Posted on 05/31/2019 11:32:34 AM PDT by Borges
American poet Walt Whitman was born 200 years ago on May 31, 1819. His Leaves Of Grass has been called the most important book of American poetry ever. Yet in 1855, he could barely give it away.
(Excerpt) Read more at npr.org ...
I read that Bill Clinton gave Hillary that book when they were dating.
That is about all I know about it, but that is enough for me.
I suspect that he was not a molester but rather the "scandalous" nature of some of his poems had some consequences on how he was perceived. But maybe he really was a dirty old man, I don't know. All I know is that's what people said even though you'll never see that in a biography anywhere.
“Yet in 1855, he could barely give it away.”
This is true. It wasn’t until he sold out to the deep state of the time that his legacy was manufactured. Reading him without the hype and propaganda reveals he was nothing but a glorified writer of really long shopping lists.
It’s an LGBTQWERTY thing, as usual.
https://books.google.com/books/about/Walt_Whitman.html?id=OUCwAAAAIAAJ&source=kp_book_description
If Bill Clinton liked Beethoven would you also avoid his music?
I’ll make sure to sing the body electric.
I can’t stand to see a saxophone any more.
“Oh Captain, My Captain....”
BJ Clinton likes Communists and pedophiles.
Plenty of reason to avoid THEM.
What do you find appealing about Whitmans’s writing?
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!
This 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.
Not my thing, but I think we’re only seeing and discussing this because Big Media decided to foist his homo/bisexuality upon us.
He’s one of the most strikingly original poets of the 19th century.
OK, thanks.
My Post #12 sums up my thoughts.
The bicentennial of Julia Ward Howe, abolitionist, women’s rights advocate, and the author of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”, was a few days ago and it went almost unknown. But then she was a Christian, heterosexual.
At least he has the discipline of rhyme.
You can’t even get that nowadays. It’s
like nonrepresentational art.
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to.”
“Then it means you’re a fraud.”
He was highly regarded long before that.
Before that poem? I understand that.
Differing tastes.
Before the media was pushing the rainbow agenda. That period (1850s) is revered by American Lit scholars (Whitman, Hawthorne, Melville, Emerson, Thoreau, others)
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