WALT WHITMAN Oh captain, my captain! And other great poems, E-Book

Walt Whitman

• Herausgeber: Lebooks Editora
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 57

Beschreibung

Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) was an American poet, essayist, and journalist, considered by many as the "father of free verse" and the great poet of the American Revolution, just as Mayakovsky would be the great poet of the Russian Revolution. The innovative technique of his poems, in which the idea of totality was translated into free verse, influenced not only later American literature but all of modern lyricism, including the Portuguese poet and essayist Fernando Pessoa. In Oh Captain, My Captain and other great poems the reader will find a significant and curated portion of Whitman's work and will be captivated by the immense talent and sensitivity of this great American poet.

Leseprobe

Walt Whitman

O H! CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN!

and

Other great Poems

Contents

INTRODUCTION

WALT WHITMAN SELECTED POEMS

O Captain! My Captain!

A Glimpse

A Woman Waits For Me

Ages And Ages, Returning At Intervals

As I Ponder'D In Silence

Beautiful Women

Beginning My Studies

City Of Orgies

Facing West From California's Shores

For Him I Sing

I Am He That Aches With Love

I Sing The Body Electric

In Paths Untrodden

Me Imperturbe

O Star Of France

On The Beach At Night, Alone

Once I Pass'D Through A Populous City

Out Of The Rolling Ocean, The Crowd

Savantism

Sometimes With One I Love

Song Of Myself, I

Song Of Myself, II

The Ship Starting

Thou Reader

To Foreign Lands

To Him That Was Crucified

To Old Age

To One Shortly To Die

To Oratists

To Rich Givers

To The East And To The West

To The Garden The World

To The Leaven'D Soil They Trod

To The Man-Of-War-Bird

To The Reader At Parting

To The States

To Thee, Old Cause!

To Think Of Time

To You

Turn, O Libertad

Two Rivulets

Unfolded Out Of The Folds

Unnamed Lands

Vicouac On A Mountain Side

Vigil Strange I Kept On The Field One Night

Virgil Strange I Kept On The Field

Virginia--The West

Visor'D

Voices

Wandering At Morn

Warble Of Lilac-Time

Washington's Monument, February, 1885

We Two Boys Together Clinging

We Two-How Long We Were Fool'D

Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life

What Am I, After All?

What Best I See In Thee

What General Has A Good Army

What Place Is Besieged?

What Think You I Take My Pen In Hand?

What Weeping Face

When I Heard At The Close Of The Day

INTRODUCTION

Walt Whitman

1819-1892

Walt Whitman was raised in Brooklyn, New York, and had little formal education, being largely self-taught. His adolescence and youth were marked by the years he worked as a printer, teacher, and magazine contributor.

His writings began to reflect unorthodox thinking, leading to brief tenures as editor at New York's Aurora and Brooklyn's The Eagle, due to Whitman's vociferous radicalism, which was unpopular.

A journey across the United States to New Orleans was crucial for the development of his poetic project. He returned profoundly changed, with a new awareness of the young American nation and the responsibility of its chroniclers. These feelings were expressed in Whitman's appearance, with a disheveled beard and coarse clothing, reflecting his democratic idealism accompanied by a fierce individualism that found its greatest expression in "Leaves of Grass," a collection of poems self-published by Whitman in 1855.

Although initially largely ignored, praise from Ralph Waldo Emerson encouraged Whitman. By the third edition, the collection already included 156 poems. During the Civil War, Whitman was a correspondent for the New York Times and cared for wounded soldiers on both sides, including his brother George. These experiences were transformative, and the poems in "Drum-Taps," incorporated into the 1865 edition of "Leaves of Grass," are among the best he wrote.

Despite not being particularly popular among his contemporaries, Walt Whitman eventually exerted significant influence on later poets. After a stroke in 1873, he remained in Camden, New Jersey, where his health declined as his reputation finally began to grow.

Walt Whitman died on March 26, 1892, in Camden, New Jersey. His death marked the end of a life dedicated to the poetic exploration of democracy and the human experience, leaving a lasting legacy in American literature.

WALT WHITMAN SELECTED POEMS

Oh 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.

A Glimpse

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.

A Woman Waits For Me

A WOMAN waits for me--she contains all, nothing is lacking,

Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the

right man were lacking.

Sex contains all,

Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results,

promulgations,

Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal

milk;

All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,

All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,

All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,

These are contain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of

itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his

sex,

Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,

I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women

 that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me;

I see that they understand me, and do not deny me;

I see that they are worthy of me--I will be the robust husband of

 those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,

They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,

Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,

They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,

retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,

They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear, well-

possess'd of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women!

I cannot let you go, I would do you good,

I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for

others' sakes;

Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,

They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.