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Critical Analysis of Walt Whitman Song of Myself
Critical Analysis of Walt Whitman Song of Myself
Use of Language
This most famous of Whitman’s works was one of the original twelve pieces in the 1855 first edition
of Leaves of Grass. Like most of the other poems, it too was revised extensively, reaching its final
permutation in 1881. “Song of Myself” is a sprawling combination of biography, sermon, and poetic
meditation. It is not nearly as heavy-handed in its pronouncements as “Starting at Paumanok”; rather,
Whitman uses symbols and sly commentary to get at important issues. “Song of Myself” is composed
more of vignettes than lists: Whitman uses small, precisely drawn scenes to do his work here.
This poem did not take on the title “Song of Myself” until the 1881 edition. Previous to that it had
been titled “Poem of Walt Whitman, an American” and, in the 1860, 1867, and 1871 editions, simply
“Walt Whitman.” The poem’s shifting title suggests something of what Whitman was about in this
piece. As Walt Whitman, the specific individual, melts away into the abstract “Myself,” the poem
explores the possibilities for communion between individuals. Starting from the premise that “what I
assume you shall assume” Whitman tries to prove that he both encompasses and is indistinguishable
from the universe.
Commentary
Whitman’s grand poem is, in its way, an American epic. Beginning in medias res—in the middle of
the poet’s life—it loosely follows a quest pattern. “Missing me one place search another,” he tells his
reader, “I stop somewhere waiting for you.” In its catalogues of American life and its constant search
for the boundaries of the self “Song of Myself” has much in common with classical epic. This epic
sense of purpose, though, is coupled with an almost Keatsian valorization of repose and passive
perception. Since for Whitman the birthplace of poetry is in the self, the best way to learn about poetry
is to relax and watch the workings of one’s own mind.
While “Song of Myself” is crammed with significant detail, there are three key episodes that must be
examined. The first of these is found in the sixth section of the poem. A child asks the narrator “What
is the grass?” and the narrator is forced to explore his own use of symbolism and his inability to break
things down to essential principles. The bunches of grass in the child’s hands become a symbol of the
regeneration in nature. But they also signify a common material that links disparate people all over the
United States together: grass, the ultimate symbol of democracy, grows everywhere. In the wake of the
Civil War the grass reminds Whitman of graves: grass feeds on the bodies of the dead. Everyone must
die eventually, and so the natural roots of democracy are therefore in mortality, whether due to natural
causes or to the bloodshed of internecine warfare. While Whitman normally revels in this kind of
symbolic indeterminacy, here it troubles him a bit. “I wish I could translate the hints,” he says,
suggesting that the boundary between encompassing everything and saying nothing is easily crossed.
The second episode is more optimistic. The famous “twenty-ninth bather” can be found in the eleventh
section of the poem. In this section a woman watches twenty-eight young men bathing in the ocean.
She fantasizes about joining them unseen, and describes their semi-nude bodies in some detail. The
invisible twenty-ninth bather offers a model of being much like that of Emerson’s “transparent
eyeball”: to truly experience the world one must be fully in it and of it, yet distinct enough from it to
have some perspective, and invisible so as not to interfere with it unduly. This paradoxical set of
conditions describes perfectly the poetic stance Whitman tries to assume. The lavish eroticism of this
section reinforces this idea: sexual contact allows two people to become one yet not one—it offers a
moment of transcendence. As the female spectator introduced in the beginning of the section fades
away, and Whitman’s voice takes over, the eroticism becomes homoeroticism. Again this is not so
much the expression of a sexual preference as it is the longing for communion with every living being
and a connection that makes use of both the body and the soul (although Whitman is certainly using
the homoerotic sincerely, and in other ways too, particularly for shock value).
Having worked through some of the conditions of perception and creation, Whitman arrives, in the
third key episode, at a moment where speech becomes necessary. In the twenty-fifth section he notes
that “Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, / It provokes me forever, it says
sarcastically, / Walt you contain enough, why don’t you let it out then?” Having already established
that he can have a sympathetic experience when he encounters others (“I do not ask the wounded
person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person”), he must find a way to re-transmit that
experience without falsifying or diminishing it. Resisting easy answers, he later vows he “will never
translate [him]self at all.” Instead he takes a philosophically more rigorous stance: “What is known I
strip away.” Again Whitman’s position is similar to that of Emerson, who says of himself, “I am the
unsettler.” Whitman, however, is a poet, and he must reassemble after unsettling: he must “let it out
then.” Having catalogued a continent and encompassed its multitudes, he finally decides: “I too am not
a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, / I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.” “Song of
Myself” thus ends with a sound—a yawp—that could be described as either pre- or post-linguistic.
Lacking any of the normal communicative properties of language, Whitman’s yawp is the release of
the “kosmos” within him, a sound at the borderline between saying everything and saying nothing.
More than anything, the yawp is an invitation to the next Walt Whitman, to read into the yawp, to have
a sympathetic experience, to absorb it as part of a new multitude.
Criticism
The Walt Whitman Encyclopedia
In the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, "Song of Myself" came first in the series of twelve untitled
poems, dominating the volume not only by its sheer bulk, but also by its brilliant display of Whitman's
innovative techniques and original themes. Whitman left the poem in the lead position in the 1856
edition and gave it its first title, "Poem of Walt Whitman, an American," shortened to "Walt Whitman"
in the third edition of 1860. By the time Whitman had shaped Leaves of Grass into its final structure in
1881, he left the poem (its lines now grouped into 52 sections) in a lead position, preceded only by the
epigraph-like cluster "Inscriptions" and the programmatic "Starting from Paumanok."
"Song of Myself" portrays (and mythologizes) Whitman's poetic birth and the journey into knowing
launched by that "awakening." But the "I" who speaks is not alone. His camerado, the "you" addressed
in the poem's second line, is the reader, placed on shared ground with the poet, a presence throughout
much of the journey. As the poem opens, the reader encounters the poet "observing a spear of summer
grass" and extending an invitation to his soul. He vows to "permit to speak at every hazard, / Nature
without check with original energy" (section 1). Leaving "[c]reeds and schools" behind, he goes "to the
bank by the wood to become undisguised and naked" (sections 1 and 2), clearly preparing himself for
the soul's visit of section 5, which dramatizes the transfiguring event that launches the poet on his
lifelong quest.
This event may best be described as the organic union of the poet's body and soul, the latter appearing
first in the disembodied "hum" of a "valvèd voice." In highly charged erotic imagery, the soul settles
his head "athwart" the poet's hips, "gently" turns over upon him, parting his shirt from his "bosom-
bone" and plunging his "tongue" to the poet's "bare-stript heart"—while reaching simultaneously to
feel his "beard" and to hold his "feet." In short, the soul with his phallic tongue (instrument of his
"valvèd voice") penetrates directly to the poet's heart, bestowing there, without aid of mind or
"reason," the teeming sperm of life-affirming intuitive knowledge, in effect the foundation for
transcendent self-assurance that will sustain the poet on his search. Held in the trance-like grip of the
soul from beard to feet, the poet suddenly awakens to the "peace and knowledge that pass all the
argument of the earth," a fragmentary but certain knowledge: "that the spirit of God is the brother of
my own," "that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers," "that
a kelson of the creation is love." These sweeping affirmations trail off into what seems a heap of
incoherent images—"limitless" "leaves," "brown ants," "elder, mullein and poke-weed." In effect, the
incomprehensible multiplicity of nature, in its smallest manifestations, is also embraced in the all-
inclusive affirmations of God and brotherhood.
As the awakening portrayed in section 5 has prepared the poet for a new kind of knowledge, section 6
launches him on his journey into knowing, beginning with exploration of a child's question, " What is
the grass? " This phase of the journey extends through section 32, providing ample occasion for the
poet to establish many of the subjects and themes that are addressed elsewhere in Leaves of Grass.
From the focus on the grass imagery in section 6, the poet moves on to the theme of "en-masse," in
sections 7-16. He becomes Walt Whitman, American, roaming the continent, celebrating everyday
scenes of ordinary life. He presents himself (in section 13) as the "caresser of life wherever moving . . .
Absorbing all to myself and for this song." This movement rises in a crescendo to the extended
catalogue of section 15, with its rapid-fire snapshots of American types and scenes.
Moving away from American diversity in section 17, the poet turns to human commonality—to "the
grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is." In sections 18-24, the poet proceeds to collapse
traditional discriminations, celebrating "conquer'd and slain persons" (section 18) along with victors,
the "righteous" along with the "wicked"—extending his embrace to include outcasts and outlaws. But
increasingly his focus fixes on the equality of body and soul and ways of rescuing the body from its
inferior status. He turns to himself and his own body, presenting in section 24 a nude portrait of "Walt
Whitman, a kosmos," providing a catalogue, meticulously metaphoric, for every item of his anatomy
("Firm masculine colter," "duplicate eggs").
Throughout sections 18-32 of "Song of Myself," the poet celebrates the erotic dimension of all the
senses, but he turns to the miraculous touch in section 28: "Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new
identity?" In some of the most surrealistic lines in all of Leaves, the poet proceeds to portray himself in
a scene of self-induced sexual arousal to the climactic point of orgasm. Section 29 presents the poet's
tender farewell to complicit touch, while sections 30-32 explore the knowledge bestowed by the
experience: "What is less or more than a touch?" Having experienced and affirmed the most intense of
physical ecstasies, the poet contemplates becoming one with the animals: he mounts and races a
"gigantic beauty of a stallion." But he ends by "resign[ing]" the stallion, realizing that deeper
knowledge lies in wait.
Adjusted to his new identity bestowed by touch, he is now ready for the second major phase of his
journey. Section 33 begins with new and higher affirmations: "Space and Time! now I see it is true,
what I guess'd at, / What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass." In this longest section of "Song of
Myself," the poet feels the exhilaration of being no longer bound by the ties of space and time: he is
"afoot with" his "vision." He feels able, indeed, to range back and forth over all time, and to soar like a
meteor out into space. But in one of the strangest reversals in "Song of Myself," this peak of exaltation
in section 33 glides into its opposite as the poet begins to identify more and more closely with the
outcasts and rejected: "I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there." He becomes the "old-faced infants and
the lifted sick," the mother "condemned for a witch," "the hounded slave." A note of despair sounds
louder and louder through sections 34-37, until at the end the poet becomes a homeless beggar. Such
despair, unfelt during similar identifications with outcasts in sections 17-20, suggests that the poet has
moved obscurely beyond the knowledge of his previous phase.
Section 38, opening with strong rejection of the role of beggar he has assumed ("Enough! enough!
enough!") suddenly resets the direction for the poet on his journey: "I discover myself on the verge of
a usual mistake." Although he is never quite explicit about the basis for what he knows, he says that he
"remember[s] now" and resumes "the overstaid fraction." He suggests metaphorically that the nature of
this "overstaid fraction" is contained in the resurrection that followed (or follows) crucifixion, in lines
implying humankind's identification with the universalized experience of Christ: "The grave of rock
multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, / Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll
from me." Thus out of his despair, the poet emerges "replenish'd with supreme power," a power that
reaches beyond identification with the downtrodden and rejected, a power indeed to bring "help for the
sick as they pant on their backs" as well as "yet more needed help" for "strong upright men" (section
41).
This stage, in which the poet is confident in his transcendent power, extends through the closing
sections, 38-49. In section 43 the poet affirms all religious faiths ("worship ancient and modern and all
between ancient and modern"), and in section 44 he celebrates his place in evolutionary theory: both
religion and science contain the seeds that provide the source for his supreme power.
The reader learns in section 46 that the poet's is a "perpetual journey," that he has "no chair, no church,
no philosophy," that he cannot travel the road for "you," but "you must travel it for yourself." In
sections 48-49, he again affirms the body equal with the soul, as he affirms the identity of selfhood and
Godhead. And similarly, he proclaims death and life so inseparably bonded as to render one
unimaginable without the other. Near the end of section 49, the poet appears to give up further effort to
convey in words what he knows and turns to the natural world for help: "O suns—O grass of graves—
O perpetual transfers and promotions, / If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?"
In section 50 the poet seems to be emerging from a trance-like state similar to that he entered in
section 5: "Wrench'd and sweaty—calm and cool then my body becomes, / I sleep—I sleep long."
Coming out of his deep sleep, the poet stammers almost incoherently: "I do not know it . . . it is a word
unsaid, / It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol" (emphasis added). Readers may guess that "it"
refers to the ineffable transcendent meaning of the poet's experience on his dream-like journey. That
meaning can be conveyed only by oblique analogy: "Something it swings on more than the earth I
swing on, / To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me" (emphasis added). In the end
the poet addresses those "brothers and sisters" first evoked in section 5, trying to hit upon a word that
might convey some notion, however inadequately, of the transcendent meaning discovered on his
journey: "It is not chaos or death—it is form, union, plan—it is eternal life—it is Happiness."
As the poet's camerado from the beginning, "you" the reader come to the fore in the two concluding
sections (51-52) of the poem. The poet does not deny but dismisses his "contradictions," asserting, "I
am large, I contain multitudes." On beginning his journey (section 1) he promised he would "permit to
speak at every hazard, / Nature without check with original energy"; similarly, at the end, he describes
himself as "not a bit tamed," as "untranslatable," as one who sounds his "barbaric yawp over the roofs
of the world." His journey over and done, he prepares for departure, bequeathing himself "to the dirt to
grow from the grass" he loves, and tells the reader: "If you want me again look for me under your
boot-soles." To the end, the poet insists that his transcendental knowledge gained on his spiritual
journey cannot be embodied in words, but that nevertheless it can be conveyed indirectly. Readers will
come to "know," not because he has conveyed his meaning abstractly, but rather because he has come
to "filter and fibre" their blood. At the end, the poet admonishes his readers to "keep encouraged" and
continue their search for him, promising: "I stop somewhere waiting for you."
Like most poetic works of genius, "Song of Myself" has defied attempts to provide a definitive
interpretation. In a very real sense, no reading of the poem has clarified the sum of its many mysteries.
Critics have provided useful readings, concentrating on one or another dimension of the poem: Carl F.
Strauch on the solidity of a fundamental structure, Randall Jarrell on the brilliance of individual lines,
James E. Miller, Jr., on the portrayal of an "inverted mystical experience," Richard Chase on the often-
overlooked comic aspects, Malcolm Cowley on the affinities with the inspired prophecies of antiquity,
Robert K. Martin on the resemblance to a "dream vision based on sexual [essentially homosexual]
experience." In addition, Edwin Haviland Miller has provided a guide through the various readings in
Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself": A Mosaic of Interpretations (1989). In the final analysis, readers
must find their own way through "Song of Myself." They will know that they are on the right path
when they begin to feel something of the "great power" that Ralph Waldo Emerson felt in 1855
(Whitman 1326).
Abstract
This paper studies the life and works and accomplishments of Ralph Waldo Emerson. It studies his
essay "The Poet" and describes his idealistic vision of the life of a poet. It also describes the 19th-
century artistic and philosophical movement called transcendentalism that he founded. Throughout this
paper, the author compares Emerson's ideals to Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself." It also examines
Ralph Waldo Emerson's strong influence and effect on American society.
The Work
“Song of Myself” was first published as the untitled opening poem of Leaves of Grass in 1855. The
author’s name does not appear on the first edition’s title page, but it is mentioned in the poem: “Walt
Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a kosmos.” This characterization sums up the subject of
identity in “Song of Myself.” Whitman presents himself as an American working man and as a
mystical figure at one with the universe.
Although the poem identifies “myself” simply as Walt Whitman, the identity of the speaker is also
mythic. Instead of trying to say how unique his feelings and thoughts are, Whitman emphasizes his
ordinariness. His ordinariness is in fact so comprehensive that he absorbs each American, past, present,
and future. This comprehensive awareness makes the speaker of the poem greater than himself, but it
is a greatness and uniqueness that is, he emphasizes, accessible to all.
The idea behind “Song of Myself” is that individual identity is temporary but transcendent. The
dominant tone of “Song of Myself” is joyous and mystical. The cycle of life renews itself constantly,
and so conquers death. If each person absorbs this knowledge, each may feel kinship with all life, and
so gain a sense of victory over mortality.
“Song of Myself” includes many modulations of tone as it moves toward its climax. To work out the
theme of endless renewal, the fifty-two sections of the poem move back and forth between general and
specific, between description and emotion, between the body and the soul. “Song of Myself” is a
powerful—sometimes shocking—poem of physical identity. Sexuality is part of common humanity,
and Whitman ignores pretenses in order to reach to the universal truths of human identity, including
the truths of the body.
Like the rest of Leaves of Grass, “Song of Myself” is in free verse, or poetry without regular rhyme or
meter. Free verse was a perfect form for Whitman to use to explore the themes of identity, nationality,
and transcendence in a free country. The national motto—e pluribus unum, out of many one—might
equally well serve as the motto for “Song of Myself.” Out of the many ethnic, racial, and gender
identities Whitman saw in America, and out of the complexities of his own identity, he forged an epic
of transcendent identity.
Walt Whitman's 'Song of Myself' is, on the most basic descriptive level, a really long poem.
Whitman is clearly a poet with a lot to say, or at least with a lot of different ways to say it. He
meanders from the micro to the macro, from atoms to the whole earth. There are obviously myriad
ways to explain what the poem is about, and myriad 'keys' to its true meaning. In what became Section
6 of the final edition (lines 90-121 of the 1855 edition ) Whitman himself addresses this sort of 'meta-
question' of interpretation. By doing so in one of the quieter, more straightforward sections of the
poem, Whitman invites us to use the section as one such 'key.' In Section 6, Whitman lays out a
(possible) microcosm of 'Song of Myself' and gives a very kind prompt that here is a place where
befuddled readers can ease their way into the poem.
Whitman signals from the beginning of this passage that it is more accessible than most of his others.
The first line tells us simply of a question asked by a child: ?A child said, What is the grass? fet..
`Whitman was always asking questions. He believed that life's goal or cause was a mystery. He was
surrounded by people who were drawing distinct lines between right and wrong, rejecting the things in
the universe that were not a direct ticket to holiness. Whitman, unlike his contemporaries, embraced
the beauty of everything. His mystical perception of the world ushered in the idea that God was to be
found in every thing, and that He could never be fully understood. I think that section six of "Song of
Myself" captures Whitman's quest for knowing, and his idea that our perceptions of what is, only
scratch the surface.
How appropriate that he starts this section with a question posed by a child, "What is the grass?"
Whitman wants to answer, but realizes that he can't. Nature provides so many opportunities for
interpretation. It is, on one hand, the abstract "flag of [his] disposition", but in the next stanza, the
more tangible "handkerchief of the Lord." Notice that he "guesses" each time what the grass migh
Divinity, Sexuality and the Self in Whitman’s Song of Myself
Through his poetry, Whitman's "Song of Myself" makes the soul sensual and
makes divine the flesh. In Whitman's time, the dichotomy between the soul
and the body had been clearly defined by centuries of Western philosophy and
theology. Today, the goodness of the soul and the badness of the flesh
still remain a significant notion in contemporary thought. Even Whitman's
literary predecessor, Emerson, chose to distinctly differentiate the soul
from all nature. Whitman, however, chooses to reevaluate that relationship.
His exploration of human sensuality, particularly human sexuality, is the
tool with which he integrates the spirit with the flesh.
Key to this integration is Whitman's notion of the ability of the sexual
self to define itself. This self-definition is derived from the strongly
independent autonomy with which his sexuality speaks in the poem. Much of
the "Song of Myself" consists of a cacophony of Whitman's diffe...
There are many "popular" topics used frequently by authors. Love, religion, and war are some
favorites. Two other such topics we typically read about are nature and death. The two can be
discussed separately or they can be related to each other. Walt Whitman, a lover of nature, tackled
these subjects in "Song of Myself" from Leaves of Grass. Another author who does the same is
William Cullen Bryant. Though two very different writers with different styles, they share some of the
same ideas.
"Song of Myself" is a celebration of life and God. Whitman loved everything imaginable about nature.
He loved people, animals, and himself. Throughout this extensive poem, Whitman mentions "red"
people (Indians), "negros," butchers, women, the poor and the rich. He believed that all are good in
some way or another and all people are equal. He loved them all for their own special reason. He also
loved animals. Stanza thirteen praises the beauty and worthiness of oxen, tortoises, and mockingbirds.
He believed all living...
I use the 1855 versions of "Song of Myself" and "The Sleepers" because I think these poems represent
Whitman at his unrevised best. I begin with a biographical introduction, stressing Whitman's active
engagement as radical Democrat and party journalist in the major political conflicts of pre-Civil War
America. The inscription poem "One's-Self I Sing" and his vision of the poet balanced between pride
and sympathy in the 1855 Preface serve as a good introduction to "Song of Myself." I usually begin by
asking the students to talk about Whitman's free verse technique. What ordering devices does he use in
the opening lines to achieve his poetic design: these include repetition, biblical parallelism, rhythmic
recurrence, assonance, and consonance.
Section 15 is a good illustration of the ways Whitman's catalog technique serves as a democratizing
device, inscribing the pattern of many and one. By basing his verse in the single, end-stopped line at
the same time that he fuses this line--through various linking devices--with the larger structure of the
whole, Whitman weaves an overall pattern of unity in diversity. This pattern of many and one--the e
pluribus unum that was the revolutionary seal of the American republic--is the overarching figure of
Leaves of Grass.
I present "Song of Myself" as a drama of democratic identity in which the poet seeks to balance and
reconcile major conflicts in the body politic of America: the conflict between "separate person" and
"en masse," individualism and equality, liberty and union, the South and the North, the farm and the
city, labor and capital, black and white, female and male, religion and science. One can discuss any of
the individual sections of the poem in relation to this conflict. Moments of particular conflict and crisis
occur in sections 28 and 38. I ask the students to discuss the specific nature of the crisis in each of
these sections. Both involve a loss of balance.
In section 28, the protagonist loses bodily balance as he is swept away by an erotic, masturbatory urge.
Ask the students to think about why a masturbation fantasy occurs in a poem about democracy. Ask
them to think about why the masturbatory fit is represented in the language of political insurrection.
These questions lead to interesting observations about the relation between political power and power
over the body. Masturbation is, in effect, the political ground on which Whitman tests the theory of
democracy. Within the democratic economy of his poem, the turbulence of the body, like the
turbulence of the masses, is part of a natural regenerative order.
If section 28 involves a loss of bodily balance, section 38 involves a loss of self in empathetic
identification with others. In discussing the crisis in section 38, ask the students what Whitman means
by the lines: "I find myself on the verge of a usual mistake." This will usually lead back to the end of
section 3, where the poet begins identifying with scenes of suffering, carnage, and death. Some of
these scenes are linked with the nation's history: the hounded slave, the Texas war, the American
Revolution. The poet appears to be on the verge of losing faith in the divine potency of the individual
and the regenerative pattern of the whole. He resolves the crisis by remembering the divinity of Christ
as a living power existing within rather than outside of every individual.
The resolution of this crisis leads to the emergence of the divinely empowered poet who presides over
the final passages of the poem, declaring his ultimate faith in the "form, union, plan" of the universe.
Here you might want to discuss the relation between this poetic affirmation of democratic faith and
union and the fact of an American Union that was in the throes of dissolution.
Since Whitman's poetic development corresponds with stages in his own and the nation's history, a
chronological presentation works well in the classroom. After discussing "Song of Myself," you might
want to discuss other 1855 poems such as "The Sleepers" and "There Was a Child Went Forth." "The
Sleepers," which was toned down in later versions, represents in both its form and its content the half-
formed, erotically charged, and anxiety-ridden fantasies of the dream state. The poem anticipates
Freud's "unconscious" and the literary experiments of the surrealists. But the poem is revolutionary not
only in its psychosexual dimension. The poet also descends into a kind of political unconscious of the
nation, dredging up images of regeneration through violence associated with Washington and the battle
for American independence, the slave as black Lucifer, and the Indian squaw.
If you have time to do later work by Whitman, the 1860 poems might be grouped together since they
correspond with a period of both personal and national crisis. This crisis is most effectively
represented in "As I Ebb'd with the Ocean of Life"; within the context of Leaves of Grass, "Out of the
Cradle Endlessly Rocking" appears to respond to this crisis. Ask the students to comment on the
differences between the "amative" poems of Children of Adam and the "adhesive" poems of Calamus.
This will lead to a discussion of Whitman's sexual politics.
Women students have particularly strong and mixed reactions to "A Woman Waits for Me": they are
attracted by Whitman's celebration of an erotically charged female body, yet are repelled by the fact
that she seems rhetorically prone. The students will usually note that Whitman's poems to men seem
more immediate and personal than the poems of Children of Adam. "In Paths Untrodden" reflects
Whitman's split at this time between the public culture of democracy and his desire to tell secrets, to
"come out" poetically by naming his hitherto unspeakable passion for men. You might want to remind
the students that the term "homosexual" did not yet exist, and thus Whitman was breaking the path
toward a language of male love. His invention is particularly evident in "When I Heard at the Close of
the Day," where the power and tenderness of his feelings for his lover are linked with the rhythms of a
completely natural order. The "confessional" note in the poems anticipates the later work of Allen
Ginsberg, Robert Lowell, and Sylvia Plath. Ask the students to reflect on why it was the poems of
Children of Adam and not Calamus that most shocked the literary establishment. It was really not until
Allen Ginsberg wrote his comic tribute to Whitman, "In a Supermarket in California," that Whitman,
the homosexual poet, came fully out of the closet--at least in America.
I usually begin discussion of the war poems by asking how the experience of fratricidal war might
affect Whitman as the poet of national union. This will lead to reflections on the tragedy of the Civil
War. The poems of Drum-Taps --which proceed from militant exultation, to the actual experience of
war, to demobilization and reconciliation--might be read as an attempt to place the butchery of the war
within a poetic and ultimately regenerative design. Ask the students to compare Whitman's war poems
with his earlier poems. They are at once more formally controlled and more realistic--stylistic changes
that are linked with the war context. "A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest, and the Road Unknown" and
"The Artilleryman's Vision" are proto-modern poems in which the individual appears as an actor in a
drama of history he no longer understands nor controls. Whitman's ambivalence about black
emancipation is evident in "Ethiopia Saluting the Colors." "Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One
Night" and "As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado" are particularly effective in suggesting
the ways the wartime context of male bonding and comradeship gave Whitman a legitimate language
and social frame within which to express his love for men.
In discussing Whitman's famous elegy on the death of President Lincoln, it is interesting to begin by
asking what remains unsaid in the poem. For one thing, Lincoln is never named as the subject within
the context of the poem; his death becomes representative of all the war dead. By placing Lincoln's
death within a timeless regenerative order of nature, Whitman's "Lilacs" also "covers over" the fact of
Lincoln's unnatural and violent assassination. Although the vision of battle in section 15 is often
passed over in critical considerations of the poem, this bloody sight of "battle-corpses" and the
"debris" of war is, I believe, the unspeakable honor and real subject of the poem.
Democratic Vistas (1871) might be read either as an introduction to or a conclusion to the study of
Whitman. In the essay, he struggles with the central tensions and paradoxes of American, New World
experience. These conflicts intensify and are more urgently addressed in the post-Civil War period as
the unleashed force of market capitalism and the dynamic of modem civilization appear to spin out of
control. "Who bridles Leviathan?" Whitman asks in Democratic Vistas. It is a fitting question with
which to conclude the study of Whitman and to begin the study of the modern world.