With Some Perspetive Comes Understanding

Whitman is a tough bloke to try and categorize (as we Americans love to do). The reason we have such robust debate as to what label to slap on him, is that Whitman himself didn't know what he was. So instead of trying to force himself, he just poured it all onto the page and said "reader, you figure it out!" He takes us along on every journey where he catalogues everything he sees. Someone in class used the phrase "word vomit" to describe his poetry. This is extreme and unfair. Yes, sometimes Whitman is monotonous and repetitive. But intermingled with, and sometimes right within the catalogue of sights and items, are very striking, beautiful descriptions of non striking things. (see lines 27-48 of "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry.") Any one of us could "vomit" out endless descriptions of the minutia of our day, but precious few of us are poets.
If I was initially very anti Whitman; our class discussion forced me to look shallower (first time for me, too) at his work. In doing so I was able to not get lost in the vastness of his world, and thus take away nuggets that made me not dislike him quite so such.
There are two poems that were not part of our selections that I would like to mention. The first is "When I Heard at the Close of Day." It still is undeniably Walt with the listing of activities and first word repetition. But what an achingly gorgeous love letter. This, to me, is Whitman stripped down and allowing us a glimpse of his true self.
The second poem is called "I Sit and Look Out." This is the one poem of Whitman's that I consider truly timeless. It is as relevant now as it was as he composed it, and unfortunately will be in another 150 years. For the first time when I read a poem of his, I picture him not roaming the landscape or mingling with crowds, but alone and pensive. I somehow feel that this was a rare instance that a poem didn't explode from his head to the page. Although it is his style, I feel this piece was slowly crafted. It is a departure for Whitman as here he relinquishes his role as active participant and becomes only the passive observer. The last line succinctly tells us how he feels about that perspective.

Knee-Jerk Whitman Post

All those who worship at the altar of Walt Whitman bear in mind that art is subjective. One man's Jackson Pollack is another man's mess that his four year old daughter made in the playroom today. Also know that although one may not enjoy a particular piece of art or artist (and by artist I mean writer, painter, sculptor, actor, etc.), it does not necessarily mean that one does not appreciate the significance of that art or artist. For example, I really hate Led Zeppelin's music. This is traditionally met with gasps and cursing, and questions regarding my masculinity. While this ado is occurring, my new enemies aren't hearing me say that while I don't care for the music, I still have enormous respect and understanding for Zeppelin's contribution to music and the profound influence they had on rock in the last 30 years. In other words, I get it, I just don't dig it.
Which brings me back to our friend Walt. Certainly he was influential. Probably he was the most influential poet in America. Beat poet Allen Ginsberg would cite Whitman as one of his major influences over 60 years after his death. He certainly wrote in a style that was drastically different from predecessors like Blake, Pope, and Burns. He wrote of himself and of nature, often intertwined and indistiguishable from one another. He turned away from abstract ideas centered around "greater than the self" religion and faith (18th century) and metaphysics (17th century). No, Whitman made it all about himself. Well, not completely. Sometimes it was about what we of the future would think of him and the things he was thinking about.
this isn't over . . .