Selections from Leaves of Grass

by Walt Whitman

With an introduction by Walter Lowenfels.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Classic Literature, Read For School, Literature

115 pages, Hardcover

Published January 1, 1961

About the author

Walter Whitman Jr. was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. He is considered one of the most influential poets in American literature. Whitman incorporated both transcendentalism and realism in his writings and is often called the father of free verse. His work was controversial in his time, particularly his 1855 poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described by some as obscene for its overt sensuality.
Whitman was born in Huntington on Long Island, and lived in Brooklyn as a child and through much of his career. At the age of 11, he left formal schooling to go to work. He worked as a journalist, a teacher, and a government clerk. Whitman's major poetry collection, Leaves of Grass, first published in 1855, was financed with his own money and became well known. The work was an attempt to reach out to the common person with an American epic. Whitman continued expanding and revising Leaves of Grass until his death in 1892.
During the American Civil War, he went to Washington, D.C., and worked in hospitals caring for the wounded. His poetry often focused on both loss and healing. On the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, whom Whitman greatly admired, he authored two poems, "O Captain! My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd", and gave a series of lectures on Lincoln. After suffering a stroke towards the end of his life, Whitman moved to Camden, New Jersey, where his health further declined. When he died at the age of 72, his funeral was a public event.
Whitman's influence on poetry remains strong. Art historian Mary Berenson wrote, "You cannot really understand America without Walt Whitman, without Leaves of Grass... He has expressed that civilization, 'up to date,' as he would say, and no student of the philosophy of history can do without him." Modernist poet Ezra Pound called Whitman "America's poet... He is America."

Reviews

[Realini Ionescu · Rating 5 out of 5]

Selections from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, author of Song of Myself http://realini.blogspot.com/2016/06/s... and other mesmerizing works

10 out of 10





Walt Whitman has been a remarkable presence in the life of yours truly, for a few reasons, first of all the intrinsic value of the Poet of America – it would be interesting to find what he would have made of what is going on there now, would he reject in horror the Orange Jesus aka OJ that over seventy million cherish (and would put him in the White House again, if elections were held these days) or embrace him



After all, another luminary that I admire, David Mamet of Glengarry Glen Ross http://realini.blogspot.com/2023/05/g... fame, is a Trump fan, as hard to accept, or digest that can be; one could be a massive talent in one way, and a calamity in others

In our youth, alas, back in the eighties, we have had a show called Poezia Muzicii Tinere aka Poetry of Young Music, where the Creator, Host of the One-Man-Show was Florian Pittis, a fabulous actor (presumed to be gay, in the Ceausescu days, when that was anathema) would recite from Walt Whitman



The music was The Beatles – they are studied in Outliers http://realini.blogspot.com/2023/05/g... the classic of psychology by Malcolm Gladwell, as evidence for the ten thousand hours of exercise, practice over the years theory

The Beatles have been performing in Germany, in a nightclub, for night after night, starting early in the evening, and finishing late in the night, conforming to the notion that with plenty of exercise, taken daily, one could get to the top – in interviews with the public, they said that ‘yes, The Beatles were good’, but they would get spectacular, only after a lot of practicing the routine, which the secret of success



Indeed, another formidable work, this time a film about the first important female music conductor, called De Dirigent, what else http://realini.blogspot.com/2019/03/t... has the protagonist say ‘if I do not exercise for one day, I will know, if this happens for two days, then the orchestra is aware, and if it goes on for three whole days, it will be the audience that finds it’

Returning to Walt Whitman for a second, he was so glorious that we had whole nights with him in the menu – I will return to this idea, but not before including a belated spoiler alert (yes, I will tell you what happens at the end, only I do not yet know for which poem) warning and disclaimer to prevent you from wasting any more time with the rest of this, futile as it must be now, given that if you read this, you are half way through, and there must be something wrong with you, so much so that any alert, sign will be ineffective



We had a good friend, called Mercus Norocel, who is in the meantime in heaven, if such a thing exists, and if some of his darker corners were not really much more hideous than we would never know – his sexual orientation was unclear to me, which is fine, except for a few fractions of a second when I was wondering if there is no horrendous secret there, in the jokes with kids – who was a fan of Pittis

How much was the actor and what was the awe for Walt Whitman is also impossible to separate, and what would be the point, but whatever the incentive, Norocel knew by heart the PMT, whole poems, passages from Song of Myself and Leaves of Grass http://realini.blogspot.com/2013/09/l... which he would share with us



We would have parties, soirees when the highlight, main attraction would be Norocel reciting, and he could go on for hours – if the limited audience was erudite, culturally inclined enough to take more than a few verses – because he had a fabulous memory, alongside Leaves of Grass he would put more in

He was part of the group, but at the same time, friendly, malleable, he would say he comes to join us, but then on the way, he would meet with another team of colleagues, say at the Faculty of Architecture, who would shout to him ‘Norocel, come over here, to have a beer with us’ and too shy, polite and influenceable to refuse, he would please those beer drinkers, and upset us, for he would be absent…



Somehow, he got married to a woman from Moldova, perhaps it was Bacau, and he came with her to the house, then invited us to a flat on Titulescu, which was so close to my aunt that I had to sneak in to see him – the aunt had been married in the commie days to the head of the party cell at the Metro, and due to that privileged position, they had food, sometimes too much, it would spoil and then send it to us…

This is at least how mother saw it, albeit the opposite, perhaps the more truthful view was that they helped us survive, in the communist paradise, which was so well described by George Orwell http://realini.blogspot.com/2023/09/n... in one of his masterpieces, ‘animals were indeed equal, only some animals were more equal than others’…Norocel died

He would have a heart attack in the bathroom, his father, Mineralogy Professor Mercus, would tell me…the professor has been one of my examiners, and before his test, there had been a football match, which I was supposed to skip to prepare for Mineralogy, but he knew from Norocel how I broke my hand and joked about it…



Now for a question, and invitation – maybe you have a good idea on how we could make more than a million dollars with this http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/02/u... – as it is, this is a unique technique, which we could promote, sell, open the Oscars show with or something and then make lots of money together, if you have the how, I have the product, I just do not know how to get the befits from it, other than the exercise per se



As for my role in the Revolution that killed Ceausescu, a smaller Mao, there it is http://realini.blogspot.com/2022/03/r...

Some favorite quotes from To The Heritage and other works

‘Fiction is infinitely preferable to real life...As long as you avoid the books of Kafka or Beckett, the everlasting plot of fiction has fewer futile experiences than the careless plot of reality...Fiction's people are fuller, deeper, cleverer, more moving than those in real life…Its actions are more intricate, illuminating, noble, profound…There are many more dramas, climaxes, romantic fulfillment, twists, turns, gratified resolutions…Unlike reality, all of this you can experience without leaving the house or even getting out of bed…What's more, books are a form of intelligent human greatness, as stories are a higher order of sense…As random life is to destiny, so stories are to great authors, who provided us with some of the highest pleasures and the most wonderful mystifications we can find…Few stories are greater than Anna Karenina, that wise epic by an often foolish author…’

‚parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus’

“From Monty Python - The Meaning of Life...Well, it's nothing very special...Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.”

[ZaRi]

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,
Whispering, I love you, before long I die,
I have travell’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you,
For I could not die till I once look’d on you,
For I fear’d I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe,
Return in peace to the ocean my love,
I too am part of that ocean, my love, we are not so much separated,
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;
Be not impatient – a little space – know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land,
Every day at sundown for your dear sake, my love.

[Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

My favorite thing about reading this book is that one night I read a part of a poem I liked, Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, to my 10 year old son. The next evening when he was ready for bed he asked, "Could you read some more of that Walt Whitman poetry to me?" Although it's sometimes difficult to read it's obvious that there is beauty in most of the words. We talked about how one theme is that he is talking and you are listening, but also he feels that since you are listening (reading), that the poet knows you as well. And it's very nice to know Mr. Whitman.

[Eugenea Pollock · Rating 5 out of 5]

So many iconic poems (Song of Myself, I Hear America Singing, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed, O Captain! My Captain!) fill these pages that it’s hard to know where to begin. So I will confine my comments to the last 20% of the book, which deals with the Civil War and the poet’s last years. Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night placed me right there with a dying soldier, a “brave boy” whose wounds were too mortal to treat. And I marched beside the troops on “...The Road Unknown” going where?? I mourned Lincoln’s death over a century and a half ago as if it were yesterday because Whitman put me in that time and place, thanks to a couple of those iconic poems. But So Long! affected me profoundly. It made Whitman real to me as a person in the here and now. “Camerado, this is no book,/Who touches this touches a man,/(Is it night? are we here together alone?)/It is I you hold and who holds you,/I spring from the pages into your arms—decease calls me forth.” He goes on to describe the timeless contact through fingers, breath, pulse, kiss—all generated by his words into the reader’s ears. Do yourself a favor—read it, close your eyes, time travel, meet the man himself. It is a remarkable literary experience.

[Linda DiMeo Lowman · Rating 5 out of 5]

So much of Whitman's poetry in Leaves of Grass is to be savored, like a sunset or a walk on the beach or a stroll in the rain. Nature is firmly rooted in his poetry, hence the title. His poetry about the Civil War captures the fervor and devastation that came with it. Finally, can you imagine anyone writing a poem like Oh Captain! My Captain! upon the death of any other sitting president except Abraham Lincoln?

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

There's something about reading Whitman that feels like you are listening to a friend. It's very personal and it's very loving. Whitman tells the truth and you feel his love of himself and his fellow men is because he sees beauty in the flaws and imperfections- and he says it infinitely better than that. It's a lot like having a wise uncle who brings clarity and calm when you are feeling troubled about things that don't really matter but need to be acknowledged.

[Anne Bennett · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved everything about my first Walt Whitman reading experience except the font size and style. I know that is a dumb thing to say, but honestly, font counts.

Check out my review of
my maiden voyage with Whitman here

[Ocean · Rating 3 out of 5]

What a bizarre choice it was to start off the book with such a long and arduous poem!
I liked some bits, disliked others. I listened to some poems read aloud on YouTube and it helped to make it come to life..
Not my prefered poetry style but memorable nonetheless. Glad to have expanded my horizons.

[Ratatoskr · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read the edition edited by Christopher Morley with illustrations by Lewis C. Daniel.

[Margaret McLane]

My copy, Inscribed:
"Dear Dinny, 10/10/75
. . . Love, Cathy"

[Ana · Rating 2 out of 5]

Yeesh, it took forever to get past that 52 part long poem at the start of the book, but after that I found that I actually kind of liked Walt Whitman's poetry. Most of this book was read in October, because that 52 part poem really was killer.

[E · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first read Whitman in my junior year of high school (thank you, Mrs. McClanahan). My mother gave me this edition when I graduated from high school in 1976. I have loved Whitman ever since. Even overexposure in graduate school did not take that away from me.

[Squire Whitney: Hufflepuff Book Reviwer · Rating 2 out of 5]

"We frolic in the meadow all day long!" This was all I got from this disjointed, peculiar, and rambling poem.