-
-
- 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)
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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.
RispondiEliminaLa poesia è immediatezza è una sorta di partecipazione viscerale tra il poeta e chi ne beneficia, senza necessità di mediazione alcuna
RispondiEliminaNella 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
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.
RispondiEliminaContinuities - Walt Withman
RispondiEliminaNothing 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.
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.
RispondiEliminaUno 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.
RispondiEliminaposso sapere perchè vi piace tanto la poesia? anche su facebook ce n'è sempre
RispondiEliminaIo 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:
EliminaLord 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
E' stato un precursore dei nostri tempi, il suo pensiero mai cosi attuale...
EliminaLa 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
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.
EliminaPenso 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.
Eliminacredo la poesia sia un disco in vinile inciso. Chi lo ascolta vive le emozioni di chi l'ha scritta.
EliminaTHE VOICE OF THE RAIN – WALT WITHMAN
RispondiEliminaAnd 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.)
Se tardi a trovarmi, insisti.
RispondiEliminaSe 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
If you later to see me, you insist.
EliminaIf 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
Ho molti dubbi ad attribuire questa poesia a Whitman!
EliminaCredo che le prime 5 righe siano la conclusione del verso 52esimo (l'ultimo) del 'Canto di me stesso'. Riguardo quello che segue, non so chi l'ha scritto...
EliminaNon so se viene da Foglie d'erba, ma il suo posto è qui, dove posso ritrovarla, grazie Baku
RispondiEliminaWalt 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
Ringrazio per questa splendida poesia che non conoscevo, che rappresenta la forza dell'amore in ogni sua espressione
EliminaEccola in versione originale, ed è in Foglie d'Erba
EliminaOne'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.
Per la precisione, One's-Self I sing è la prima delle dediche di Foglie d'Erba.
EliminaSiamo nuvole che mattina e pomeriggio avanzano in alto,
RispondiEliminaBellissima 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".
We two, How long we were fool'd - Walt Withman
RispondiElimina...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.
L'ho trovata in spagnolo:
RispondiEliminaNO 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
NON SMETTERE DI - WALT WITHMAN
EliminaNon 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.
DON'T STOP - WALT WITHMAN
EliminaDo 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.
E riapro il baule delle meraviglie di Baku & Friends per impossessarmi di questa bella:
RispondiEliminaTO 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.
Ringrazio Baku & Friends per questo post bellissimo:
RispondiEliminain 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
Ecco l'originale:
EliminaWe 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.
"A Glimpse" by Walt Whitman
RispondiEliminaA 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.
"OLD WALT" by Langston Hughes
RispondiEliminaOld 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.
On this day in 1855, Walt Whitman's first edition of the self-published Leaves of Grass is printed, containing a dozen poems.
RispondiElimina"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"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.
"A Promise To California" by Walt Whitman
RispondiEliminaA 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.
Quality articles or reviews is the crucial to attract the people to visit the website, that's what this web site is providing.
RispondiEliminaThank you for sharing your info. I really appreciate your efforts and I will be waiting for your next write ups thanks once again.
RispondiEliminaaltra opera, ma bella forse di piu':
RispondiEliminaSong 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.
Song of the Open Road
RispondiEliminaBY 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.
5
EliminaFrom 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.
9
EliminaAllons! 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.
13
EliminaAllons! 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.
14
EliminaAllons! 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?
“I celebrate myself, and sing myself.”
RispondiElimina—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
"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)
RispondiEliminaEveryman's Library -
RispondiElimina"Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" by Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)
1
Flood-tide below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you
are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home,
are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me,
and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day;
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme—myself disintegrated,
every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings—
on the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away;
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others—the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights
of Brooklyn to the south and east;
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an
hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will
see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling back
to the sea of the ebb-tide.
3
EliminaIt avails not, neither time or place—distance avails not;
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so
many generations hence;
I project myself—also I return—I am with you, and know how
it is.
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow,
I was refresh’d;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current,
I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stem’d
pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
I too many and many a time cross’d the river, the sun half an hour high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls—I saw them high in the air,
floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest
in strong shadow,
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my head
in the sun-lit water,
Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward,
Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops—saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars,
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine
pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests
and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite
store-houses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on each
side by the barges—the hay-boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high
and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over
the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.
4
These, and all else, were to me the same as they are to you;
I project myself a moment to tell you—also I return.
I loved well those cities;
I loved well the stately and rapid river;
The men and women I saw were all near to me;
Others the same—others who look back on me, because I look’d
forward to them;
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)
5
What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not.
6
I too lived—Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine;
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters
around it;
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution;
I too had receiv’d identity by my Body;
That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be,
I knew I should be of my body.
7
EliminaIt is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw patches down upon me also;
The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious;
My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre?
would not people laugh at me?
It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil;
I am he who knew what it was to be evil;
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant;
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting.
8
But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud!
I was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men
as they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh
against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never
told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping,
Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.
9
Closer yet I approach you;
What thought you have of me, I had as much of you—I laid in my stores in advance;
I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born.
Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot
see me?
It is not you alone, nor I alone;
Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few centuries;
It is that each came, or comes, or shall come, from its due emission,
From the general centre of all, and forming a part of all:
Everything indicates—the smallest does, and the largest does;
A necessary film envelopes all, and envelopes the Soul for a proper time.
10
Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable
to me than my mast-hemm’d Manhattan,
My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide,
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the
belated lighter;
Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with
voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as
I approach;
Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man
that looks in my face,
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.
We understand, then, do we not?
What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not
accomplish, is accomplish’d, is it not?
What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not?
11
EliminaFlow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! drench with your splendor me, or the men
and women generations after me;
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!—stand up, beautiful
hills of Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street, or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my
nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small, according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be
looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the
hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water! and faithfully hold it, till all downcast
eyes have time to take it from you;
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one’s
head, in the sun-lit water;
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d schooners
sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset;
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall!
cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses;
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are;
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul;
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas;
Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers;
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual;
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting.
12
We descend upon you and all things—we arrest you all;
We realize the soul only by you, you faithful solids and fluids;
Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality;
Through you every proof, comparison, and all the suggestions
and determinations of ourselves.
You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers! you novices!
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward;
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us;
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently
within us;
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection
in you also;
You furnish your parts toward eternity;
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.
*
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.
A partire da quest'ora mi ordino libero di limiti e linee immaginarie.
RispondiEliminaVado dove voglio, totale e assoluto signore di me.
Do ascolto agli altri, considerando bene quello che dicono.
M'arresto, ricerco, ricevo, contemplo.
Dolcemente, ma con volontà incoercibile, mi svincolo dalle remore che trattenermi vorrebbero.
(da: "Song of the Open Road")
Grazie a Libreria Post Office
“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
RispondiElimina~ Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855.
(By English Literature)