Talk TO him.
Or talk LIKE him.
In a letter, you can ask questions, or offer gratitude, or give him some feedback on his poems. You can focus on one of them, or several — or all of them. You can introduce yourself. You can mention which of the ‘walks of life’ that appear in his poems is connected to yours, or your family’s, or your ancestors’.
OR — Write a poem ‘answering’ Whitman’s poems, or any one of them. He’s a poet, right? So he’s probably a person who appreciates poetic expression. What you say will get through to him! — You don’t have to use HIS style, but somehow keep the mission focused on ‘speaking back’ to his poem(s).
OR — Take a long, deep breath, and tap into the big, rangy, extended Whitman line! Join his voice, as I (Cdub) think he is trying to get us to do when we read his work, and pump out a Whitman-esque poem!
Go with yer gut, and have some freedom-laced fun with this!
——– Here are ‘Suites 2 & 3’ for your convenience:
SUITE 2:
A suite of personal poems on civic and passionate love, mostly appearing toward the end of the book:
Sometimes with One I Love – https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm#link2H_4_0076Links to an external site.
Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me? – https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm#link2H_4_0054Links to an external site.
To a Stranger – https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm#link2H_4_0061Links to an external site.
This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful – https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm#link2H_4_0062Links to an external site.
We Two Boys Together Clinging – https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1322/1322-h/1322-h.htm#link2H_4_0066Links to an external site.
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SUITE 3:
A final assorted suite of Leaves — These are presented as a way of simulating reading through the end of the book with the kind of contextual cohesion and momentum that might accompany the luxuriant, patient reading of the whole volume. I hope readers will take this final suite in at one sitting, reading at the speed of speech if not out-loud:
No Labor-Saving Machine
No labor-saving machine, Nor discovery have I made, Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found hospital or library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America, Nor literary success nor intellect; nor book for the book-shelf, But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave, For comrades and lovers.
A Leaf for Hand in Hand
A leaf for hand in hand; You natural persons old and young! You on the Mississippi and on all the branches and bayous of the Mississippi! You friendly boatmen and mechanics! you roughs! You twain! and all processions moving along the streets! I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.
What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand?
What think you I take my pen in hand to record? The battle-ship, perfect-model’d, majestic, that I saw pass the offing to-day under full sail? The splendors of the past day? or the splendor of the night that envelops me? Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around me? —no; But merely of two simple men I saw to-day on the pier in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends, The one to remain hung on the other’s neck and passionately kiss’d him, While the one to depart tightly prest the one to remain in his arms.
Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love!
Fast-anchor’d eternal O love! O woman I love! O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you! Then separate, as disembodied or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation, I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man, O sharer of my roving life.
Among the Multitude
Among the men and women the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am, Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me. Ah lover and perfect equal, I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections, And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.
O You Whom I Often and Silently Come
O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
Osceola
When his hour for death had come, He slowly rais’d himself from the bed on the floor, Drew on his war-dress, shirt, leggings, and girdled the belt around his waist, Call’d for vermilion paint (his looking-glass was held before him,) Painted half his face and neck, his wrists, and back-hands. Put the scalp-knife carefully in his belt—then lying down, resting moment, Rose again, half sitting, smiled, gave in silence his extended hand to each and all, Sank faintly low to the floor (tightly grasping the tomahawk handle,) Fix’d his look on wife and little children—the last: (And here a line in memory of his name and death.)
“The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete”
The devilish and the dark, the dying and diseas’d, The countless (nineteen-twentieths) low and evil, crude and savage, The crazed, prisoners in jail, the horrible, rank, malignant, Venom and filth, serpents, the ravenous sharks, liars, the dissolute; (What is the part the wicked and the loathesome bear within earth’s orbic scheme?) Newts, crawling things in slime and mud, poisons, The barren soil, the evil men, the slag and hideous rot.
Full of Life Now
Full of life now, compact, visible, I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States, To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence, To you yet unborn these, seeking you. When you read these I that was visible am become invisible, Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me, Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade; Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)
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