and my

the wharf with a boat-hook, and offering his shoulder for me to step on—though, as he was about half my

divided the water—to lie on my back and gaze by the half-hour at the passing clouds overhead—merely

My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!

the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa, and the Sabine; O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my

the graceful palmetto; I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound through an inlet, and dart my

Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?

My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to

the still woods I loved; I will not go now on the pastures to walk; I will not strip the clothes from my

body to meet my lover the sea; I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew me

and meat; I do not see any of it upon you to-day—or perhaps I am deceiv'd; I will run a furrow with my

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo!

my city! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!

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.

If he could find them wished my father "to go over them and report."

My father is reading Bucke's W.W.

They are a rest to my mind—are always fresh, new—give me the quiet, the peace, I crave."

My friends may say that to me when I say hello to the Colonel, but I say, damn my friends if their friendship

He said: "I carry it about in my heart—carry it—yes: and William, too.

Why should he not put them down now, independent of my article?

been with you on the 31st of May last, here is in substance what I should have said and what sums up my

what I should have said, had I been this last 31st May among you: and then I should have raised in my

turn my glass wishing a very long life to the august old man and assuring him of all my love.Kindly

But I know I did my best reading when I was alone that way—off in the woods or on the shore.

She must have made a guess on my size and guessed wrong."

He throws nothing in my way, but he does nothing to welcome me.

W. called my attention to some newspaper criticisms of his books.

But my feet are eternally gone." I happened to say to W.: "I will be honest.

My dear Mr.

To 328 on my way home. Happened in a little earlier than normal—and when W. shortly called Mrs.

I went over my mail categorically. "What does Sarrazin say? He is still sick? Poor fellow!

Give him my sympathy.

he asked, and to my, "Well," exclaimed, "Dear girl!" I adding, "She was here last night."

You need not be surprised to receive a dispatch warning you of my approach.

little son, Prince Arthur, who was taken prisoner by his usurping uncle: "Grief fills the room up of my

had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.— I will not keep this form upon my

head, When there is such disorder in my wit.

My boy, my Arthur, my fair son!

My life, my joy, my food, my all in the world, My widow–comfort, and my sorrow's cure!"

I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies—as I myself do;

WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is immortal; I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is equally wonderful, and how I was

And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your

After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; After the clangor

of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.

I shook my head. "Not at all." He laughed gently. "Dry as hell, wasn't it?

My dear Horace:I have yours of the 14th this morning. All quiet.

head: that my head will stand by me to the last."

I had Bucke's letter in my pocket. "How do you come to that conclusion?" I asked.

"I got two anonymous letters in my mail today." "Where are they now?" He smiled.

My offer to light the gas was rejected, though he used my arm to assist him in doing the thing for himself

Then he reached forward and took my hand. "I see what you mean, Horace.

"When a man comes to my pass he'd best take the next step as quickly as possible."

But that work—that work: we must get it done before I write down 'finis' next my name."

Is this my sorry face?

Smooth my way—with all the aches and pains I've had for a week!

Asked me to have my sister Gussie prepare him some mutton—described how, &c., with amusing detail.

This is my Harned day. I wonder if the Harned Sundays will ever return?"

Was very particular to have me keep up my writing to O'Connor and Bucke.

He called my attention to it. I asked: "Are you sure this is not a love letter?

But on my insistence found it and brought out, Wallace inspecting for some time.

, give my love to both the others and tell them what I tell you now.

And my head gets such queer whirlings, like chestnuts in a pot—jumping, turning.

As W. fingered the book he was writing on on my entrance, he explained, laughing, "This is my old Virgil—you

It is the book I had in my carpet bag and burst a bottle of wine over in one of my trips to the army

Indeed put it in my own words."

I whipped a sheet of paper out of my pocket and wrote in the dark as he dictated.

My warmest thanks to him & you, which please convey to him if you can.

Then repeated to him the substance of my talk with Dave.

My dearest love to you & my most fervent prayers & good wishes are yours always.Wallace I, too, had letters

I know perfectly well my own egotism. . . .

I will put in my poems, that with you is heroism, upon land and sea. . . .

On my way a moment I pause, Here for you! And here for America!

of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clear- er clearer for my sake!

When I exhibited my prize he exclaimed: "Handsome!

My blood, your blood, went to the making of this book!

"My main thought?

My last, my final, my conclusive, message (conclusive for me) is in A Backward Glance: the steel of its

It's a chapter in my personal history that must not be lost sight of.

"I noticed it as I sat here—the dust flew up in a perfect cloud—I got my mouth full of it.

thoughts but the very opposite of my thoughts.

This was about the time of the Walt Whitman Club business that I put my foot down on.

"If it was to tip over, it would knock my neck badly out of joint.

"Over there on the box," he said, "is my red handkerchief: will you hand it to me?"

"I want to be ready for you: you are the oasis in my desert."

I asked him: "Do you really feel that way about my coming?

He says: "I keep myself down: I don't worry the strength out of my body: my one word is conservation.

He adds: "I have to subject all my rebellious moods to the necessities of my corporeal self."

He took my dare beautifully meek, I must say.