martedì 15 maggio 2012

Foglie d'erba - Walt Whitman


                                                     (Leaves of Grass - 1855)


O 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!
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.

O capitano! Mio capitano! il nostro viaggio tremendo è finito,
La nave ha superato ogni tempesta, l'ambito premio è vinto,
Il porto è vicino, odo le campane, il popolo è esultante,
Gli occhi seguono la solida chiglia, l'audace e altero vascello;
Ma o cuore! cuore! cuore!
O rosse gocce sanguinanti sul ponte
Dove è disteso il mio Capitano
Caduto morto, freddato.

O capitano! Mio capitano! àlzati e ascolta le campane; àlzati,
Svetta per te la bandiera, trilla per te la tromba, per te
I mazzi di fiori, le ghirlande coi nastri, le rive nere di folla,
Chiamano te, le masse ondeggianti, i volti fissi impazienti,
Qua capitano! padre amato!
Questo braccio sotto il tuo capo!
È un puro sogno che sul ponte
Cadesti morto, freddato.

Ma non risponde il mio capitano, immobili e bianche le sue labbra,
Mio padre non sente il mio braccio, non ha più polso e volere;
La nave è ancorata sana e salva, il viaggio è finito,
Torna dal viaggio tremendo col premio vinto la nave;
Rive esultate, e voi squillate, campane!
Io con passo angosciato cammino sul ponte
Dove è disteso il mio capitano
Caduto morto, freddato.


Capolavoro assoluto della letteratura americana e pietra miliare della democrazia, questo fantastico libro è da conservare gelosamente, non fosse altro per capire meglio l'America stessa. Il capitano ovviamente è Lincoln, il cui assassinio sconvolse Whitman. 
La poesia è entrata nella raccolta nel 1865, in una delle tante edizioni successive.
Questa è l'introduzione a Foglie d'Erba:


Come, said my soul,
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)
Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning—as, first, I here and now
Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,
Walt Whitman


Senti, m'informò l'anima,
Scriviamo per il corpo (siamo infatti una cosa), versi tali,
Che, dopo morte, dovessi invisibil tornare,
O, più tardi, più tardi, in altre sfere,
A un gruppo di compagni i miei canti riprendere,
(In accordo con suono, alberi, venti della terra, tumulto delle onde),
Possa con soddisfatto sorriso continuare,
A sempre riconoscere miei questi versi - come, qui ed ora,
per la prima volta,
Firmando per anima e corpo, il nome mio v'appongo,
Walt Whitman



Walt Withman (USA 1819-1892)

43 commenti:

  1. Ho riconosciuto la poesia, viene declamata a difesa di Robin Williams dagli studenti ne "L'attimo fuggente" di Peter Weir. Rappresenta ancora oggi l'ideale americano di democrazia, nel senso di combattere tutti i soprusi e difendere i deboli, a costo di morirne. Oggi conosciamo tutti l'estensione reale di questo concetto, che ai tempi di Whitman era ancora sconosciuto.

    RispondiElimina
  2. La poesia è immediatezza è una sorta di partecipazione viscerale tra il poeta e chi ne beneficia, senza necessità di mediazione alcuna
    Nella scena iniziale del film "L'attimo fuggente " il protagonista, professor Keating,interpretato dallo splendido Robin Williams,strappa le pagine della prefazione, dell'introduzione e della lettura critica del manuale di letteratura, perché è convinto che la poesia sia un rapporto diretto tra l'autore ed il lettore,che nasca dal cuore e parli al cuore, senza intermediari.
    Witman è un poeta che ha avuto il pregio di incarnare i sentimenti più profondi di un'America che piano piano stava definendo la propria identità
    Solo attraverso un poeta è possibile percepire l'immediatezza e il senso di un popolo, di una nazione e Whitman è la voce dell'America, l'interprete di quel mito del Nuovo Mondo che è poi il mito della Libertà e della Democrazia. Nel 1819,anno della sua nascita,ai ventidue stati del 1819 se ne aggiungeranno via via sempre altri
    "Guardate, vasti spazi senza un'orma,cambiano come in un sogno, si riempiono rapidamente,sfociano in loro masse innumerevoli
    avanzano con passo fermo e cadenzato, non si arrestano mai.
    Un susseguirsi di uomini,una generazione recita la sua parte e passa oltre,un'altra recita la sua e passa oltre."
    Whitman non si limita ad annunciare il futuro ma si impegna in prima persona per costruirlo.
    Il messaggio che lancia è che il futuro è nelle nostre mani, ci appartiene, non è qualcosa da accettare e subire, ma il risultato del nostro impegno e della nostra partecipazione.
    Anch'io in questo messaggio vedo una speranza per quest' epoca doloranhte che stiamo vivendo ,impadroniamocide nostro futuro, accarezziamolo,impegniamoci per dare un senso alla nostra esistenza dando l'importanza giusta agli ideali ed ai veri valori della vita

    RispondiElimina
  3. Dagli appunti del liceo: Se volete capire una terra complicata come l'America, e l'orgoglio del suo popolo, potete farlo attraverso le parole di Withman, l'autodidatta che con le sue esperienze di vita, maturate attraverso le professioni più disparate, dalle più umili alle più prestigiose, si è trovato a contatto con tutti i rappresentanti di questo popolo dalle provenienze più disparate, parlando, ascoltando, assemblando tutte queste voci, unite esclusivamente da un grande sentimento: sentirsi finalmente un'unica nazione.

    RispondiElimina
  4. Continuities - Walt Withman

    Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
    No birth, identity, form-no object the world,
    Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
    Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
    Ample are time and space-ample the fields of Nature.
    The body, sluggish, aged, cold-the embers left from earlier fires,
    The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
    The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
    To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,
    With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

    Un autore che amo. Mi piace questa, per la speranza che infonde.

    Continuità - Walt Whitman
    Nulla è mai veramente perduto, o può essere perduto,
    nessuna nascita, forma, identità . nessun oggetto del mondo,
    né vita, né forza, né alcuna cosa visibile;
    l'apparenza non deve ingannare,
    né l'ambito mutato confonderti il cervello.
    Vasti sono il tempo e lo spazio - vasti i campi della Natura.
    Il corpo lento,invecchiato, freddo -
    le ceneri rimaste dai fuochi di un tempo,
    la luce degli occhi divenuta tenue, tornerà puntualmente a risplendere;
    il sole ora basso a occidente sorge costante per mattini e meriggi;
    alle zolle gelate ritorna sempre la legge invisibile della primavera,
    con l'erba e i fiori e i frutti estivi e il grano.

    RispondiElimina
  5. Grande scrittore e poeta, coraggioso nelle scelte di vita ed estremo nelle esperienze. C'è una sensibilità ed un'innovazione totale in questo uomo rude, autodidatta, e omosessuale, inarrivabile per gli altri scrittori contemporanei, e pure un amore profondo per una patria che spesso lo emargina.

    RispondiElimina
  6. Uno dei libri da portarsi dietro in treno, compagno piacevole e di una gentilezza insospettabile, se si guarda le foto dell'autore. E' nella mia 100list, da leggere possibilmente appoggiato ad un albero, coi piedi a mollo nell'acqua.

    RispondiElimina
  7. posso sapere perchè vi piace tanto la poesia? anche su facebook ce n'è sempre

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. Io amo i libri, ma quando ho bisogno di magia, mi tuffo nella poesia. Ci sono persone che cercano per una vita la foto giusta da mettere sulla tomba. Io cerco la poesia. Al momento prevale questa:

      Lord G.Byron Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

      Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
      Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam, to sail
      Where'er the surge may sweep, or tempest's breath prevail.

      eppure devo andare, perché sono come un'alga
      strappata dallo scoglio nella schiuma dell'oceano, per salpare
      ovunque la sbatta l'ondata, o il respiro della tempesta prevalga

      Sono convinta che anche le anime semplici (quelle che a scuola non imparavano nemmeno san Martino), trovino nella poesia un linguaggio diretto per tutte le emozioni, per tutti i tormenti inesprimibili. Penso che noi tutti troviamo nella poesia la consolazione a quella che credevamo una solitudine solo nostra.
      Ciao

      Elimina
    2. E' stato un precursore dei nostri tempi, il suo pensiero mai cosi attuale...
      La poesia è un bene prezioso ed è di tutti,libera emozioni e dona emozioni ,quando leggo una poesia immagino l'animo di chi l'ha scritta , quando invece annoto i miei pensieri su di un pezzo di carta,dando sfogo a quelle sensazioni che da giorni giravno dentro di me,trovo finalmente la pace

      Elimina
    3. Ognuno di noi ha una risposta diversa. Per me poesia significa piacere puro per l'abbinamento perfetto di parole, anche consuete, che diventano musica. Per me poesia significa prevedere la fine della frase, con una soddisfazione impossibile da descrivere, come quando si canta tono su tono, creando una nuova, preziosa sensazione. In una parola: sintonia.

      Elimina
    4. Penso che si scriva poesie unicamente per due motivi: per infelicità o per amore, senza che l'una cosa escluda l'altra e in entrambi i casi in preda ad emozioni fortissime. Tutti scrivono poesie o ne hanno scritte, ma quelle universali sono poche, e provengono tutte da persone che hanno vissuto intensissimamente, variegando esperienze e conoscenze, o subendo dolori immensi, o precipitando nelle spire del'involuzione. Queste persone hanno metabolizzato tutto, trasformando contrazione, lacrime, depressione, furore, umiliazione e mille altre sensazioni negative o positive in frasi dipinte con parole che tutti conoscono, ma che quasi nessuno è stato capace di mettere in fila.

      Elimina
    5. credo la poesia sia un disco in vinile inciso. Chi lo ascolta vive le emozioni di chi l'ha scritta.

      Elimina
  8. THE VOICE OF THE RAIN – WALT WITHMAN
    And who art thou? Said I to the soft-falling shower,
    Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
    I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
    Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
    Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and
    yet the same,
    I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
    And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
    And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin,
    and make pure and beautify it;
    (For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
    Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.)
     
    LA VOCE DELLA PIOGGIA – WALT WITHMAN
    E tu chi sei? chiesi alla pioggia che scendeva dolce,
    e che, strano a dirsi, mi rispose, come traduco di seguito:
    sono il Poema della Terra, disse la voce della pioggia,
    eterna mi sollevo impalpabile su dalla terraferma e dal mare
        insondabile,
    su verso il cielo, da dove, in forma labile, totalmente cambiata,
        eppure la stessa,
    discendo a bagnare i terreni aridi, scheletriti, le distese di polvere
        del mondo,
    e ciò che in essi senza di me sarebbe solo seme, latente, non nato;
    e sempre, di giorno e di notte, restituisco vita alla mia stessa
        origine, la faccio pura, la abbellisco;
    (perché il canto, emerso dal suo luogo natale, dopo il
        compimento, l'errare,
    sia che di esso importi o no, debitamente ritorna con amore.)

    RispondiElimina
  9. Se tardi a trovarmi, insisti.
    Se non ci sono in nessun posto,
    cerca in un altro, perchè io sono
    seduto da una qualche parte,
    ad aspettare te...
    e se non mi trovi piú, in fondo ai tuoi occhi,
    allora vuol dire che sono dentro di te.
    (Walt Whitman)

    Baku

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. If you later to see me, you insist.
      If there are nowhere, try another,
      because I’m sitting somewhere,
      waiting for you …
      And if you do not find me more, deep in your eyes,
      then it means you are inside you.
      Walt Whitman

      Elimina
    2. Ho molti dubbi ad attribuire questa poesia a Whitman!

      Elimina
  10. Non so se viene da Foglie d'erba, ma il suo posto è qui, dove posso ritrovarla, grazie Baku

    Walt Whitman 31 maggio 1819

    Io canto l'individuo, la singola persona,
    Al tempo stesso canto la Democrazia, la massa.

    L'organismo, da capo a piedi, canto,
    La semplice fisionomia, il cervello da soli non sono degni
    della Musa: la Forma integrale ne è ben più degna,
    E la Femmina canto parimenti che il Maschio.

    Canto la vita immensa in passione, pulsazioni e forza,
    Lieto, per le più libere azioni che sotto leggi divine si attuano,
    Canto l'Uomo Moderno.

    Baku

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. Ringrazio per questa splendida poesia che non conoscevo, che rappresenta la forza dell'amore in ogni sua espressione

      Elimina
    2. Eccola in versione originale, ed è in Foglie d'Erba

      One's-Self I Sing- Walt Withman

      One’s-Self I sing, a simple separate person,
      Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.
      Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
      Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far,
      The Female equally with the Male I sing.
      Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
      Cheerful, for freest action form’d under the laws divine,
      The Modern Man I sing.

      Elimina
    3. Per la precisione, One's-Self I sing è la prima delle dediche di Foglie d'Erba.

      Elimina
  11. Siamo nuvole che mattina e pomeriggio avanzano in alto,
    Bellissima anche questa
    "siamo mari che si mescolano, siamo due di quelle felici onde che rotolano una sull’altra e si spruzzano l’un l’altra,
    siamo ciò che l'atmosfera è, trasparente, ricettiva, pervia, impervia,siamo neve, pioggia, freddo, buio, siamo ogni prodotto, ogni influenza del globo,
    abbiamo ruotato e ruotato sinché siamo arrivati di nuovo a casa,
    abbiamo abrogato tutto fuorché la libertà, tutto fuorché la gioia".

    RispondiElimina
  12. We two, How long we were fool'd - Walt Withman

    ...We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead,
    We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling
    over each other and interwetting each other,
    We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious,
    We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence
    of the globe,
    We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two,
    We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.

    RispondiElimina
  13. L'ho trovata in spagnolo:

    NO TE DETENGAS
    Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

    No dejes que termine el día sin haber crecido un poco,
    sin haber sido feliz, sin haber aumentado tus sueños.

    No te dejes vencer por el desaliento.
    No permitas que nadie te quite el derecho a expresarte,
    que es casi un deber.
    No abandones las ansias de hacer de tu vida algo extraordinario.
    No dejes de creer que las palabras y las poesías
    sí pueden cambiar el mundo.
    Pase lo que pase nuestra esencia está intacta.
    Somos seres llenos de pasión.
    La vida es desierto y oasis.
    Nos derriba, nos lastima,
    nos enseña,
    nos convierte en protagonistas
    de nuestra propia historia.
    Aunque el viento sople en contra,
    la poderosa obra continúa:
    Tu puedes aportar una estrofa.
    No dejes nunca de soñar,
    porque en sueños es libre el hombre.
    No caigas en el peor de los errores:
    el silencio.
    La mayoría vive en un silencio espantoso.
    No te resignes.
    Huye.
    "Emito mis alaridos por los techos de este mundo",
    dice el poeta.
    Valora la belleza de las cosas simples.
    Se puede hacer bella poesía sobre pequeñas cosas,
    pero no podemos remar en contra de nosotros mismos.
    Eso transforma la vida en un infierno.
    Disfruta del pánico que te provoca
    tener la vida por delante.
    Vívela intensamente,
    sin mediocridad.
    Piensa que en ti está el futuro
    y encara la tarea con orgullo y sin miedo.
    Aprende de quienes puedan enseñarte.
    Las experiencias de quienes nos precedieron
    de nuestros "poetas muertos",
    te ayudan a caminar por la vida
    La sociedad de hoy somos nosotros:
    Los "poetas vivos".
    No permitas que la vida te pase a ti sin que la vivas ...

    Versión de: Leandro Wolfson

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. NON SMETTERE DI - WALT WITHMAN

      Non lasciare che finisca il giorno senza essere cresciuto un po',
      senza essere stato felice,senza avere aumentato i tuoi sogni.
      Non lasciarti vincere dallo scoraggiamento.
      Non permettere che nessuno ti tolga il diritto ad esprimerti,
      che e' quasi un dovere.
      Non lasciar cadere la tensione di fare della tua vita
      qualcosa di straordinario.
      Non smettere di credere che le parole e le poesie
      possono cambiare il mondo.
      Succeda quel che succeda, la nostra essenza e' intatta,
      siamo esseri pieni di passione.
      La vita e' deserto ed oasi: ci abbatte, ci ferisce, ci insegna,
      ci trasforma in protagonisti della nostra propria storia.
      Benché il vento soffi contrario, la poderosa opera continua:
      Tu puoi apportare una strofa.
      Non smettere mai di sognare, perché nei sogni è Libero l'uomo.
      Non cadere nel peggiore dagli errori: il silenzio.
      La maggioranza vive in un silenzio spaventoso:
      non ti rassegnare, fuggi.
      "Emetto le mie urla sopra i tetti di questo mondo",
      dice il poeta.
      Stima la bellezza delle cose semplici.
      Si può fare bella poesia su piccole cose,
      ma non possiamo remare contro noi stessi: questo trasforma la vita in un inferno.
      Godi del panico che ti provoca avere la vita davanti.
      Vivila intensamente, senza mediocrità .
      Pensa che in te sta il futuro ed affronta il compito
      con orgoglio e senza paura.
      Impara da chi possa insegnarti: le esperienze di chi
      ci ha preceduto, dei nostri "poeti morti", ci sostengono
      nel cammino della vita.
      La società di oggi siamo noi, i "poeti vivi."
      Non permettere che la tua vita passi senza che tu la viva.

      Elimina
    2. DON'T STOP - WALT WITHMAN

      Do not let the day end without having grown a bit, without being happy,
      without having risen your dreams.
      Do not let overcome by disappointment.
      Do not let anyone you remove the right to express yourself,
      which is almost a duty.
      Do not forsake the yearning to make your life something special.
      Be sure to believe that words and poetry it can change the world.
      Whatever happens, our essence is intact.
      We are beings full of passion. Life is desert and oasis.
      We breakdowns, hurts us, teaches us, makes us protagonists of our own history.

      Although the wind blow against the powerful work continues:
      You can make a stanza. Never stop dreaming, because in a dream, man is free.

      Do not fall into the worst mistakes: the silence.
      Most live in a dreadful silence. Do not resign escape.
      "Issued by my alaridos roofs of this world," says the poet.

      Rate the beauty of the simple things.
      You can make beautiful poetry on little things, but we can not row against ourselves. That transforms life into hell.

      Enjoy the panic that leads you have life ahead. Vivel intensely, without mediocrity.
      Think that you are the future and facing the task with pride and without fear.
      Learn from those who can teach you. The experiences of those who preceded us in our "dead poets", help you walk through life.
      Today's society is us "poets alive." Do not let life pass you live without that.

      Elimina
  14. E riapro il baule delle meraviglie di Baku & Friends per impossessarmi di questa bella:

    TO A STRANGER - WALT WHITMAN

    Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
    You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me
    as of a dream,)
    I have somewhere surely lived 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 become not 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 you when I sit alone or
    wake at night alone,
    I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
    I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

    Sconosciuto che passi! tu non sai con che desiderio io ti guardo,
    tu devi essere colui che io cercavo, o colei che cercavo
    (mi arriva come un sogno),
    certamente ho vissuto in qualche luogo una vita di gioia,
    con te
    tutto è ricordato, mentre passiamo l'uno vicino all'altro
    fluido, amorevole, casto, maturo
    sei cresciuto con me, sei stato ragazzo o ragazza con me,
    io ho mangiato e dormito con te, il tuo corpo è diventato
    qualcosa che non appartiene soltanto a te, nè ha
    lasciato che il mio restasse mio soltanto,
    mi hai dato il piacere dei tuoi occhi, del tuo volto, della
    tua carne, mentre io passo tu ne prendi in cambio
    dalla mia barba, dal mio petto, dalle mie mani,
    non devo parlarti, devo pensarti a te quando seggo da solo o
    veglio la notte da solo
    devo aspettarti, non dubito che t'incontrerò ancora,
    e a questo devo badare, di non perderti.

    RispondiElimina
  15. Ringrazio Baku & Friends per questo post bellissimo:

    in memoria di Walt Whitman (31 maggio 1819 – 26 marzo 1892)

    Noi due ragazzi che stretti ci avvinghiamo,
    mai che l'uno lasci l'altro,
    sempre su e giù lungo le strade, compiendo escursioni a Nord e a Sud,
    godiamo della nostra forza, gomiti in fuori, pugni serrati,
    armati e senza paura, mangiamo, beviamo, dormiamo, amiamo,
    non riconoscendo altra legge all'infuori di noi,
    marinai, soldati, ladri, pronti alle minacce,
    impauriamo avari, servi e preti, respirando aria,
    bevendo acqua, danzando sui prati o sulle spiagge,
    depredando città, disprezzando ogni agio, ci beffiamo delle leggi,
    cacciando ogni debolezza, compiendo le nostre scorrerie.

    Baku

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. Ecco l'originale:

      We Two Boys Together Clinging by Walt Whitman

      We two boys together clinging,
      One the other never leaving,
      Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,
      Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
      Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving.
      No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving,
      threatening,
      Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on
      the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
      Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
      Fulfilling our foray.

      Elimina
  16. "A Glimpse" by Walt Whitman

    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 and
    oath and smutty jest,
    There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
    perhaps not a word.

    RispondiElimina
  17. "OLD WALT" by Langston Hughes

    Old Walt Whitman
    Went finding and seeking,
    Finding less than sought
    Seeking more than found,
    Every detail minding
    Of the seeking or the finding.

    Pleasured equally
    In seeking as in finding,
    Each detail minding,
    Old Walt went seeking
    And finding.

    RispondiElimina
  18. On this day in 1855, Walt Whitman's first edition of the self-published Leaves of Grass is printed, containing a dozen poems.

    "Great Are the Myths" by Walt Whitman

    1

    Great are the myths—I too delight in them;
    Great are Adam and Eve—I too look back and accept them;
    Great the risen and fallen nations and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and priests.

    Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am their follower;
    Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you sail, I sail,
    I weather it out with you, or sink with you.

    Great is Youth—equally great is Old Age—great are the Day and Night;
    Great is Wealth—great is Poverty—great is Expression—great is Silence.

    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

    Wealth, with the flush hand, fine clothes, hospitality;
    But then the Soul’s wealth, which is candor, knowledge, pride, enfolding love;
    (Who goes for men and women showing Poverty richer than wealth?)

    Expression of speech! in what is written or said, forget not that Silence is also expressive,
    That anguish as hot as the hottest, and contempt as cold as the coldest, may be without words.

    2

    Great is the Earth, and the way it became what it is;
    Do you imagine it has stopt at this? the increase abandon’d?
    Understand then that it goes as far onward from this, as this is from the times when it lay in covering waters and gases, before man had appear’d.

    Great is the quality of Truth in man;
    The quality of truth in man supports itself through all changes,
    It is inevitably in the man—he and it are in love, and never leave each other.

    The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eyesight;
    If there be any Soul, there is truth—if there be man or woman there is truth—if there be physical or moral, there is truth;
    If there be equilibrium or volition, there is truth—if there be things at all upon the earth, there is truth.

    O truth of the earth! I am determin’d to press my way toward you;
    Sound your voice! I scale mountains, or dive in the sea after you.

    3

    Great is Language—it is the mightiest of the sciences,
    It is the fulness, color, form, diversity of the earth, and of men and women, and of all qualities and processes;
    It is greater than wealth—it is greater than buildings, ships, religions, paintings, music.

    Great is the English speech—what speech is so great as the English?
    Great is the English brood—what brood has so vast a destiny as the English?
    It is the mother of the brood that must rule the earth with the new rule;
    The new rule shall rule as the Soul rules, and as the love, justice, equality in the Soul rule.

    Great is Law—great are the few old land-marks of the law,
    They are the same in all times, and shall not be disturb’d

    4

    Great is Justice!
    Justice is not settled by legislators and laws—it is in the Soul;
    It cannot be varied by statutes, any more than love, pride, the attraction of gravity, can;
    It is immutable—it does not depend on majorities—majorities or what not, come at last before the same passionless and exact tribunal.

    For justice are the grand natural lawyers, and perfect judges—is it in their Souls;
    It is well assorted—they have not studied for nothing—the great includes the less;
    They rule on the highest grounds—they oversee all eras, states, administrations.

    The perfect judge fears nothing—he could go front to front before God;
    Before the perfect judge all shall stand back—life and death shall stand back—heaven and hell shall stand back

    Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and whoever;
    Great is Death—sure as life holds all parts together, Death holds all parts together.

    Has Life much purport?—Ah, Death has the greatest purport.

    RispondiElimina
  19. Everyman's library10/07/14, 15:53


    "There was a Child went Forth" by Walt Whitman

    THERE was a child went forth every day;
    And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;
    And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

    The early lilacs became part of this child,
    And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
    And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,
    And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,
    And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,
    And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him.

    The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;
    Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,
    And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;
    And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,
    And the school-mistress that pass’d on her way to the school,
    And the friendly boys that pass’d—and the quarrelsome boys,
    And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls—and the barefoot negro boy and girl,
    And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

    His own parents,
    He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb, and birth’d him,
    They gave this child more of themselves than that;
    They gave him afterward every day—they became part of him.

    The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;
    The mother with mild words—clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;
    The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;
    The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
    The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart,
    Affection that will not be gainsay’d—the sense of what is real—the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,
    The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time—the curious whether and how,
    Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
    Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?
    The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows,
    Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries,
    The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the river between,
    Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,
    The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide—the little boat slack-tow’d astern,
    The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
    The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
    The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;
    These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day."

    The Everyman's Library Pocket Poets hardcover series is popular for its compact size and reasonable price which does not compromise content. Poems: Whitman contains forty-two of the American master's poems, including "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," "Song of Myself," "I Hear America Singing," "Halcyon Days," and an index of first lines.

    RispondiElimina
  20. Metheny, Cal12/07/14, 05:18

    "A Promise To California" by Walt Whitman
    A PROMISE to California,
    Also to the great Pastoral Plains, and for Oregon:
    Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain,
    to teach robust American love;
    For I know very well that I and robust love belong among you, inland,
    and along the Western Sea;
    For These States tend inland, and toward the Western Sea--and I will
    also.

    RispondiElimina
  21. Quality articles or reviews is the crucial to attract the people to visit the website, that's what this web site is providing.

    RispondiElimina
  22. Thank you for sharing your info. I really appreciate your efforts and I will be waiting for your next write ups thanks once again.

    RispondiElimina
  23. altra opera, ma bella forse di piu':

    Song of the Open Road BY WALT WHITMAN

    Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
    Healthy, free, the world before me,
    The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

    Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
    Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
    Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
    Strong and content I travel the open road.

    Walt Whitman, Canto della strada aperta)
    A piedi e con animo sereno prendo la strada aperta,
    in salute, libero, il mondo innanzi a me,
    il lungo sentiero bruno pronto a condurmi dove scelgo di andare.
    D’ora in poi non chiedo più buona fortuna, io sono la buona fortuna
    d’ora in poi non più lagne, non più rinvii, bisogno di niente,
    basta con lamenti appartati, biblioteche, sterili critiche,
    forte e contento percorro la strada aperta.

    RispondiElimina
  24. Song of the Open Road
    BY WALT WHITMAN
    1
    Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
    Healthy, free, the world before me,
    The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

    Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
    Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
    Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
    Strong and content I travel the open road.

    The earth, that is sufficient,
    I do not want the constellations any nearer,
    I know they are very well where they are,
    I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

    (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
    I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
    I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
    I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

    2
    You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
    I believe that much unseen is also here.

    Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
    The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;
    The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
    The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,

    The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
    They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
    None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

    3
    You air that serves me with breath to speak!
    You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
    You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
    You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
    I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.

    You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
    You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!

    You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
    You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
    You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
    You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
    You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
    From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
    From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.

    4
    The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
    The picture alive, every part in its best light,
    The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
    The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.

    O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
    Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
    Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?

    O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
    You express me better than I can express myself,
    You shall be more to me than my poem.

    I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
    I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
    I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
    I think whoever I see must be happy.

    RispondiElimina
    Risposte
    1. 5
      From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
      Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
      Listening to others, considering well what they say,
      Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
      Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
      I inhale great draughts of space,
      The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

      I am larger, better than I thought,
      I did not know I held so much goodness.

      All seems beautiful to me,
      I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
      I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
      I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
      I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
      Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
      Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

      6
      Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,
      Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me.

      Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
      It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

      Here a great personal deed has room,
      (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
      Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)

      Here is the test of wisdom,
      Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
      Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
      Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
      Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
      Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
      Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.

      Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
      They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

      Here is realization,
      Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
      The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.

      Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
      Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
      Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

      Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;
      Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
      Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

      7
      Here is the efflux of the soul,
      The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions,
      These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
      Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
      Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
      Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
      (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)
      What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
      What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
      What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
      What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?

      8
      The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
      I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
      Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

      Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
      The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,
      (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)

      Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,
      From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
      Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

      Elimina
    2. 9
      Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
      Traveling with me you find what never tires.

      The earth never tires,
      The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,
      Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,
      I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

      Allons! we must not stop here,
      However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,
      However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,
      However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

      10
      Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
      We will sail pathless and wild seas,
      We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.

      Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
      Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
      Allons! from all formules!
      From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.

      The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.

      Allons! yet take warning!
      He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
      None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
      Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
      Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies,
      No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.

      (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
      We convince by our presence.)

      11
      Listen! I will be honest with you,
      I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
      These are the days that must happen to you:
      You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
      You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
      You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
      You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you,
      What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
      You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.

      12
      Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
      They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,
      Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
      Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
      Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
      Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
      Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
      Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
      Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
      Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
      Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
      Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
      Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
      Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
      Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
      Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
      Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

      Elimina
    3. 13
      Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
      To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
      To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
      Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
      To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
      To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
      To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,
      To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
      To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it,
      To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
      To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
      To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
      To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
      To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
      To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.

      All parts away for the progress of souls,
      All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.

      Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.

      Forever alive, forever forward,
      Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
      Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
      They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
      But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.

      Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
      You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

      Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
      It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

      Behold through you as bad as the rest,
      Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
      Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
      Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

      No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
      Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
      Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
      In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
      Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere,
      Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
      Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
      Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
      Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.

      Elimina
    4. 14
      Allons! through struggles and wars!
      The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

      Have the past struggles succeeded?
      What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
      Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

      My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
      He going with me must go well arm’d,
      He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.

      15
      Allons! the road is before us!
      It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!

      Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
      Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
      Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
      Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

      Camerado, I give you my hand!
      I give you my love more precious than money,
      I give you myself before preaching or law;
      Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
      Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

      Elimina
  25. Montmorency30/12/14, 06:58

    “I celebrate myself, and sing myself.”
    —Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

    RispondiElimina
  26. "Addio, soldato, | tu delle ardue campagne militari (che abbiamo condiviso,) | della rapida marcia e della vita in campo, | dell'aspra contesa tra i fronti opposti, le lunghe manovre, | rosse battaglie, il rude terribile gioco, | incanto di tutti i cuori valorosi e virili, | il corso del tempo da te e dai simili tuoi pienamente ricolmo, | di guerra e di espressioni di guerra. || Addio, mio caro camerata, | la tua missione è compiuta - ma io più bellicoso, | io e questa mia anima battagliera, | continuiamo la nostra campagna, | per strade ignote che s'aprono tra imboscate nemiche, | per più di un'aspra sconfitta, più d'una crisi, sovente battuto, | in marcia, in marcia ogni ora, per combattere sino all'estremo - sì, qui stesso, | a più fiere, a più tremende battaglie darò espressione." (Walt Whitman)

    RispondiElimina