Poetry Chaikhana Sacred Poetry from Around the World

Secular or Eclectic : Transcendentalist 19th Century	About Walt Whitman Timeline (1819 - 1892)
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Original Language English	[3] I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, (from Song of Myself)
Commentary by Ivan M. Granger Themes   Honey   Night   Sexual Union   Silence   Sound   Recommended Books Dead Poets Society (DVD), by Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman Song of Myself, by Walt Whitman	I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learned and unlearned feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entreatied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, That that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied -- I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bedfellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets covered with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?     -- from Song of Myself, by Walt Whitman Amazon.com
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Commentary by Ivan M. Granger

One of my favorite chapters from Whitman's "Song of Myself." Some wonderful lines:

And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

...

I and this mystery here we stand.

...

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

...

Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

...

A comment about this last quote above:

Certainly Whitman incorporates a great deal of frank sensuality into his poetry, a welcoming of the earthly reality into his concept of the Divine, yet there is a deeper way to interpret some of these references as well. There are strong indications in his poetry that he had attained to a certain level of mystical opening, as well; so let's look at this line from that perspective.

Whitman talks about being silent, bathing, and admiring himself. These can also be understood in the context of the experience of mystical union: When you are at peace with the world, when you are utterly silent, so not even a tremor of thought disrupts the awareness, there is often a sense of being immersed in a vast pool of living water. As you bathe in this "water," your sense of yourself vanishes, while at the same time it incomprehensibly expands. Everything is seen to be a part of yourself. Everything you perceive or imagine is inexplicably you.

Reread the line again, and see how its meaning shifts...

Ivan M. Granger's original poetry, stories and commentaries are Copyright © 2002 - 2008 by Ivan M. Granger.
All other material is copyrighted by the respective authors, translators and/or publishers.