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Tag: poetry

  • Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!”

    Image a:  Walt Whitman https://whitmanarchive.org/item/zzz.00034 - Mathew Brady - Walt Whitman Archive
    Image:   Walt Whitman – Mathew Brady – Walt Whitman Archive

    Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!”

    Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!” is an elegy upon the death of Abraham Lincoln, who guided the Union through the terrible Civil War only to be assassinated after victory had been achieved. The speaker metaphorizes Lincoln into the fallen Captain of a victorious ship, creating Whitman’s most famous expression of national grief.

    Introduction and Text of “O Captain! My Captain!”

    In Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!,” the speaker presents Abraham Lincoln as the Captain of a ship that has survived a fearful voyage and finally reached the safety of port. 

    The ship represents the Union, while the Captain represents Lincoln, whose leadership brought the nation through the Civil War. The Library of Congress identifies the poem specifically as Whitman’s 1865 dirge for Lincoln.

    The poem becomes especially poignant because Lincoln dies at the very moment that the nation can celebrate victory. The ship has weathered every storm, the prize has been won, and the people are rejoicing, yet the Captain lies dead upon the deck. The public celebration and the speaker’s private grief therefore exist side by side.

    Whitman wrote other elegies for Lincoln, most notably “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” The two poems approach Lincoln’s death differently. “Lilacs” expands personal grief into a profound contemplation of death and national healing, while “O Captain! My Captain!” concentrates its emotional power upon the fallen leader and the terrible irony of his death at the moment of victory.

    In my earlier essays on Whitman’s poems, I have discussed the speaker’s recognition that death is an integral part of life. That recognition becomes particularly painful here because Lincoln’s death occurs after his great national task has been accomplished. The Captain has brought the ship safely home, but he cannot step ashore to receive the honors prepared for him.

    The poem was written in response to Lincoln’s assassination in April 1865 and first appeared later that year. Whitman subsequently placed it among his poems remembering Lincoln. The Walt Whitman Archive identifies the Captain as a symbolic representation of Lincoln and the ship as the Union that he had steered through the war.

    Walt Whitman’s “O 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.

    Commentary on “O Captain! my Captain! ”

    The speaker mourns Abraham Lincoln while confronting the painful irony of national victory accompanied by personal loss.

    First Stanza: “O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done”

    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..

    The first line announces the central irony of the entire elegy. The “fearful trip” is the Civil War, and the ship is the Union. The voyage has ended successfully because the Union has survived the conflict, but the Captain who guided the nation through the storm has been killed.

    The phrase “the prize we sought is won” points directly toward the preservation of the Union. The ship has endured the terrible “rack,” or storm, and now approaches port. The historical reality behind the metaphor is therefore essential: the war has ended, victory has come, and Lincoln has been assassinated.

    The speaker then creates a scene of national rejoicing. Bells ring, people celebrate, and eyes follow the victorious vessel as it approaches. These details suggest the immense public significance of the Union’s victory after four years of civil conflict.

    But the speaker suddenly turns from public celebration to private anguish with “But O heart! heart! heart!” The repeated word “heart” seems almost to stop the celebration in its tracks. The speaker cannot participate in the rejoicing because his attention is fixed upon the blood appearing on the deck.

    The “bleeding drops of red” transform the victorious ship into a place of death. The image is particularly powerful because Lincoln’s assassination occurred just as the national crisis represented by the voyage had reached its conclusion. Victory and death occupy the same physical space.

    The Captain is therefore Abraham Lincoln, but the speaker never names him. This omission allows Lincoln to become both a historical individual and a symbolic national father. The Whitman Archive notes that Whitman grouped the poem with his other Lincoln poems under “Memories of President Lincoln.”

    The speaker’s grief is made more poignant by the fact that Lincoln cannot enjoy the victory he helped achieve. The people on shore can celebrate because the voyage has ended; the speaker can only mourn because the Captain lies dead.

    Second Stanza: “O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells”

    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.

    The second stanza makes the speaker’s grief even more personal. He begs the Captain to rise because the entire nation is waiting to honor him. The flag is flying, the bugle is sounding, and the people are crowding the shores to welcome their victorious leader.

    The repeated phrase “For you” emphasizes the tragic appropriateness of the celebration. Everything has been prepared for Lincoln. The people are celebrating the victory that his leadership helped secure, yet the person whom they have come to honor cannot hear their voices.

    The speaker then calls him “dear father.” This expression is particularly significant in an elegy for Abraham Lincoln, whose public image after his assassination became associated with paternal leadership of a divided nation. The Captain is simultaneously the leader of the ship and the beloved father of the speaker.

    The phrase “This arm beneath your head!” brings the historical tragedy into an intimate physical scene. The speaker holds Lincoln’s head in his arm as though the dead president were still capable of hearing and responding. The gesture makes the enormous national tragedy intensely personal.

    The speaker then says, “It is some dream.” His mind resists what his eyes know. He has not merely lost a political leader; he has lost the Captain who has accompanied him through the fearful voyage.

    The relationship between this poem and “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” becomes important here. In “Lilacs,” the speaker eventually moves from the immediate shock of Lincoln’s death toward an acceptance of death as part of a larger spiritual reality. “O Captain! My Captain!” remains much closer to the immediate wound.

    Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that “Our real self, the soul, is immortal.” This spiritual reality is one the speaker, in his present deep state of mourning, is incapable of accepting, because he remains immersed in the human experience of loss.

    The speaker cannot yet see beyond the physical body lying upon the deck.   The suffering speaker can touch the Captain, but he cannot awaken him. The victory is real, but so is the terrible absence of the man who made that victory possible.

    Third Stanza: “My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still”

    My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still
    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.

    The third stanza finally forces the speaker to acknowledge the physical reality of Lincoln’s death.  The claim “My Captain does not answer” leaves no room for the dream that he might awaken. All color has gone from his lips and his pulse has ceased.

    The speaker again uses “My father,” emphasizing the intimate attachment that has made Lincoln’s death so devastating. The historical president has become, within the speaker’s emotional world, a beloved father whose absence cannot be compensated for by public celebration.

    The ship, meanwhile, has reached safety.  The statement “The ship is anchor’d safe and sound” is a direct confirmation that the Union has survived the Civil War. The voyage is “closed and done,” and the “victor ship” has arrived with the object of its struggle won.

    The tragic paradox is now complete. Lincoln has accomplished the task represented by the voyage, but he has been denied the opportunity to witness the peaceful arrival of the ship. The nation has won, but its leader has fallen.

    The command “Exult O shores, and ring O bells!” acknowledges the legitimate joy of the nation. The speaker does not ask the people to stop celebrating. Instead, he separates himself from them with the word “But.” They may rejoice; he must mourn.

    This distinction is central to the poem’s identity as an elegy for Abraham Lincoln. The poem does not simply lament a dead man. It dramatizes the strange emotional condition of a nation that has achieved victory while simultaneously losing the man who led it through the crisis.

    In “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” Whitman broadens Lincoln’s death into a contemplative musing upon universal mortality and the possibility of spiritual reconciliation. 

    The Library of Congress describes that poem as an elegy concerned with universal death and national healing, while “O Captain! My Captain!” concentrates more directly upon the public and personal grief surrounding Lincoln.

    The final image returns to the deck. The speaker walks there with a “mournful tread,” remaining beside the body of the Captain while the nation celebrates. The physical movement is small, but emotionally it carries the full weight of the assassination.

    The repetition of “Fallen cold and dead” gives the poem its final emotional blow. The Captain is not merely absent; he has fallen at the precise moment that the ship reaches safety. The repeated words therefore connect Lincoln’s death permanently with the nation’s victory.

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that death does not destroy the spiritual essence, stating that “the soul or spiritual essence of man is also indestructible.” Such a teaching provides a spiritual reality beyond the speaker’s immediate grief, although the speaker does not attempt to resolve his sorrow through such a doctrine at his point in his suffering.

    Instead, the speaker remains upon the deck with Lincoln. The people on shore celebrate the end of the war, while the speaker remains emotionally attached to the fallen Captain. This separation gives the poem its extraordinary poignancy.  The poem’s fame rests partly upon this directness. 

    The Library of Congress notes that it received immediate acclaim and became widely anthologized, while the Whitman Archive identifies it as Whitman’s most popular poem. Its enduring power comes from the simplicity with which it joins Lincoln’s national importance to the intimate sorrow of personal bereavement.

    The speaker has created a Captain who is unmistakably Abraham Lincoln without ever naming him. The ship is the Union, the fearful voyage is the Civil War, the prize is victory, the port is peace, and the fallen Captain is the president, who did not live to enter that peaceful harbor.

    Thus, “O Captain! My Captain!” remains Whitman’s most famous and perhaps his most immediately poignant elegy for Abraham Lincoln. “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” reaches toward universal death and spiritual healing, while this poem remains deliberately close to the heartbreaking image of Lincoln lying dead upon the deck of the victorious Union.

    The final paradox is therefore the poem’s deepest truth: the Captain has succeeded, but he has not survived his success. The ship has reached the harbor, but the man who guided it there is dead. The bells ring for victory while the speaker walks alone beside his fallen Captain.

    Image d: Walt Whitman Commemorative Stamp http://usstampgallery.com/view.php?id=1b75f1a8ff3bff3ef7a72c6935c3d01a94da8969&Walt_Whitman
    Image: Walt Whitman Commemorative Stamp

  • Wendell’s Heart

    Image: Wendell - Beloved Family Dog - Family Album
    Image: Wendell – Beloved Family Dog – Family Album

    Wendell’s Heart

    She contemplated her world and concentrated
    On what made her happy enough to run 
    And wag her tail and urge you on to follow her.

    She was a growler and a biter.
    My finger will long remember that she was here 
    And did not feel like cooperating that day 
    I tried to put her outside.

    For a dozen years, her pretty, little face stole hearts
    And her fluffy little body snuggled against you
    When she was so inclined;

    Then her little heart broke, and she went spilling 
    Into heaven with light for a body, 
    Taking our love along
    Leaving us rich with memories.

  • Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India”

    Image: Walt Whitman https://americanwritersmuseum.org/american-voices-walt-whitman/ American Writers Museum
    Image: Walt Whitman – American Writers Museum

    Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India”

    The deathbed edition of Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India” consists of nine parts, featuring his sprawling signature style, in which an omniscient speaker offers a colorful history of world civilization from earliest times to his own contemporary period.

    Introduction and Text of “Passage to India”

    The speaker in Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India” offers a marvelous drama, elucidating the many human achievements that have moved the citizens of the world from earliest times to contemporaneous civilization.  

    The speaker unveils the panorama of an ever-evolving world of individuals, who despite their flaws, have demonstrated their capabilities for bringing about a true “city on the hill [1],” where peace can reign and true joy can be established for every soul.

    Walt Whitman’s classic poem is displayed in his wide-ranging, dramatic style, which includes his famous catalogues of people, places, events, and traditions.  Into this poem, Whitman’s speaker packs the essence of world history, literature, and religion, as he sings his song of love for all peoples and all cultures that exist upon the Earth.  

    Passage to India

    1

    Singing my days,
    Singing the great achievements of the present,
    Singing the strong light works of engineers,
    Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,)
    In the Old World the east the Suez canal,
    The New by its mighty railroad spann’d,
    The seas inlaid with eloquent gentle wires;
    Yet first to sound, and ever sound, the cry with thee O soul,
    The Past! the Past! the Past!

    The Past—the dark unfathom’d retrospect!
    The teeming gulf—the sleepers and the shadows!
    The past—the infinite greatness of the past!
    For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?

    (As a projectile form’d, impell’d, passing a certain line, still keeps  on,
    So the present, utterly form’d, impell’d by the past.)

    2

    Passage O soul to India!
    Eclaircise the myths Asiatic, the primitive fables.

    Not you alone proud truths of the world,
    Nor you alone ye facts of modern science,
    But myths and fables of eld, Asia’s, Africa’s fables,
    The far-darting beams of the spirit, the unloos’d dreams,
    The deep diving bibles and legends,
    The daring plots of the poets, the elder religions;
    O you temples fairer than lilies pour’d over by the rising sun!
    O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!
    You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish’d  with gold!
    Towers of fables immortal fashion’d from mortal dreams!
    You too I welcome and fully the same as the rest!
    You too with joy I sing.

    Passage to India!
    Lo, soul, seest thou not God’s purpose from the first?
    The earth to be spann’d, connected by network,
    The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage,
    The oceans to be cross’d, the distant brought near,
    The lands to be welded together.

    A worship new I sing,
    You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours,
    You engineers, you architects, machinists, yours,
    You, not for trade or transportation only,
    But in God’s name, and for thy sake O soul.

    3

    Passage to India!
    Lo soul for thee of tableaus twain,
    I see in one the Suez canal initiated, open’d,
    I see the procession of steamships, the Empress Eugenie’s leading  the van,
    I mark from on deck the strange landscape, the pure sky, the  level sand in the distance,
    I pass swiftly the picturesque groups, the workmen gather’d,
    The gigantic dredging machines.

    In one again, different, (yet thine, all thine, O soul, the same,)
    I see over my own continent the Pacific railroad surmounting  every barrier,
    I see continual trains of cars winding along the Platte carrying  freight and passengers,
    I hear the locomotives rushing and roaring, and the shrill steam- whistle,
    I hear the echoes reverberate through the grandest scenery in the  world,
    I cross the Laramie plains, I note the rocks in grotesque shapes, the buttes,
    I see the plentiful larkspur and wild onions, the barren, colorless, sage-deserts,
    I see in glimpses afar or towering immediately above me the  great mountains,
    I see the Wind river and the Wahsatch  mountains,
    I see the Monument mountain and the Eagle’s Nest, I pass the  Promontory,
    I ascend the Nevadas,
    I scan the noble Elk mountain and wind around its base,
    I see the Humboldt range, I thread the valley and cross the river,
    I see the clear waters of lake Tahoe, I see forests of majestic  pines,
    Or crossing the great desert, the alkaline plains, I behold enchanting mirages of waters and meadows,
    Marking through these and after all, in duplicate slender lines,
    Bridging the three or four thousand miles of land travel,
    Tying the Eastern to the Western sea,
    The road between Europe and Asia.

    (Ah Genoese thy dream! thy dream!
    Centuries after thou art laid in thy grave,
    The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream.)

    4

    Passage to India!
    Struggles of many a captain, tales of many a sailor dead,
    Over my mood stealing and spreading they come,
    Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach’d sky.

    Along all history, down the slopes,
    As a rivulet running, sinking now, and now again to the surface  rising,
    A ceaseless thought, a varied train—lo, soul, to thee, thy sight, they rise,
    The plans, the voyages again, the expeditions;
    Again Vasco de Gama sails forth,
    Again the knowledge gain’d, the mariner’s compass,
    Lands found and nations born, thou born America,
    For purpose vast, man’s long probation fill’d,
    Thou rondure of the world at last accomplish’d.

    5

    O vast Rondure, swimming in space,
    Cover’d all over with visible power and beauty,
    Alternate light and day and the teeming spiritual darkness,
    Unspeakable high processions of sun and moon and countless stars above,
    Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, mountains, trees,
    With inscrutable purpose, some hidden prophetic intention,
    Now first it seems my thought begins to span thee.

    Down from the gardens of Asia descending radiating,
    Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them,
    Wandering, yearning, curious, with restless explorations,
    With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish, with never-happy hearts,
    With that sad incessant refrain, Wherefore unsatisfied soul? and Whither O mocking life?

    Ah who shall soothe these feverish children?
    Who justify these restless explorations?
    Who speak the secret of impassive earth?
    Who bind it to us? what is this separate Nature so unnatural?
    What is this earth to our affections? (unloving earth, without a  throb to answer ours,
    Cold earth, the place of graves.)

    Yet soul be sure the first intent remains, and shall be carried out,
    Perhaps even now the time has arrived.

    After the seas are all cross’d, (as they seem already cross’d,)
    After the great captains and engineers have accomplish’d their  work,
    After the noble inventors, after the scientists, the chemist, the geologist, ethnologist,
    Finally shall come the poet worthy that name,
    The true son of God shall come singing his songs.

    Then not your deeds only O voyagers, O scientists and inventors, shall be justified,
    All these hearts as of fretted children shall be sooth’d,
    All affection shall be fully responded to, the secret shall be told,
    All these separations and gaps shall be taken up and hook’d and  link’d together,
    The whole earth, this cold, impassive, voiceless earth, shall be  completely justified,
    Trinitas divine shall be gloriously accomplish’d and compacted by the true son of God, the poet,
    (He shall indeed pass the straits and conquer the mountains,
    He shall double the cape of Good Hope to some purpose,)
    Nature and Man shall be disjoin’d and diffused no more,
    The true son of God shall absolutely fuse them.

    6

    Year at whose wide-flung door I sing!
    Year of the purpose accomplish’d!
    Year of the marriage of continents, climates and oceans!
    (No mere doge of Venice now wedding the Adriatic,)
    I see O year in you the vast terraqueous globe given and giving all,
    Europe to Asia, Africa join’d, and they to the New World,
    The lands, geographies, dancing before you, holding a festival garland,
    As brides and bridegrooms hand in hand.

    Passage to India!
    Cooling airs from Caucasus far, soothing cradle of man,
    The river Euphrates flowing, the past lit up again.

    Lo soul, the retrospect brought forward,
    The old, most populous, wealthiest of earth’s lands,
    The streams of the Indus and the Ganges and their many affluents,
    (I my shores of America walking to-day behold, resuming all,)
    The tale of Alexander on his warlike marches suddenly dying,
    On one side China and on the other side Persia and Arabia,
    To the south the great seas and the bay of Bengal,
    The flowing literatures, tremendous epics, religions, castes,
    Old occult Brahma interminably far back, the tender and junior Buddha,
    Central and southern empires and all their belongings, possessors,
    The wars of Tamerlane, the reign of Aurungzebe,
    The traders, rulers, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the Arabs, Portuguese,
    The first travelers famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor,
    Doubts to be solv’d, the map incognita, blanks to be fill’d,
    The foot of man unstay’d, the hands never at rest,
    Thyself O soul that will not brook a challenge.

    The mediaeval navigators rise before me,
    The world of 1492, with its awaken’d enterprise,
    Something swelling in humanity now like the sap of the earth in spring,
    The sunset splendor of chivalry declining.

    And who art thou sad shade?
    Gigantic, visionary, thyself a visionary,
    With majestic limbs and pious beaming eyes,
    Spreading around with every look of thine a golden world,
    Enhuing it with gorgeous hues.

    As the chief histrion,
    Down to the footlights walks in some great scena,
    Dominating the rest I see the Admiral himself,
    (History’s type of courage, action, faith,)
    Behold him sail from Palos leading his little fleet,
    His voyage behold, his return, his great fame,
    His misfortunes, calumniators, behold him a prisoner, chain’d,
    Behold his dejection, poverty, death.

    (Curious in time I stand, noting the efforts of heroes,
    Is the deferment long? bitter the slander, poverty, death?
    Lies the seed unreck’d for centuries in the ground? lo, to God’s due occasion,
    Uprising in the night, it sprouts, blooms,
    And fills the earth with use and beauty.)

    7

    Passage indeed O soul to primal thought,
    Not lands and seas alone, thy own clear freshness,
    The young maturity of brood and bloom,
    To realms of budding bibles.

    O soul, repressless, I with thee and thou with me,
    Thy circumnavigation of the world begin,
    Of man, the voyage of his mind’s return,
    To reason’s early paradise,
    Back, back to wisdom’s birth, to innocent intuitions,
    Again with fair creation.

    8

    O we can wait no longer,
    We too take ship O soul,
    Joyous we too launch out on trackless seas,
    Fearless for unknown shores on waves of ecstasy to sail,
    Amid the wafting winds, (thou pressing me to thee, I thee to me, O soul,)
    Caroling free, singing our song of God,
    Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration.

    With laugh and many a kiss,
    (Let others deprecate, let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation,)
    O soul thou pleasest me, I thee.

    Ah more than any priest O soul we too believe in God,
    But with the mystery of God we dare not dally.

    O soul thou pleasest me, I thee,
    Sailing these seas or on the hills, or waking in the night,
    Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time and Space and Death, like waters flowing,
    Bear me indeed as through the regions infinite,
    Whose air I breathe, whose ripples hear, lave me all over,
    Bathe me O God in thee, mounting to thee,
    I and my soul to range in range of thee.

    O Thou transcendent,
    Nameless, the fibre and the breath,
    Light of the light, shedding forth universes, thou centre of them,
    Thou mightier centre of the true, the good, the loving,
    Thou moral, spiritual fountain—affection’s source—thou reservoir,
    (O pensive soul of me—O thirst unsatisfied—waitest not there?
    Waitest not haply for us somewhere there the Comrade perfect?)
    Thou pulse—thou motive of the stars, suns, systems,
    That, circling, move in order, safe, harmonious,
    Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of space,
    How should I think, how breathe a single breath, how speak, if, out of myself,
    I could not launch, to those, superior universes?

    Swiftly I shrivel at the thought of God,
    At Nature and its wonders, Time and Space and Death,
    But that I, turning, call to thee O soul, thou actual Me,
    And lo, thou gently masterest the orbs,
    Thou matest Time, smilest content at Death,
    And fillest, swellest full the vastnesses of Space.

    Greater than stars or suns,
    Bounding O soul thou journeyest forth;
    What love than thine and ours could wider amplify?
    What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours O soul?
    What dreams of the ideal? what plans of purity, perfection, strength?
    What cheerful willingness for others’ sake to give up all?
    For others’ sake to suffer all?

    Reckoning ahead O soul, when thou, the time achiev’d,
    The seas all cross’d, weather’d the capes, the voyage done,
    Surrounded, copest, frontest God, yieldest, the aim attain’d,
    As fill’d with friendship, love complete, the Elder Brother found,
    The Younger melts in fondness in his arms.

    9

    Passage to more than India!
    Are thy wings plumed indeed for such far flights?
    O soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like those?
    Disportest thou on waters such as those?
    Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas?
    Then have thy bent unleash’d.

    Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas!
    Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems!
    You, strew’d with the wrecks of skeletons, that, living, never  reach’d you.

    Passage to more than India!
    O secret of the earth and sky!
    Of you O waters of the sea! O winding creeks and rivers!
    Of you O woods and fields! of you strong mountains of my land!
    Of you O prairies! of you gray rocks!
    O morning red! O clouds! O rain and snows!
    O day and night, passage to you!

    O sun and moon and all you stars! Sirius and Jupiter!
    Passage to you!

    Passage, immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!
    Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!
    Cut the hawsers—haul out—shake out every sail!
    Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
    Have we not grovel’d here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
    Have we not darken’d and dazed ourselves with books long enough?

    Sail forth—steer for the deep waters only,
    Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me,
    For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
    And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.

    O my brave soul!
    O farther farther sail!
    O daring joy, but safe! are they not all the seas of God?
    O farther, farther, farther sail!

    Commentary on “Passage to India”

    Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India” undertakes the mammoth task of presenting a wide-ranging historical account of world civilization through the accomplishments of a humanity for which the poet holds deep affection and admiration.   As this poet’s speaker has elsewhere deemed everything a miracle, he also deems all humanity capable of miraculous achievements.

    Part 1: Present Achievements

    In the opening segment of the poem, the speaker celebrates the great achievements of the present: the building of the Suez Cana [2] l, the completion of which the speaker suggests heralds the completion the mission of the world-exploring Genoese, who was seeking a water route to the Far East.   The speaker then celebrates the laying of the Atlantic cable, and the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. 

    The speaker also pays tribute to the past, averring that the present is what it is because of what happened in the past. He emphasizes dependence of past experience by his repetition: “The Past! the Past! the Past!”

    Part 2: Elucidating Myths and Fables

    The first versagraph of Part 2 exclaims and commands his passage to India to elucidate the Asian myths and fables. He then suggests that it is not merely modern science that informs and delights the soul, but it is also myths and fables from around the entire world.  He is deeply enthralled by the world religions, “The deep diving bibles and legends.”

    Next, he then asserts through a rhetorical question the ancient rôle that India has played in the founding of the ways of knowing God and God’s purpose for humankind:  “Passage to India! / Lo, soul, seest thou not God’s purpose from the first?”

    Then the speaker praises the adventurous spirit [3] that spans the earth and connects the peoples. He especially pays homage to all those adventurers for making their journeys not merely for material purposes but also for spiritual enlightenment.

    Part 3: The Great Explorer

    After having merely mentioned the opening of the Suez Canal in Part 1, the speaker celebrates in detail that opening of that Canal and then turns to the Pacific railroad, for which he marvels at its ability to tie the two coasts together.

    The speaker muses on the connections being made possible inside of the United States by the Transcontinental Railroad as well as the connections being made possible with the world through the construction of the Suez Canal.  

    He pays homage to the discoveries of the Italian explorer, the “Genoese,” who dreamed of reaching the Far East over a less dangerous route that earlier explorers had experienced.  The speaker affirms that the idea of connecting East and West has now been accomplished after having been introduced in the great past by those of great vision.

    Parts 4:  Many Voyages

    The musing speaker can be seen following the movements of the many sea captains and sailors who appear to him like “clouds” in a storm of historical theatre.  These thoughts bring scenes of the voyages, the plans, the tempest-torn struggles that ultimately resulted in the discovery of new lands where new nations would be formed.

    The speaker, whose soul seems to be flooding his vision with allusions filled with scenes  of all those many voyages, including that of Vasco de Gama, to the New World which resulted in his native land’s opulence.  

    The speaker holds the belief that all those struggling explorers were fulfilling the promise that life on Earth holds for the children living a miraculous existence.  Humankind, he suggests, continues to seek out ways to keep heavenly promises.

    Part 5: Earth’s Vastness

    Addressing the vast planet Earth as “O vast Rondure, swimming in space,” the speaker becomes especially emotional as he considers the grand processes of people and events that have taken place on the cosmic stage. 

    Throughout the historical play, the first pair of human beings—Adam and Eve—appeared, followed by “their myriad progeny.”  And with them the many states of human longings and craving have continued to appear, as they motivate each generation to wander, to yearn, to remain curious as they restlessly explore their surroundings.

    The speaker muses on the “never-happy hearts” that continue to question as they remain baffled in a formless feverishness.  These souls continue to sally forth with a “sad incessant refrain” containing the queries, “Wherefore unsatisfied soul? and Whither O mocking life?”  The speaker continues to wax cosmically as he marvels at the vastness of the earth and predicts that a poet will be instrumental in linking all the cultures.

    Parts 6: Melding of Cultures

    The speaker reveals that he sees the passage to India as the event to aid in the melding of “land, geographies,” and that passage continues to move rhythmically grasping metaphorically a “festival garland” as a couple at their wedding might do.

    The speaker avers that his own soul will take a voyage to India: “Caroling free, singing our song of God, / Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration.”  He remains in a celebratory mood as he brings into his catalogue activities that reveal the varied cultures and long-standing traditions of the world.

    Part 7: Transcending Earth

    But the speaker is transcending the physical earth and insists that the destination of his journey is not merely to a geographical place called India; his journey is a mystical one.  He insists that humanity is on a journey “where mariner has not yet dared to go.”  He suggests that the journey is so fundamental that humanity will take up that travel even at great risk.  

    The speaker is metaphorically imagining that he will “farther, farther, farther sail!”  And he will, of course, be doing that “sailing” through the instrumentality of imagination and intuitive understanding. 

    He is suggesting that he has, in fact, transcended the very idea of “passage” or travel from one earthly location to another.   He is now revealing the efficacy of soul experience, which even transcends mental experience.

    Part 8: Mystical Journeying

    Such spiritual journeying was brilliantly depicted in the quotation [4] by Swami Sri Yukteswar in Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi: “What one does not trouble to find within will not be discovered by transporting the body hither and yon.” The speaker in Walt Whitman’s wide-ranging song of journey dramatizes the heart of that great swami’s message.  

    The Whitman speaker understands that as great as material, physical achievements are, the more important aspect of unity between the East and the West will be achieved through soul awareness, and not merely those physical and material exchange of ideas, material goods, or political diplomacy.

    Part 9: Homage to All Travelers: Geographic and Soul

    While honoring those travelers who have adventurously opened up the world to others, the speaker in Whitman’s poem also pays homage to those spiritual travelers who have opened up the spiritual level of being beyond this world. This Whitman speaker is dramatizing his ideas, his musings, and his knowledge of history to bring his insights to the citizens of the world. 

    He likely believes that if the members of his audience can engage their own imagination in understanding the miraculous and even divine nature of the earthly experience, they will be able to range farther and further also, not only over the earth but also far beyond it.

    Sources

    [1]  King James Bible Online.  Matthew 5:14.  Accessed April 1, 2025.
    [2]  J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings, eds. Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia. (New York: Garland Publishing. 1998. Print.
    [3]  Robin Ekiss.  “Walt Whitman: ‘A Passage to India’.” Poetry Foundation.  October 7, 2009.
    [4]  Swami Sri Yukteswar in Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi.  Self-Realization Fellowship.  Original publication date:  1946.  This printing 2007. Print.  Via Wikisource.

  • The Smell of Fall 

    Image created by Grok inspired by the poem
    Image created by Grok inspired by the poem

    The Smell of Fall   

    I was a melancholy child

    They used to burn leaves on the streets 
    Of Richmond, Indiana.  The streets 
    Rustled under our feet. 
    Swishing through the night 
    In scare-garbs, my sister and I 
    In town visiting our cousins, 
    We swished door to door bumming 
    Sweets, big bags full 
    To take back to the farm on the hill 
    And dip into for the next two, three days. 

    But the smell of fall and school 
    Always pressed me to crave 
    Summer, this rustling fall 
    Whispering in my face 
    And though I barely caught the words, 
    Their meaning was cold and clear 
    And their promise kept when morning 
    Broke and the ground was covered. 
    Fall had turned on me 
    And made walking down the hill slippery. 

  • Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach”

    Image a Matthew Arnold https://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait/mw114320/Matthew-Arnold National Portrait Gallery, London
    Image: Matthew Arnold National Portrait Gallery, London

    Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach”

    Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach” laments the loss of religious faith during a time of progress in science and industry.  He is sorrowful that this loss may not bode well for the future of humanity.

    Introduction with Text of “Dover Beach”

    Matthew Arnold’s poem “Dover Beach” displays in five riming stanzas. The stanzas are uneven; the rime scheme is complicated and would require a new essay to discuss its many and varied implications. 

    The speaker holds forth from a melancholy brought on by world events.  He hints at certain deficiencies that have occurred as humanity has been engaging in a materialism that may not be sustainable.  He thus offers a humble suggestion that he feels would improve the state of affairs and the lives of individuals.

    Dover Beach

    The sea is calm tonight.
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! v

    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in. 

    Sophocles long ago
    Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
    Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
    Of human misery; we
    Find also in the sound a thought,
    Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

    The Sea of Faith
    Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
    Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
    But now I only hear
    Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
    Retreating, to the breath
    Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
    And naked shingles of the world. 

    Ah, love, let us be true
    To one another! for the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain
    Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
    Where ignorant armies clash by night.

    Reading

    Commentary on “Dover Beach”

    The speaker in “Dover Beach” is lamenting the loss of religious faith during a time of progress in science and industry.  He suggests that this loss that has resulted in gross materialism is causing an interruption that may cost humanity its culture and even its very life.

    First Stanza: Musing on the Ocean

    The sea is calm tonight.
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in. 

    The speaker is standing at a window, musing and looking out at the ocean. He seems to be talking to a loved one, whom he invites to come and join him: “Come to the window, sweet is the night air!”

    Such an invitation could be a romantic gesture, offering the beloved the chance to share with him the lovely ocean view: “The sea is calm tonight / The tide is full, the moon lies fair.”  But that scene is not in the offing, and the reader soon finds a very different mood is being dramatized.

    Second Stanza:  The Drama of the Waves

    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in. 

    The second stanza features the speaker dramatizing the crashing of the waves upon the ocean shore; he reports that one can hear the pebbles as they are being cast about by the waves.

    He observes that the ocean waves can be heard as they begin, end, and then begin again.  While the waves continue to repeat their sounds, they cause one to experience a pang of sorrow.

    In place of enjoyment of the lovely, calm scene, this speaker’s thoughts have turned to the possibility of the universally shared brutality and sadness of the world with it inhumanity to man and its endless wars. 

    The crashing waves as they begin and end put him in a negative frame of mind. The process of beginning and ending reminds the speaker of the rounds of good and but also evil events that have been perpetrated upon humanity by humanity itself.

    Third Stanza:  Melancholy and Rumination

    Sophocles long ago
    Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
    Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
    Of human misery; we
    Find also in the sound a thought,
    Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

    The speaker offers evidence for his melancholic musing as he alludes to Sophocles, who would have listened long ago to the “ebb and flow” of the Aegean Sea. The speaker further emphasizes the allusion by averring that one can receive a “thought” as one listens to the sound of the sea. 

    Similar to Sophocles’ own rumination regarding the ebb and flow of “human misery,” this modern day speaker, however, has further thoughts on the matter, and he will unfurl them as he continues his drama.

    Fourth Stanza:   The Protection of Faith 

    The Sea of Faith
    Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
    Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
    But now I only hear
    Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
    Retreating, to the breath
    Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
    And naked shingles of the world. 

    The speaker then lays out his lamentation regarding the status of humanity:  in an earlier time, humanity remained ensconced in a religious faith, which embraces humanity with layers of protection. That protection seems “bright” as well as comforting. 

    One should note that the speaker does not name any particular “faith,” nor does he directly attribute to that faith the idea that it protects.  And, of course, he does not mention “God” or any other name for the Deity.  The speaker merely names the mysterious quality, “faith,” as he metaphorically likens it to the sea that remains filled as it remains in contact with the “earth’s shore.”

    In his own day, however, things are different from that earlier, seemingly protected time, and now he hears only “[the sea’s] melancholy, long, withdrawing roar.” While the sea continues to roar, it, nevertheless, seems to be in retreat because of the “night wind.”

    “Faith,” therefore, is compared to a sea that possesses only the dour aspect of the roar as it is in retreat.  The speaker further denigrates the act by asserting that faith’s retreat flows “down the vast edges drear / And naked shingles of the world.” 

    Fifth Stanza:   The Protection of Love 

    Ah, love, let us be true
    To one another! for the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain
    Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
    Where ignorant armies clash by night.

    The speaker then appears to offer a lone cure for the abysmal loss of faith that is being suffered in his time.  Of course, the qualifying notion must be added—if there need be a cure at all. 

    The speaker then again appears to speak to his beloved, whom he had earlier beckoned to come join him at the window.   He seems to address his loved one thus: “Ah, love, let us be true / To one another!” 

    The speaker then makes quite an astute observation of the world:  that it may seem at times to be “so beautiful, so new,” but the reality is that the world, “Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, / Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.”  

    The speaker concludes his lamentation with an image of the greatest lamentation of all throughout human history:  Essentially, humanity exists on a “darkling plain,” and it is hurtled about by alarming “struggle and flight,” and on that dark plain there are always “ignorant armies” who “clash by night.” 

    Invitation to Humanity

    While the opening of the poem seems to have the speaker inviting a loved one to join him at the window, it more likely that he is inviting all of humanity to join in his musing on the status of the world. 

    If the speaker were inviting merely one person—a lover or a spouse, for example—to join him, he would have said in the final stanza, “let us be true / To each other!”  But he says, “to one another!” indicating that he is addressing more than one person.

    The speaker is concerned with a profound subject—the condition of all of humanity and how it lives in this material world.  Thus, it is much more likely that the speaker is addressing all of humanity in his momentous musing. 

    Let’s consider his appeal:  by addressing one’s spouse or beloved and asking that the speaker and that person be true to each other, he would not be suggesting much of an improvement in world events. 

    But by asking all of humanity to “be true to one another,” he is asking much, and taking seriously and thus granting that request would, in fact, offer a great improvement in humanity’s status in the world. By following such a request, the world could be restored to a virtue that the speaker can only imagine existed in an earlier time.

    Image b: Portrait of Matthew Arnold  https://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait/mw255781/Matthew-Arnold-Men-of-the-Day-No-36?LinkID=mp00139&role=sit&rNo=16  James Jacques Joseph Tissot - National Portrait Gallery, London
    Image: Portrait of Matthew Arnold  James Jacques Joseph Tissot – National Portrait Gallery, London

  • this building

    320a Image created by Gemini and Grok inspired by the poem.jpg
    Image created by Gemini and Grok inspired by the poem

    this building

    for Thomas & the RB                   

    this building is our world.
    we must learn to love it as we fault it.
    with its mouth of glass and steel
    it sucks our life like an armored leech.
    we must not let it suck out our hearts
    for if we do, it will swallow our love
    as it does the dreams of the students
    who sit for our classes.
    we must not let this building our world
    twist our minds into nests for birds of gloom
    for if we do, no butterflies
    will delight us with wisdom.
    we must not shatter our will
    against the newest testament
    that declares the messiah hath arrived
    and his or her name is called VAX.
    for is we do, we will not intuit
    that a messiah named VAX is better
    than no messiah at all.
    we must not let this building our world
    calculate us among the weak in spirit
    for it we do, we will learn to fear
    the words that ignite our souls
    to burn the dross from our mood-dimmed brains.
    this is our building, our own world,
    for all of its cold, sharp edges,
    for all of its slave laborers,
    and for all of its empty promises—
    it does offer our only shelter
    our only ground where we can meet, 
    smile and say our small hellos

  • Walt Whitman’s “Miracles”

    Walt Whitman in Camden, N.J., c. 1891. (Colorised black and white print). Creator: Thomas Eakins. (Photo by Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images)
    Image: Walt Whitman in Camden, N.J., c. 1891. (Colorised black and white print). Creator: Thomas Eakins. (Photo by Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images)

    Walt Whitman’s “Miracles”

    In Walt Whitman’s “Miracles,” the speaker catalogues all the miracles he finds as he goes through life, concluding that he has encountered nothing but miracles.

    Introduction and Text of “Miracles”

    Walt Whitman’s “Miracles” consists of three versagraphs. (Please note: “Versagraph” is a term I coined; it is the conflation of “verse paragraph,” the primary unit of free verse poetry.) 

    The first versagraph features a long catalogue for which Whitman is noted, in which he begin his display of miracles. The second reinforces his notion that everything in creation is a miracle, and the third takes special note of the miracle of the ocean.

    The poem begins and ends with a question that rhetorically, as usual, answers itself. The speaker wishes to assert and defend the idea that all aspects of creation are, in fact, miracles, not just the so-called supernatural events that are often touted as miraculous.  

    The speaker intuits that anything that seems supernatural is merely not yet understood. By claiming that everything from a fish to a man is a miracle, he transcends the mundane notion that divides humanity as it strives to discern what is holy and what is not.

    Miracles 

    Why! who makes much of a miracle?
    As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
    Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
    Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
    Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
    Or stand under trees in the woods,
    Or talk by day with any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
    Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
    Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
    Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
    Or animals feeding in the fields,
    Or birds—or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
    Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down—or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
    Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
    Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best—mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
    Or among the savans—or to the soiree—or to the opera,
    Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
    Or behold children at their sports,
    Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
    Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
    Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
    These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
    The whole referring—yet each distinct, and in its place.

    To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
    Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
    Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,  
    Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
    Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them,  
    All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

    To me the sea is a continual miracle;  
    The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships, with men in them,
    What stranger miracles are there?

    Commentary on “Miracles”

    Whitman’s speaker in “Miracle” is cataloguing all the miracles he finds as he goes through life, concluding that he has encountered nothing but miracles.

    First Versagraph:   The Supernatural

    Why! who makes much of a miracle?
    As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
    Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
    Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
    Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
    Or stand under trees in the woods,
    Or talk by day with any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
    Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
    Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
    Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
    Or animals feeding in the fields,
    Or birds—or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
    Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down—or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
    Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
    Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best—mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
    Or among the savans—or to the soiree—or to the opera,
    Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
    Or behold children at their sports,
    Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
    Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
    Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
    These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
    The whole referring—yet each distinct, and in its place.

    The speaker begins with an exclamation, “Why!,” that implies that he has just heard someone remark about some possible supernatural event that is being touted as a miracle. He then asks the question, “who makes much of a miracle?” The question is merely rhetorical because the speaker continues to answer his own question.  

    The speaker avers that he is not aware that there is anything in existence that is not a miracle, and he then begins a long catalogue of things he claims are miracles. It does not matter, he asserts, “whether he is walk[ing] the streets of Manhattan or merely looking toward the sky,” all he sees are miracles.

    When he wades “with bare feet along the beach and stand[s] under trees in the woods,” he perceives these acts as part of the great miracle. “Sit[ting] at table at dinner with [his] mother, seeing strangers opposite [him] riding the car, watching bees and animals feeding in the fields, or birds and insects”— all these events portend the miraculous for this speaker. 

     This speaker also finds miracles in the sun-down and the stars shining so quiet and bright, as well as the delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring. Whether he associates with mechanics, boatmen, farmers or the fancy people who attend the opera, he still perceives all these people to be part of the great dramatic miracle of life.

    He also finds miracles in the movements of machinery and children at their sports. He admires the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman. Even sick people in hospitals, and the deceased headed for burial, he finds miraculous. When he views his own reflection in the mirror, he finds his own eyes and figure to be miracles.  

    The speaker finalizes his long catalogue by asserting that these things and even all those things he has not named are “one and all to me miracles.” Each miracle reflects the whole as it occupies its own space.

    Second Versagraph:  A Pantheistic View

    To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
    Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
    Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,  
    Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
    Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them,  
    All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

    The speaker then claims that both day and night are miracles, along with every inch of space. He emphasizes, “[e]very square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same.”  From the soil, to the grass, to bodies of all men and women, he finds “[a]ll these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.”

    Third Versagraph:  The Miracle of the Ocean

    To me the sea is a continual miracle;  
    The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships, with men in them,
    What stranger miracles are there?

    Almost as an afterthought the speaker asserts that to him the sea is a continual miracle with swimming fish, its rocks, the waves, and the ships that have men in them.  The speaker concludes with his final question: “What stranger miracles are there?” Of course, the answer is, none.

    Image d: Walt Whitman Commemorative Stamp http://usstampgallery.com/view.php?id=1b75f1a8ff3bff3ef7a72c6935c3d01a94da8969&Walt_Whitman
    Image: Walt Whitman – Commemorative Stamp

  • Edgar Lee Masters’ “Mrs. Williams” 

    Image: Edgar Lee Masters http://www.poorwilliam.net/al-082314.html Poor William’s Almanack
    Image: Edgar Lee Masters – Poor William’s Almanack

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Mrs. Williams” 

    Mrs. Williams is the mother of Dora Williams, a despicable character if ever there was one.  But Mrs. Williams has a philosophical turn of mind and has some advice for the wives of Spoon River.

    Introduction and Text of  “Mrs. Williams”

    In Edgar Lee Masters’ “Mrs. Williams” from his American classic Spoon River Anthology, the speaker is the mother of “Dora Williams,” who after a life of prostitution, married and then killed two wealthy husbands.

    It is possible that she was poisoned by her third husband, who was an Italian count, likely one of those impoverished Europeans who attached themselves to wealthy American women in order to continue their opulent life-styles—at the same time

    giving the women royal titles that were not the custom in the United States.

    This phenomenon marked a period of American history known as the “Gilded Age.”

    A real-life example of such a marriage is that of  Barbara Hutton, heiress of the Woolworth fortune,  and Count Kurt Haugwitz-Reventlow, who married in 1935.

    Hutton’s marriage to the count was stormy, and they divorced in 1941; she had given the man nearly two million dollars when they first married and roughly an equal amount at their divorce.

    In her epitaph, Mrs. Williams shows that she is miffed because the reputation of her miscreant daughter splattered her with shame.  She understood that the Spoon River residents blamed Dora’s upbringing for her misdeeds in becoming a prostitute.  But this mother has observed that the women of Spoon River could avoid losing their husbands to prostitutes if they would simply dress better.

    Then again, if those women decided to dress better, they would have to visit the milliner to purchase a spiffy hat or a nice set of “buckles and feathers.”  So Mrs. Williams’ advice comes as a commercial for her own business venture.

    Mrs. Williams

    I was the milliner
    Talked about, lied about,
    Mother of Dora,
    Whose strange disappearance
    Was charged to her rearing.
    My eye quick to beauty
    Saw much beside ribbons
    And buckles and feathers
    And leghorns and felts,
    To set off sweet faces,
    And dark hair and gold.
    One thing I will tell you
    And one I will ask:
    The stealers of husbands
    Wear powder and trinkets,
    And fashionable hats.
    Wives, wear them yourselves.
    Hats may make divorces—
    They also prevent them.
    Well now, let me ask you:
    If all of the children, born here in Spoon River
    Had been reared by the County, somewhere on a farm;
    And the fathers and mothers had been given their freedom
    To live and enjoy, change mates if they wished,
    Do you think that Spoon River
    Had been any the worse?

    Commentary on “Mrs. Williams”

    Mrs. Williams is the mother of Dora Williams, one of the most despicable characters of Spoon River.  Her mother, however, has a philosophical turn of mind and has some advice for the wives of Spoon River.

    First Movement:  The Sins of the Mothers

    I was the milliner
    Talked about, lied about,
    Mother of Dora,
    Whose strange disappearance
    Was charged to her rearing.
    My eye quick to beauty
    Saw much beside ribbons
    And buckles and feathers
    And leghorns and felts,
    To set off sweet faces,
    And dark hair and gold.

    Mrs. Williams begins by stating her profession—she was a milliner.  She identifies herself as the “Mother of Dora.”   But Mrs. Williams also reports that she was “talked about” and “lied about,” and she disdains the fact that she has been blamed for Dora’s misdeeds.

    Mrs. Williams then reveals that there was more to her knowledge than having an eye “quick to beauty”; she wants to state that she knew more about human nature than it might have seemed.  

    Thus Mrs. Williams claims that she understood more about things than mere “ribbons /  And buckles and feathers /  And leghorns and felts,  /  To set off sweet faces.”  Mrs. Williams then announces that she will reveal her philosophical observations with two things:  one she “will tell you” and the other she will “ask.” 

    Second Movement:  Pearls of Wisdom

    One thing I will tell you
    And one I will ask:
    The stealers of husbands
    Wear powder and trinkets,
    And fashionable hats.
    Wives, wear them yourselves.
    Hats may make divorces—
    They also prevent them.

    Mrs. Williams announces that she will reveal on thing and then ask about another.  She then sets about spreading her pearls of wisdom; she says that the strumpets who lure husbands away from their wives, “Wear powder and trinkets / And fashionable hats.”  

    Mrs. Williams drops a bombshell, telling wives to dress the way the strumpets do.  She intimates that although “hats” may lead to divorce,” on the other hand, they may “also prevent them.”

    So if only wives would avail themselves of Mrs. Williams wares, they could save their marriages, keep their husbands from divorcing them and taking up with those women who have already availed themselves of Mrs. Williams items for sale.

    It is interesting that her observation works like a commercial for her business.  Although she thinks she is offering solid advice to the poor wives of Spoon River, she is able to look back and see how she could have been enriched if the wives had been able to follow her advice.

    Third Movement:  Let the State Raise the Brats

    Well now, let me ask you:
    If all of the children, born here in Spoon River
    Had been reared by the County, somewhere on a farm;
    And the fathers and mothers had been given their freedom
    To live and enjoy, change mates if they wished,
    Do you think that Spoon River
    Had been any the worse?

    Finally, Mrs. Williams asks a question that reveals an incredibly decadent mindset:  she wants to know if the social fabric of Spoon River would be any worse off if “the County” had raised the children “somewhere on a farm,” thus allowing the fathers and mothers “freedom to live and enjoy” life, changing partners as they wished.  

    When one considers Dora’s situation, one is inclined to give that insane suggestion some serious thought.

  • Turtle Woman Sonnet

    Image: Book Cover "Turtle Woman & Other Poems" https://lindas-literary-home.com/2026/02/10/turtle-woman-other-poems/
    Image: Book Cover “Turtle Woman & Other Poems”

    Turtle Woman Sonnet

    “When the yogi, like a tortoise withdrawing its limbs, 
    can fully retire his senses from the objects of perception,
     his wisdom manifests steadiness.”     —Bhagavad Gita II:58

    I move slow, but what if win the race?
    Will thy affection remain or fast fade ?
    As speed is thy god, slow remains my pace.
    I bear this heavy shell wherein I’m staid. 

    Thy form unencumbered I do admire,
    Once dumped over, I struggle long and hard;
    My cooked flesh the gourmand’s greed does desire,
    So I support the vegan’s cleaner board. 

    Still, my fierce jaws from time to time will snap
    At crazy bugs, small fish, or busy hand.
    What choice have I beneath this heavy cap
    Wherein I creep and crawl upon the land? 

    I shall not weep; I’ll simply turn my face
    And drop out of thy breathless, vapid race.

    Converted to a Shakespearean sonnet from my original free verse poem “Turtle Woman,” which appears in my collection Turtle Woman & Other Poems.