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Confession painted in red

Bleeding_love

O DROPS of me! trickle, slow drops,

Candid, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were
prisoned,
From my face—from my forehead and lips,
From my breast—from within where I was con-
cealed—Press forth, red drops—confession
drops,
Stain every page—stain every song I sing, every
word I say, bloody drops,
Let them know your scarlet heat—let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleed-
ing drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.


In this poem, all Whitman’s pain comes to the surface. It flows like a stream, it is not hidden anymore.

What caught my attention is Whitman’s  “scarlet heat”  that is put onto pages of his 1860 edition of “Leaves of Grass”.

Whitman’s confession is red, bloody. Like Nathaniel Hawthorne’ s Hester Prynne, who wore the scarlet letter “A”,

a badge of shame, Whitman wore his  scarlet  letter inside of him.

His conception of  being different is transformed into words and put on the paper.  He says “confession drops, stain every

page”. One of the meanings of the word “stain” given in Oxford dictionary is  “to damage the opinion that people

have of  something”. Connotation of this word here is negative. The poet admits something in this poem that is wrong

for public opinion. This confession is painful but finally, his supressed thoughts and feelings are liberated.

Also, interesting fact is that the covers of this edition are red. Whitman’s premonition of the American Civil War made

him design the covers in the colour of blood.

trickle drops

Confession painted in red

Bleeding_love

O DROPS of me! trickle, slow drops,

Candid, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were
prisoned,
From my face—from my forehead and lips,
From my breast—from within where I was con-
cealed—Press forth, red drops—confession
drops,
Stain every page—stain every song I sing, every
word I say, bloody drops,
Let them know your scarlet heat—let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleed-
ing drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.


In this poem, all Whitman’s pain comes to the surface. It flows like a stream, it is not hidden anymore.

What caught my attention is Whitman’s  “scarlet heat”  that is put onto pages of his 1860 edition of “Leaves of Grass”.

Whitman’s confession is red, bloody. Like Nathaniel Hawthorne’ s Hester Prynne, who wore the scarlet letter “A”,

a badge of shame, Whitman wore his  scarlet  letter inside of him.

His conception of  being different is transformed into words and put on the paper.  He says “confession drops, stain every

page”. One of the meanings of the word “stain” given in Oxford dictionary is  “to damage the opinion that people

have of  something”. Connotation of this word here is negative. The poet admits something in this poem that is wrong

for public opinion. This confession is painful but finally, his supressed thoughts and feelings are liberated.

Also, interesting fact is that the covers of this edition are red. Whitman’s premonition of the American Civil War made

him design the covers in the colour of blood.

trickle drops

Image Gloss: adhesiveness

NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB’D BREAST ONLY.


NOT heaving from my ribb’d breast only,
Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself,
Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs,
Not in many an oath and promise broken,
Not in my wilful and savage soul’s volition,
Not in the subtle nourishment of the air,
Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists,
Not in the curious systole and diastole within which will one day
cease,
Not in many a hungry wish told to the skies only,
Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone far
in the wilds,
Not in husky pantings through clinch’d teeth,
Not in sounded and resounded words, chattering words, echoes,
dead words,
Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep,
Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day,
Nor in the limbs and senses of my body that take you and dismiss
you continually—not there,
Not in any or all of them O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life!
Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these
songs.

Adhesiveness



This poem first grabbed my attention with Whitman’s use of Not at the beginning of each line, and ending the poem with a line that starts with the powerful word Need. While reading it (and re-reading it numerous times) I stumbled upon a word which we mentioned several times in our class session. Adhesiveness is referred in this poem as the pulse of the poets life. Being that he did not know how to give name to his feelings he borrowed a word from phrenology denoting same-sex friendships.

I went to the Merriam-Webster’s Online dictionary and found the term adhesiveness which, of course, has to do more with adhesive tape than with same-sex love.

This is a very powerful poem in which Whitman shows his dissatisfaction with the American non-tolerant society and his difficulty to express his new-found way of loving people.

P.S. I am not quite sure why there isn’t a copy of the manuscript page of this poem in the Barrett Manuscripts. If anyone manages to find one, be sure to “link me”. Thanks.

Image Gloss: adhesiveness

NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB’D BREAST ONLY.


NOT heaving from my ribb’d breast only,
Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself,
Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs,
Not in many an oath and promise broken,
Not in my wilful and savage soul’s volition,
Not in the subtle nourishment of the air,
Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists,
Not in the curious systole and diastole within which will one day
cease,
Not in many a hungry wish told to the skies only,
Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone far
in the wilds,
Not in husky pantings through clinch’d teeth,
Not in sounded and resounded words, chattering words, echoes,
dead words,
Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep,
Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day,
Nor in the limbs and senses of my body that take you and dismiss
you continually—not there,
Not in any or all of them O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life!
Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these
songs.

Adhesiveness



This poem first grabbed my attention with Whitman’s use of Not at the beginning of each line, and ending the poem with a line that starts with the powerful word Need. While reading it (and re-reading it numerous times) I stumbled upon a word which we mentioned several times in our class session. Adhesiveness is referred in this poem as the pulse of the poets life. Being that he did not know how to give name to his feelings he borrowed a word from phrenology denoting same-sex friendships.

I went to the Merriam-Webster’s Online dictionary and found the term adhesiveness which, of course, has to do more with adhesive tape than with same-sex love.

This is a very powerful poem in which Whitman shows his dissatisfaction with the American non-tolerant society and his difficulty to express his new-found way of loving people.

P.S. I am not quite sure why there isn’t a copy of the manuscript page of this poem in the Barrett Manuscripts. If anyone manages to find one, be sure to “link me”. Thanks.

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing

A live oak

According to the Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, the live oak is any of several American evergreen oaks noted for its extremely hard tough durable wood. You could say that it’s a powerful symbol of strength and you wouldn’t be mistaken. But if I asked someone from Texas what live oak means to him, I would probably get an answer: “Beer!”

Live oak brewery

Since most people from Serbia are not acquainted to the finest beers of the North American continent, an average Serbian would just shrug his shoulders to the same question. What was interesting for me was the fact that it is not like any oak I have ever seen around here. Its massive structure is impressing, but what is even more interesting is the moss growing on the trees giving them a striking appearance.

maria-stenzel-ancient-live-oak-trees-in-georgia

(Ancient live oak trees in Georgia)

“I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its lover near—for I knew I could not.

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend, a lover near,

I know very well I could not.”

(Calamus, 1860)

lgcal047lgcal048

Whitman speaks of a tree that is alone, solitary, isolated in Louisiana without a lover near.  There lies a different, more homoerotic aspect behind the lines, besides mere solitude. He mentions that the oak reminds him of manly love, of a person who is waiting for his lover and even the branches look rude and lusty to him. Indicative enough…

Calamus

Calamus 1

 

IN paths untrodden, 

In the growth by margins of pond-waters, 

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, 

From all the standards hitherto published—from

         the pleasures, profits, conformities,

(Calamus, 1860)

 

margin

 

Here, of all words I have highlighted one that is by no means unusual or unknown to me, and it was completely in its place to me when I first read the poem. Indeed, the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English provides the following definition of the word margin:

Margin – technical or literary – the edge of something, especially an area of land or water

This definition of the word margin fits the context of the poem perfectly and gives no reason to ponder over the possibility of some deeper, hidden meaning of the word. Still, something was a bit awkward about that particular choice of words that made me push my way a little deeper in the word itself. Therefore, I wondered, apart from the very clear and appropriate denotation of the word in question, which connotation of the same word can be applied to the same context to produce just as legitimate interpretation, and several ideas emerged.

Firstly, the word margin can have a very strong negative connotation as in social marginalization, and if read this way, the poem acquires a new level of reading which made sense, especially if we consider that the passage is from the Calamus 1, the first (introductory?) poem of the Calamus cluster, which was more than radical at the time it was published in 1860. Given that some poems of the Calamus are somewhat radical even today, 150 years later, it is justified to claim that Whitman himself was well aware that his poetry will be marginalized, that it will not be accepted nor understood for generations to come. Indeed, later throughout the Calamus poems, there exist several instances in which Whitman “speaks” of and to generations to come, and puts his faith in them (us?) to really read his poetry with much less prejudice and much more open-mindedness. I have tried to imagine what was it like for someone to write the poetry such as the Leaves of Grass in the mid nineteenth century, and I could not find a way how that someone could not be marginalized, how they could be properly understood by more than a dozen equally talented and equally misunderstood people.

Furthermore, thinking about this negative idea of margin, one another possibility came to my mind which is related with the previously discussed interpretation of the word. One of the basic meanings of the word margin is the blank space on one side of the paper where one can take notes. Now, if we expand and deepen this definition to fit the entire body of works of Walt Whitman, we might claim that the use of the word margin here indicates Whitman’s realization that when a new kind of poetry is to be born, and especially if it springs from a philosophical and moral system radically different from the existing one, it has no other place available to be written on than on margins of literature. And only after the supporting social and cultural systems change, the new poetry will be allowed to shift from margins to a more central position in literature. So could it be that Whitman was aware that his poetry will inevitably have to spend its share of time on the margin, but still carried on knowing that one day, just as inevitably, it will be appreciated by the multitudes?

These two interpretations of the word margin might be my reading in into the poem, but I still would like to provide one other proof of my readings of the poem. Namely, one other word used in the poem supports my readings – the word standards. These can be standards of what is considered good or appropriate by a society, supporting my first interpretation, but can also stand as the centre, as opposed to the margin, which is then consistent with my second interpretation. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

      

Calamus

Calamus 1

 

IN paths untrodden, 

In the growth by margins of pond-waters, 

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, 

From all the standards hitherto published—from

         the pleasures, profits, conformities,

(Calamus, 1860)

 

margin

 

Here, of all words I have highlighted one that is by no means unusual or unknown to me, and it was completely in its place to me when I first read the poem. Indeed, the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English provides the following definition of the word margin:

Margin – technical or literary – the edge of something, especially an area of land or water

This definition of the word margin fits the context of the poem perfectly and gives no reason to ponder over the possibility of some deeper, hidden meaning of the word. Still, something was a bit awkward about that particular choice of words that made me push my way a little deeper in the word itself. Therefore, I wondered, apart from the very clear and appropriate denotation of the word in question, which connotation of the same word can be applied to the same context to produce just as legitimate interpretation, and several ideas emerged.

Firstly, the word margin can have a very strong negative connotation as in social marginalization, and if read this way, the poem acquires a new level of reading which made sense, especially if we consider that the passage is from the Calamus 1, the first (introductory?) poem of the Calamus cluster, which was more than radical at the time it was published in 1860. Given that some poems of the Calamus are somewhat radical even today, 150 years later, it is justified to claim that Whitman himself was well aware that his poetry will be marginalized, that it will not be accepted nor understood for generations to come. Indeed, later throughout the Calamus poems, there exist several instances in which Whitman “speaks” of and to generations to come, and puts his faith in them (us?) to really read his poetry with much less prejudice and much more open-mindedness. I have tried to imagine what was it like for someone to write the poetry such as the Leaves of Grass in the mid nineteenth century, and I could not find a way how that someone could not be marginalized, how they could be properly understood by more than a dozen equally talented and equally misunderstood people.

Furthermore, thinking about this negative idea of margin, one another possibility came to my mind which is related with the previously discussed interpretation of the word. One of the basic meanings of the word margin is the blank space on one side of the paper where one can take notes. Now, if we expand and deepen this definition to fit the entire body of works of Walt Whitman, we might claim that the use of the word margin here indicates Whitman’s realization that when a new kind of poetry is to be born, and especially if it springs from a philosophical and moral system radically different from the existing one, it has no other place available to be written on than on margins of literature. And only after the supporting social and cultural systems change, the new poetry will be allowed to shift from margins to a more central position in literature. So could it be that Whitman was aware that his poetry will inevitably have to spend its share of time on the margin, but still carried on knowing that one day, just as inevitably, it will be appreciated by the multitudes?

These two interpretations of the word margin might be my reading in into the poem, but I still would like to provide one other proof of my readings of the poem. Namely, one other word used in the poem supports my readings – the word standards. These can be standards of what is considered good or appropriate by a society, supporting my first interpretation, but can also stand as the centre, as opposed to the margin, which is then consistent with my second interpretation. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

      

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