Daily Whitman



Song of the Universal

  Come said the Muse,
  Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
  Sing me the universal.

  In this broad earth of ours,
  Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
  Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
  Nestles the seed perfection.

  By every life a share or more or less,
  None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.


Daily Whitman


Youth, Day, Old Age and Night

  Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth full of grace, force, fascination,
  Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace,
      force, fascination?

  Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action,
      ambition, laughter,
  The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and
      restoring darkness.


Daily Whitman

Circle of Life

A Song of the Rolling Earth

  These to echo the tones of souls and the phrases of souls,
  (If they did not echo the phrases of souls what were they then?
  If they had not reference to you in especial what were they then?)

  I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the faith that tells
      the best,
  I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the best untold.

  Say on, sayers! sing on, singers!
  Delve! mould! pile the words of the earth!
  Work on, age after age, nothing is to be lost,
  It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use,
  When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.

  I swear to you the architects shall appear without fall,
  I swear to you they will understand you and justify you,
  The greatest among them shall be he who best knows you, and encloses
      all and is faithful to all,
  He and the rest shall not forget you, they shall perceive that you
      are not an iota less than they,
  You shall be fully glorified in them.

Daily Whitman


A Song of the Rolling Earth

  I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall
      be complete,
  The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains
      jagged and broken.

  I swear there is no greatness or power that does not emulate those
      of the earth,
  There can be no theory of any account unless it corroborate the
      theory of the earth,
  No politics, song, religion, behavior, or what not, is of account,
      unless it compare with the amplitude of the earth,
  Unless it face the exactness, vitality, impartiality, rectitude of
      the earth.

  I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that which
      responds love,
  It is that which contains itself, which never invites and never refuses.

  I swear I begin to see little or nothing in audible words,
  All merges toward the presentation of the unspoken meanings of the earth,
  Toward him who sings the songs of the body and of the truths of the earth,
  Toward him who makes the dictionaries of words that print cannot touch.

  I swear I see what is better than to tell the best,
  It is always to leave the best untold.

  When I undertake to tell the best I find I cannot,
  My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots,
  My breath will not be obedient to its organs,
  I become a dumb man.

  The best of the earth cannot be told anyhow, all or any is best,
  It is not what you anticipated, it is cheaper, easier, nearer,
  Things are not dismiss'd from the places they held before,
  The earth is just as positive and direct as it was before,
  Facts, religions, improvements, politics, trades, are as real as before,
  But the soul is also real, it too is positive and direct,
  No reasoning, no proof has establish'd it,
  Undeniable growth has establish'd it.

Daily Whitman


A Song of the Rolling Earth

  Whoever you are! motion and reflection are especially for you,
  The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.

  Whoever you are! you are he or she for whom the earth is solid and liquid,
  You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the sky,
  For none more than you are the present and the past,
  For none more than you is immortality.

  Each man to himself and each woman to herself, is the word of the
      past and present, and the true word of immortality;
  No one can acquire for another—not one,
  Not one can grow for another—not one.

  The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him,
  The teaching is to the teacher, and comes back most to him,
  The murder is to the murderer, and comes back most to him,
  The theft is to the thief, and comes back most to him,
  The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him,
  The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him—it cannot fail,
  The oration is to the orator, the acting is to the actor and actress
      not to the audience,
  And no man understands any greatness or goodness but his own, or
      the indication of his own.

Daily Whitman

Rolling Plains


A Song of the Rolling Earth

  A song of the rolling earth, and of words according,
  Were you thinking that those were the words, those upright lines?
      those curves, angles, dots?
  No, those are not the words, the substantial words are in the ground
      and sea,
  They are in the air, they are in you.

  Were you thinking that those were the words, those delicious sounds
      out of your friends' mouths?
  No, the real words are more delicious than they.

  Human bodies are words, myriads of words,
  (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's,
      well-shaped, natural, gay,
  Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

  Air, soil, water, fire—those are words,
  I myself am a word with them—my qualities interpenetrate with
      theirs—my name is nothing to them,
  Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would
      air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?

  A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words,
      sayings, meanings,
  The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women,
      are sayings and meanings also.

  The workmanship of souls is by those inaudible words of the earth,
  The masters know the earth's words and use them more than audible words.

  Amelioration is one of the earth's words,
  The earth neither lags nor hastens,
  It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump,
  It is not half beautiful only, defects and excrescences show just as
      much as perfections show.

  The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough,
  The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so conceal'd either,
  They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print,
  They are imbued through all things conveying themselves willingly,
  Conveying a sentiment and invitation, I utter and utter,
  I speak not, yet if you hear me not of what avail am I to you?
  To bear, to better, lacking these of what avail am I?

  (Accouche! accouchez!
  Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there?
  Will you squat and stifle there?)

  The earth does not argue,
  Is not pathetic, has no arrangements,
  Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise,
  Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures,
  Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out,
  Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out.

  The earth does not exhibit itself nor refuse to exhibit itself,
      possesses still underneath,
  Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus of heroes, the
      wail of slaves,
  Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying, laughter of young
      people, accents of bargainers,
  Underneath these possessing words that never fall.

  To her children the words of the eloquent dumb great mother never fail,
  The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail and reflection
      does not fall,
  Also the day and night do not fall, and the voyage we pursue does not fall.

  Of the interminable sisters,
  Of the ceaseless cotillons of sisters,
  Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters,
  The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.

  With her ample back towards every beholder,
  With the fascinations of youth and the equal fascinations of age,
  Sits she whom I too love like the rest, sits undisturb'd,
  Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror, while her
      eyes glance back from it,
  Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying none,
  Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own face.

  Seen at hand or seen at a distance,
  Duly the twenty-four appear in public every day,
  Duly approach and pass with their companions or a companion,
  Looking from no countenances of their own, but from the countenances
      of those who are with them,
  From the countenances of children or women or the manly countenance,
  From the open countenances of animals or from inanimate things,
  From the landscape or waters or from the exquisite apparition of the sky,
  From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully returning them,
  Every day in public appearing without fall, but never twice with the
      same companions.

  Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and
      sixty-five resistlessly round the sun;
  Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred and
      sixty-five offsets of the first, sure and necessary as they.

  Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading,
  Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding, passing, carrying,
  The soul's realization and determination still inheriting,
  The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and dividing,
  No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock striking,
  Swift, glad, content, unbereav'd, nothing losing,
  Of all able and ready at any time to give strict account,
  The divine ship sails the divine sea.


Quote for the Week


We carry with us the wonders, we seek without us: There is all Africa, and her prodigies in us; we are that bold and adventurous piece of nature, which he that studies, wisely learns in a compendium, what others labour at in a divided piece and endless volume.

–Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, Section 15; courtesy of Wikiquote.

Daily Whitman


A Song for Occupations

  Will you seek afar off? you surely come back at last,
  In things best known to you finding the best, or as good as the best,
  In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest,
  Happiness, knowledge, not in another place but this place, not for
      another hour but this hour,
  Man in the first you see or touch, always in friend, brother,
      nighest neighbor—woman in mother, sister, wife,
  The popular tastes and employments taking precedence in poems or anywhere,
  You workwomen and workmen of these States having your own divine
      and strong life,
  And all else giving place to men and women like you.
  When the psalm sings instead of the singer,

  When the script preaches instead of the preacher,
  When the pulpit descends and goes instead of the carver that carved
      the supporting desk,
  When I can touch the body of books by night or by day, and when they
      touch my body back again,
  When a university course convinces like a slumbering woman and child
  When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the night-watchman's daughter,
  When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite and are my friendly
  I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do
      of men and women like you.

Bach for the Weekend (Performed by Yo-Yo Ma)

Daily Whitman


A Song for Occupations

  Will the whole come back then?
  Can each see signs of the best by a look in the looking-glass? is
      there nothing greater or more?
  Does all sit there with you, with the mystic unseen soul?

  Strange and hard that paradox true I give,
  Objects gross and the unseen soul are one.

  House-building, measuring, sawing the boards,
  Blacksmithing, glass-blowing, nail-making, coopering, tin-roofing,
  Ship-joining, dock-building, fish-curing, flagging of sidewalks by flaggers,
  The pump, the pile-driver, the great derrick, the coal-kiln and brickkiln,
  Coal-mines and all that is down there, the lamps in the darkness,
      echoes, songs, what meditations, what vast native thoughts
      looking through smutch'd faces,
  Iron-works, forge-fires in the mountains or by river-banks, men
      around feeling the melt with huge crowbars, lumps of ore, the
      due combining of ore, limestone, coal,
  The blast-furnace and the puddling-furnace, the loup-lump at the
      bottom of the melt at last, the rolling-mill, the stumpy bars
      of pig-iron, the strong clean-shaped Trail for railroads,
  Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works, the sugar-house,
      steam-saws, the great mills and factories,
  Stone-cutting, shapely trimmings for facades or window or door-lintels,
      the mallet, the tooth-chisel, the jib to protect the thumb,
  The calking-iron, the kettle of boiling vault-cement, and the fire
      under the kettle,
  The cotton-bale, the stevedore's hook, the saw and buck of the
      sawyer, the mould of the moulder, the working-knife of the
      butcher, the ice-saw, and all the work with ice,
  The work and tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block-maker,
  Goods of gutta-percha, papier-mache, colors, brushes, brush-making,
      glazier's implements,
  The veneer and glue-pot, the confectioner's ornaments, the decanter
      and glasses, the shears and flat-iron,
  The awl and knee-strap, the pint measure and quart measure, the
      counter and stool, the writing-pen of quill or metal, the making
      of all sorts of edged tools,
  The brewery, brewing, the malt, the vats, every thing that is done
      by brewers, wine-makers, vinegar-makers,
  Leather-dressing, coach-making, boiler-making, rope-twisting,
      distilling, sign-painting, lime-burning, cotton-picking,
      electroplating, electrotyping, stereotyping,
  Stave-machines, planing-machines, reaping-machines,
      ploughing-machines, thrashing-machines, steam wagons,
  The cart of the carman, the omnibus, the ponderous dray,
  Pyrotechny, letting off color'd fireworks at night, fancy figures and jets;
  Beef on the butcher's stall, the slaughter-house of the butcher, the
      butcher in his killing-clothes,
  The pens of live pork, the killing-hammer, the hog-hook, the
      scalder's tub, gutting, the cutter's cleaver, the packer's maul,
      and the plenteous winterwork of pork-packing,
  Flour-works, grinding of wheat, rye, maize, rice, the barrels and
      the half and quarter barrels, the loaded barges, the high piles
      on wharves and levees,
  The men and the work of the men on ferries, railroads, coasters,
      fish-boats, canals;
  The hourly routine of your own or any man's life, the shop, yard,
      store, or factory,
  These shows all near you by day and night—workman! whoever you
      are, your daily life!

  In that and them the heft of the heaviest—in that and them far more
      than you estimated, (and far less also,)
  In them realities for you and me, in them poems for you and me,
  In them, not yourself-you and your soul enclose all things,
      regardless of estimation,
  In them the development good—in them all themes, hints, possibilities.

  I do not affirm that what you see beyond is futile, I do not advise
      you to stop,
  I do not say leadings you thought great are not great,
  But I say that none lead to greater than these lead to.

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