Excelsior (Walt Whitman)

I just got back from a party and I am feeling pretty happy, so I get the vibe of this poem by Walt Whitman though I think that he is in an even happier mood.

It's a little bit (ok, very) braggy, but when you are very, very happy the whole world seems yours for the taking. I think that's where N is in this poem. That kind of powerful joy.

Favorite line: "I am mad with devouring / ecstasy to make joyous"

I am mad with devouring ecstasy to make joyous 

This Compost (Walt Whitman)

This poem by Walt Whitman is fine by itself, but as I read I kept layering on recent news and hipster-ish ideas and ideals.

One) It's a poem, literally, about compost. Back yard farmers, anyone? I admit to being curious about starting my own piles and how neat it would be to have quality soil for new garden beds.

Two) Part of me wanted to remind WW that the Earth cannot take it all in and turn out positive, clean produce. You know how people thought/still think that the oceans can deal with any refuse you put in? A part of me wants to tell him that the Earth is a closed system!

Three) But never mind my additions, his points about the awesomeness of the old/diseased things yielding new, bounty is apt and exciting. Every time I read one of his poems I just get the urge to go on a walk and see things as though for the first time. He reminds me that most everything is awesome.

Favorite line: "It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions"

It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/23446#sthash.8H97BQDQ.dpuf

Sometimes with One I Love (Walt Whitman)

Happy Valentine's Day!!

In the spirit of that (and acknowledging I have loads of other things to do), a short poem by a prolific writer which I will "talk" about with a single quote --> And since it is the day of love, I'll even make it easy and copy the whole (prose-y) poem here: 

Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd, yet out of that I have written these songs.)

I think this poem hits on the same truth as the following quote - which is to say, that love is grand, always worth having and never for naught.

Quote: "Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart." - Washington Irving

Favorite line: "Sometime with one I love I fill myself with rage"

When I Heard the Learned Astronomer (Walt Whitman)

When I Heard the Learned Astronomer by Walt Whitman is the poem for this evening's post.

This poem is pretty to the point. It's not difficult to understand it. Nature doesn't need explanation to be appreciated. In fact, it might even take away from it. Crap, maybe that can be expanded to poetry as a whole and thus this blog is the over-starched lecture that N walks away from. Hrmmm. Grumble.

I do love this poem though. I first read it back in middle school and felt that the whole truth of everything was in this poem. Because sometimes (that's my current voice, before, in high school, I would have said 'because it's always..') it's like that.

Information is golden. That is not the issue, I think. It's more needing to listen to your own intelligence and understand things in your own way. Taking things at your own pace and knowing how best you interact with the world. This poem tells how to approach the world. And ain't that a true old fashioned poetry concept? And it being a Whitman poem, it's written with such modern phrasing. Neat-o.

Favorite line: "Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself"

O Captain, My Captain (Walt Whitman)

Okay, it's true. I have little time to write a post tonight since I am minutes from leaving and when I return I am seconds from sleeping. So, another truth, I don't really like this poem by Walt Whitman.

I remember reading once that the Captain was Abraham Lincoln and that this poem was written in response to his assassination. The metaphor just doesn't do much for me. Lincoln is not my Captain, after all.

And again, there is that pesky rhyme. Well, only in the last stanza. But the rhymes run so close together that they clang when they should be underlines for the sentiments. I think that rhyme scheme is much better suited to comedy.

Okay, so that's enough dissing of the poem. What I do like is how clear the feelings of loss are in this poem. And I always like Whitman poems for breaking with the standard nicety of clean cut lines and stanzas.

Favorite line: "My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,/My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will"