Project Evidence

For my Whitman project, I am revising and building upon my post on Whitman's reviewers. Check the previous post for what I want to do specifically with it.

Anyway, the evidence of learning that I'm considering presenting will probably take the form of a Socratic dialogue between different reviewers arguing and sharing their opinions on Whitman's work. The reason I want to make it a dialogue is because that way it's more like a conversation and there is a negotiating process between the reviewers (and perhaps Whitman might be there incognito) on what good poetry is supposed to be.

Project Development

I would like to develop my blog post about Whitman's reviewers.

A few things I want to do:

-Take a closer look at all the other reviews, particularly the ones written by Whitman.

-Find out why so many reviewers felt the need to talk about him.

-Filter out what it is about Whitman's poetry that is being focused on and what is being mentioned the most.

-Take note of the passages that the reviewers choose to represent his poetry and evaluate its accurateness.

-Further develop how the reviewers interpret Whitman.

-Fully answer what the reviewers believe to be poetry and why Whitman's divergence has made him the so-called father of American poetry. And then answer as to the purpose of poetry in carving out identity and social distinctions.

Tweet-a-week: Peter Doyle

Peter Doyle was Walt Whitman's lover.

But before we get into that, there should be some mention of Whitman's sexuality. It is generally accepted that Whitman was homosexual or at the very least bisexual. Oscar Wilde seems to think so and I'm sure he knows what he's talking about. However, Whitman himself has never commented on his sexuality or openly admitted to anything. All instances or evidence of his sexuality are only related through second hand sources.

Peter Doyle is undeniably Whitman's intimate friend who is assumed to have also been his lover. The two met in 1865 on a streetcar in Washington DC. At the time Whitman was 45 years old while Doyle was 21. Doyle was conducting the streetcar while Whitman was the only passenger seated. During that moment, the two became "the biggest of friends". The two were inseparable and openly affectionate towards each other. Friends and family knew of their intimate relationship and Doyle was often invited over to have dinner with Whitman and his family. As much as Whitman wanted it, the two never managed to live together since Doyle needed to stay at home to care of his widowed mother and siblings. Doyle was influential on Whitman's poems, particularly "O Captain! My Captain!" since Doyle was actually present during Lincoln's assassination.

16.4 was Whitman's nickname for Doyle, the numbers corresponding to the letters of the alphabet, 16 being P and 4 being D. Occasionally Whitman talked of Doyle in this manner in his journal. Later in his life, the pronoun for 16.4 changed from "him" to "her", suggesting that Whitman could never fully accept the public sphere knowing that he may have a more than friendly relationship with another man. Although this isn't too surprising due to his career and the times he was living in. Doyle and Whitman remained close till Whitman's death.

Tweet-a-Week:

Martin F. Tupper (1810-1889) was an English writer and poet. He had a rather distinguished and religious upbringing and was a scholarly type of man. Throughout his life he wrote and published many works of prose and poetry and was rather well-known in his day. Although he wasn't always thought of fondly (to be considered "Tupperish" by a reviewer was never good). However, if one were to mention his name, not many people would even have an inkling as to who he was, but he was influential in his own right.

Tupper was also Whitman's British contemporary and unsurprisingly, the two were inevitably compared as Matt Cohen points out in his article "Martin Tupper, Walt Whitman, and the Early Reviews of Leaves of Grass". A reviewer in 1856 basically says that if Tupper was banished to the middle of nowhere and was stuck reading Emerson and Carlyle until he lost his mind to the point hhe thought he was the "American Shakespeare", he would've written "a book exactly like Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.

Ouch.

Although the reviewers seem to want to make the connection between Whitman and Tupper, they are quite different. What in the world could a upper-class Oxford man have to do with Whitman the b'hoy? Well, Cohen thinks that Whitman's poetry was shaped by Tupper's wonderfully quotable Proverbial Philosophy, a series of didactic writing any and every topic worth philosophizing about.

it is suggested that they had never met. Their ideologies are quite different (since Tupper was more of the upper aristocratic class while Whitman is a b'hoy). However, as pointed out by Cohen, there are similar properties between "Song of Myself" and Proverbial Philosophy. These are the two examples

I am untamed, a spirit free and fleet,

That cannot brook the studious yoke, nor be

Like some dull grazing ox without a soul,

But feeling racer's shoes upon my feet

Before my teacher starts, I touch the goal.

-"Are you a Great Reader?"

versus

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?

It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
-"Song of Myself"

Cohen writes that that it would be quite interesting to consider that Whitman, the b'hoy, was influenced and shaped by Tupper. Although, even if Whitman was influenced by Tupper, it's not exactly wrong. After all, Whitman is supposed to be all encompassing in his poetry.

Whitman in popular culture

1. Gilmore Girls

The Gilmore Girls is a rather quirky TV show centering around a mother and a daughter and their lives in a small town named Stars Hollow. The daughter, Rory Gilmore, is a voracious reader and lover of pop culture. Along with other references to authors like Charles Dickens, Dorothy Parker, Sylvia Plath, Allen Ginsberg and etc, there is also one for Whitman.

Here is a short excerpt from the script:

(Rory pulls out an antique book her grandparents gave her as a gift)

Rory: Oh, my God, it's amazing!

Richard: Leaves of Grass in Greek. A hundred years old, some beautiful engravings. "Leaves of Grass" is a collection of poems by American poet Walt Whitman. It consists one of the best known poems is "O Captain! My Captain!

Unfortunately, there are no real interpretations of Whitman in this particular episode. However, it does show that Whitman, other than a poet, is a cultural icon and functions as "cultural capital". In other words, there is something sophisticated and valuable about owning an early edition of "Leaves of Grass". Some kids would rather have the newest and most expensive apple gadget for a present, while in this show anyway, it is classier and cooler (or more hipster?) to own an antique book.

In another episode, Whitman is once again brought up, but this time in a high school classroom.

MAX: On Monday we will start a two week of creative writing exercise, but that doesn't mean we stop reading. One of the greatest inspirations of working writers is the writing of other that they admire. Walt Whitman read Homer, Dante, Shakespeare. And the novelist Edna O'Brien has been quoted as saying 'that every writer should read some Proust every day' Now, at this point, normally I would impress the partens by pulling out a copy of Proust's 'Swann's Way' and reading a particularly difficult passage but alas, you're all saved. I have misplaced my copy. (bell rings) Oh that does is - parent's thanks for coming, students - papers on Whitman are due tomorrow and those of you who are just starting tonight - I'll be able to tell.

Although once again, there is no interpretation of Whitman's poetry, the interesting thing here is in the line "Walt Whitman read Homer, Dante, Shakespeare". As is established already, Whitman drew his sources from many aspects of life, not just the classics. In a way, popular culture to day seems to be trying to elevate Whitman as an elite alongside Homer, Dante, and Shakespeare. There is no mention of all the more less prestigious poets that influenced Whitman's writings, only other recognizable poets are listed. In this sense, the show is promoting Whitman, but for all the wrong reasons.

2. "Song of Myself" by Nightwish

Nightwish is a Finnish symphonic metal band. "Song of Myself" is a song on their seventh album Imaginaerum.

The Lyrics:

[1. From A Dusty Bookshelf]

[2. All That Great Heart Lying Still]

The nightingale is still locked in the cage

The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs

An old oak sheltering me from the blue

Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart

She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts

Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride

Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me, a song in need

Of a courageous symphony

A verse of me, a verse in need

Of a pure heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

All that great heart lying still

In silent suffering

Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end

What is left for encore

Is the same old dead boy's song

Sung in silence

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods

A princess and a panther by my side

These are Territories I live for

I'd still give my everything to love you more

A song of me, a song in need

Of a courageous symphony

A verse of me, a verse in need

Of a pure heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

Now all that great heart lying still

In silent suffering

Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end

What is left for encore

Is the same old dead boy's song

Sung in silence

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

[3. Piano Black]

A silent symphony

A hollow opus #1,2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black

Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore

Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black

Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying

All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

[4. Love]

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,

A begging bowl in his shaking hand.

Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.

I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic

It's half-light and he's in tears.

When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.

All pride has left his wild, drooling eyes.

I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.

She's never loved him more.

Arabesque girl enters an elevator with me.

All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.

Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.

She's going to dinner, alone.

That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.

A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.

A city that worships flesh.

The first thing I ever heard,

was a wandering man telling his story

It was you, the grass under my bare feet

The campfire in the dead of night

The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us,

Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches

Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn

Bathing in places no one's seen before

Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island

Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature

In early air of the dawn of life

A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,

following its permanent lead

Where the air tastes like snow music

Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden

I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture

I would bathe in a world of sensation

Love, goodness and simplicity

(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment

I used to experience true love

That love remains infinite,

as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"

when you don't know who you are?

Stop saying "I know how you feel"

How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,

whore, politician, wrongdoer?

I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play

Forget every rule

There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"

- a child asked me

"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then

I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war

Nothing noble in dying for your religion

For your country

For ideology, for faith

For another man,

Yes

Paper is dead without words

Ink idle without a poem

All the world dead without stories

Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?

All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?

Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?

Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is

All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder

If man will ever change

I, too, wish to be a decent man-boy but all I am

Is smoke and mirrors

Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to E-Minor

Okay... where to begin? The song itself is not too far from the deviation of what you would expect from symphonic metal. The line that specifically references Whitman (so to make it a direct reference in case the title "Song of Myself" was just some funny coincidence) is the second verse where Whitman is thrown in there with mermaids and raving harlequins in the speaker's catnap in a ghost town. As to what that means, your guess is as good as mine.

The fourth part of the song is the most Whitmanian I feel. For example, these lines parallel Whitman's "Song of Myself":

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"

- a child asked me

"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

And these are about themes that Whitman also bring up in his poems:

Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden

I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture

I would bathe in a world of sensation

Love, goodness and simplicity

(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

In these lines of the verse, there is talk of grass and the world of sensation, but the last line does take a large step away from Whitman. Now Whitman is not against technology, material objects are not good or bad, they're just tools for men to use as they see fit. But in the lyrics, technology comes off as oppressive. Although the lyrics themselves are reminiscent of Whitman, there is an evident pessimism in the writer's tone. There is the theme of seeing things as they truly are and accepting the bad along with the good, but there is definitely a criticism of modern society.

2. Bob's Burgers

"Bob's landlord, Mr. Fischoeder, tells Bob that he is an artist, a Beef-artist, a poet who writes with meat and buns and pickles, like a greasy, heterosexual Walt Whitman." - from Popisms.

Unlike Gilmore Girls, which is targeted more towards high school students and bored moms, Bob's Burgers caters to a larger audience demographic. It also centers around a working class family of relatively ambiguous ethnicity, which is unusual. Similar shows (The Simpsons, Family Guy, American Dad) are also about working class families, but there was never really all that much emphasis on the "working" part. I think Whitman would've been very pleased (at least the 1855 Whitman) to see his name mentioned in the show.

SD: A Discovery of Old Age

"Perhaps the best is always cumulative. One's eating and drinking one wants fresh, and for the nonce, right roff, and have done with it -- but I would not give a straw for that person or poem, or friend, or city, or work of art, that was not more grateful the second time than the first -- and more still the third. Nay, I do not believe any grandest eligibility ever comes forth at first. In my own experience, (persons, poems, places, characters,) I discover the best hardly ever at first, (no absolute rule against it however,) sometimes suddenly bursting forth, or stealthily opening to me, perhaps after years of unwitting familiarity, unappreciation, usage."

This entry caught my eye because it was addressing old age. However, it is also addressing things about Whitman's life like his experiences with poetry. The first is not necessarily the best, in fact, as Whitman would say, never the best. This explains why Whitman decides to keep revising "Leaves of Grass" up until his death bed. The enjoyment of poetry, in a sense, is to see its evolution.

In that sense, we could read "Song of Myself" by seeing the similar motifs and how they change overtime in the poem. Things change meanings over time and other things accumulate all meanings. As Whitman says "perhaps the best is cumulative", that could also be said for meaning. "What is the grass?" is what grass has always been since the beginning of time to the present, which is "the flag of my disposition" or "the handkercheif of the lord" and etc. There is another few stanzas that really reiterate the point that Whitman was trying to make about the all encompassing "essence" of everything.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,

And ceas'd the moment life appear'd

The entry perfectly illustrates the point Whitman is trying to make or vice-versa.

Leaves of... what? Reviewing Whitman.

If there is one thing that Whitman's contemporaries thought, it was that he was a bit crazy. Maybe not crazy in a bad way per say (some would disagree), but still enough to send shockwaves through the literary community. Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" was an unprecedented work for his contemporaries, leaving many stunned for the appropriate words to "explain" the poetry (which is probably why a handful of the reviews simply ended up quoting a large block of text from the preface of the book). More or less, some reviews were rather positive, others negative, but everyone was at least, astonished and a little bit perplexed.

Charles Eliot Norton from Putnam's Monthly: A Magazine of Literature, Science, And Arts defines Whitman's work as a "lawless collection". He reproaches Whitman for his lack of poetic devices and his crude language, writing:

"The writer's scorn for the wonted usages of good writing; extends to the vocabulary he adopts; words usually banished from polite society are here employed without reserve and with perfect indifference to their effect on the reader's mind; and not only is the book one not to be read aloud to a mixed audience, but the introduction of terms, never before heard or seen, and of slang expressions, often renders an otherwise striking passage altogether laughable."'

As shown, Norton's review did not cast Whitman in a positive light. However, he later makes of point of saying that Whitman's mix of "New England transcendentalist and New York rowdy" is profound in its own right. He gives a long list of the "gems" he considered worthy of notice that he found in the poetry. But, being a somewhat bad reviewer, he fails to mention what exactly about those passages that made Whitman at least, worth reviewing. But Norton's analysis of Whitman's poetry shows that that much of the literary world of Whitman's time was not used to free verse and did not know what to make of it. Poetry was supposed to have form. Poetry is high literature not to be bastardized by Whitman's "wonted usages of good writing".

On the other hand there are the reviewers that believe Whitman's poetry was refreshingly unique. An Anonymous reviewer from Life Illustrated (find review here), is one of those readers that are inclined to look favorably upon things that are "new" and "peculiar". The reviewer writes: "It is like no other book that ever was written, and therefore, the language usually employed in notices of new publications is unavailable in describing it." Essentially, Whitman's work is in a category of its own and the standard criteria of "good poetry" could not possibly be applied. The reviewer proclaims that the work is something that "respectable people would pronounce perfect nonsense, but which free-souled persons, here and there, will read and chuckle over with real delight." Now, many of these reviewers of the literary crowd are rather part of the respectable crowd, so it is hard to say what the teeming passes really thought of his poetry, but it is safe to say that, along with the respectable crowd, the "free-souled persons" aren't exactly the majority either. Whitman, in this review, is seen as breaking new ground in poetry and it was quite exciting for many like-minded individuals to see. For this reviewer, poetry is all about the "striking" and "beautiful", but also about a novel way of expressing oneself through words. Unsurprisingly, Whitman was probably quite popular with the more Bohemian crowds and like-minded radicals.

Then there is the third review, which is somewhere in between the first two. Published anonymously in The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, the review is titled "'Leaves of Grass' - An Extraordinary Book". The review begins by pointing out the ways in which "Leaves of Grass" is nothing like what people who imagine as poetry. In order to explain this phenomenon, the reviewer takes a chunk of text from the preface where Whitman states that his poetry is crafted on behalf and as representative of the common man. The common man is "unrhymed poetry". Poetry with rhyme would not be fitting for the every day working class. Now, the reviewer praises Whitman for this, going on to list several important passages that are essential to the poem such as the moment when the child asks Whitman what grass is and the twenty-ninth bather. The reviewer finds Whitman's praise for not only the winners of life, but also it's losers profound. "He does not pick and choose sentiments and expressions fit for general circulation - he gives a voice to whatever is, whatever we see, and hear, and think, and feel." The reviewer is evidently enamored by Whitman's nondiscriminatory poetry. The poem "defies criticism". Like the previous review, it is poetry that can't be accurately judged or even should be judged. But however much the reviewer does praise Whitman, there is also an understanding that the poetry can be difficult and challenging for many.

The reviewer does not claim that the poem is perfect in any way, but with the message that Whitman is trying to deliver, it might not be necessary for it to be perfect in the first place. After all, the common man is full of these discrepancies of good and bad, of boring and entertaining, of ugly and beautiful. There are mistakes and contradictions, but that's what life is all about. This last review really shows that Whitman was writing "Leaves of Grass" during a time that did not entirely share his views on what poetry is supposed to be, but it also shows that there is a good amount of intrigue for something that defies the literary norm, poetry that breaks through class barriers and distinctions.

So what is poetry supposed to do? If someone were to write a poem for publication, certainly there must be a purpose behind it or we would all just be closet poets scribbling away our dreams for our own satisfaction and review. What is the point of the pain-staking dedication to rhyme and meter? Our lives aren't structured, and as cool as it would be, we don't speak in iambic. Poetry is challenging and many people don't really get it (myself included).

Then why do I read poetry? To be honest, I am not entirely sure. I suppose I like how the words sound in my ears and the images and feelings they evoke. But if that were all, is there really any reason why a poem should be... say in a strict sonnet form? Why not let it be completely in free verse and see where it goes from there? And, why not just listen to music with well written lyrics if it were purely for auditory and emotional pleasure. I suppose there is something private about poetry, a message in a bottle so to speak. Sometimes, not even the poets know what they're going to write until the pen reaches the paper, and they write, as if possessed to solidify some hidden message coming from a very faraway place deep inside.

But that's all just rambling. I don't really know. "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself."

Additional Comments (in response to Professor Hanley's Question):

So what is in it for the readers and critics who demand poetic structure and why is it needed for poetry? Well... in every day life there are not JUST words. There are expressions that accompany spoken words that really charge it with meaning and emotion. Similar to that of music, the duple meter is for grooving on the dance floor while the triple meter is for waltzing. Certain rhythms give off certain emotional qualities. The structure of the poem, the aesthetic structure, could be said to be the poem's "face". If regular theater was prose, then the equivalent of poetry would be opera. Maybe occasionally it's not so much a Puccini Opera as much as it's a Rock Opera (or maybe even... Hip-hopera??), but it's a "higher form" nonetheless.