The Whitman You Don’t See in School, Part 2
Today’s Whitman poems are some of my favorites. I adore a good love poem, as you may have gathered from my writing on “Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances” back in part 1 of this series, and these two are some of Whitman’s best. I first read them back in middle school (not as part of class, I’m just a nerd that reads poetry for amusement) and they are probably what convinced me that Whitman was the best poet I’d ever read. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!
This portrait of Whitman from 1860 was included in some editions of Leaves of Grass. Whitman himself didn’t remember this photo being taken and there was some argument about when it was from. The image and it’s story can be found here.
When I Heard at the Close of the Day
This poem is sweet and true and lovely. It was published first in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass and Whitman had some notoriety at this point. He had earned praise from well known figures (as well as some scorn). You’d think “plaudit from the capitol” would be a cause for joy for a writer, but Whitman claims here that news of this praise does not make him happy. What makes him happy is the knowledge of his lover is returning to him. Even the just knowing he can expect his arrival lights up Whitman’s day. The praise from the capitol is dim in comparison to the light his lover shines in his life.
This poem doesn’t have intricate phrasing to dissect or deep metaphor to explain, but it rings with truth even in that simplicity. It is a poem that is easy to understand and feel. I think it sounds beautiful out loud, as well, in a way that free verse isn’t necessarily constrained into. This piece shows the power of unfettered words.
What Think you I Take my Pen in Hand?
This particular verse combines many of the aspects I love about Whitman’s poetry as a whole. It directly addresses the reader, it makes the common place important, and it revolves around love. This poem is not a love poem in the same way that “Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances” or “When I Heard at the Close of the Day” are, but still it is about love.
The opening sets a rather sweeping and majestic scene of a battleship and a cityscape, which at times Whitman does record. The sparse details to me bring to mind a distant view, a camera panned out and prepared to zoom in on some action befitting these scenes. But Whitman isn’t here to record the battleship at sea or the bustling city. Instead, we zoom from these epic subjects to a small and quiet moment. Two men are parting, one to go to sea and one to stay. It is the kind of moment that a passerby may not even notice, but to the two involved it is unforgettable.
The comparison between epic scenes to this brief exchange of two strangers may seem odd, but Whitman has a point with this juxtaposition. The parting of the two men has importance, just as the battleship and the city do. He takes his pen in hand to record the most important piece of the scene he could: The parting embrace of two who clearly love one another.
