WALT WHITMAN

Steve ZocherJustin Waters

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

HISTORY

Born May 31, 1819 in Long Island. Second of nine children. Served as publisher, editor, pressman,

and distributor of The Long Islander. In 1848 joined the Free Soil party in

New York Suffered a stroke in 1873. Died March 26, 1892.

HISTORY II

Fervently anti-slavery and held spiritual beliefs that coincided with ideas of deism

Most significant collection of poetry was entitled Leaves of Grass in 1855

Decided in 1850 to write poetry after his first novel wasn’t a success.

SEXUALITY

Assumed to be homosexual or bisexual. Possible lovers include Peter Doyle and

Bill Duckett. Whitman often depicted sexuality in his

poetry.

POETIC STYLES AND THEMES

Father of free verse. Used unusual symbols in his poetry,

such as rotting leaves and debris. Most common themes included death

and sexuality.

A GLIMPSE

A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around

the stove,late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;

Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and

seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of

drinking andoath and smutty jest,

There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,

perhaps not a word. 

TO A STRANGER

Passing stranger! you do not knowHow longingly I look upon you,You must be he I was seeking,Or she I was seeking(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surelyLived a life of joy with you,All is recall'd as we flit by each other,Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,Were a boy with me or a girl with me,I ate with you and slept with you, your body has becomenot yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,face, flesh as we pass,You take of my beard, breast, hands,in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of youwhen I sit alone or wake at night, aloneI am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you againI am to see to it that I do not lose you.

OH CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;                          But O heart! heart! heart!                             O the bleeding drops of red,                                Where on the deck my Captain lies,                                   Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;                          Here Captain! dear father!                             The arm beneath your head!                                It is some dream that on the deck,                                  You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;                          Exult O shores, and ring O bells!                             But I with mournful tread,                                Walk the deck my Captain lies,                                   Fallen cold and dead.

WALT WHITMAN

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyUTDJ72q9k

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdXhWS7lLvs

WORKS CITEDWhitman, Walt. "Walt Whitman Poems." N.p., 1 Mar. 2003. Web. 21 May 2013.