“Perhaps the time has already come . . . when the sluggard intellectof this continent will look from under its iron lids and fill the postponed expectation of the world with something better than the exertions of mechanical skill.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The American Scholar” 1837
You have mistaken the hands for the heart, The craft for the art, The brain for the mind, The plane for the destination.
The scholar schooled on Man Thinking must ask:
When the fountain replaced the quill, Did the masters tout it as the solution To all pedagogical problems? a fount of creativity?
When the ball point edged out the fountain, Did they once again shout “panacea”? Ideas become more liquid?
When typewriters lined up in classrooms, Did English professors march their students in to improve The essay? keys take on mind power?
All are fragile, who would teach and learn. But our students know the difference Between a tool and a work.
They come to us to search, if not seek, their souls. If we demand that Man Thinking is Man Computing We impede their ability to search and seek.
II. Those Who Fear Big Brother
“Let the scholar not quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The American Scholar” 1837
You finger the edge of the new page But refuse to read it: Maybe you can’t control the syntax, Maybe you’ll have to ask someone to help you— Someone who is not as good as you are, Some morale-less underling.
You do fine with your pen and ink— You do write type, though, if the machine Does not plug into the wall.
You suspect that invisible criminal activity Is playing in the network of the system: Whiz-kids accessing your bank accounts, Administrators processing your thoughts.
Your students laugh loud at the clever insults You spit at the machine, But they know the difference between A stagecoach and an airplane.
The speaker in William Butler Yeats’ “The Fisherman” is dramatically promoting a style of poetry that will become and remain meaningful to and beloved by the common folk.
Introduction with Text of “The Fisherman”
William Butler Yeats’ poem “The Fisherman” appears in the poet’s The Wild Swans at Coole, which was brought out in 1919. The poet’s collection features many of his most widely anthologized poems.
In “The Fisherman,” Yeats has created a speaker who is voicing a call for a genuine school of art for the common folk, an art that dramatizes the beauty and truth inherent in all great art.
The speaker is also decrying the cultural suicide being perpetrated by charlatans in art as well as their cohorts who are power-hungry politicians. He thus reveals contempt for fakes and frauds, while promoting an ideal that he strongly believes should be steering art and the cultural life of the nation.
Every nation throughout history has suffered from these same issues, as toppling governments and bloody wars testify. The poets have often spoken up, calling out names and insisting on reforms.
Despite the fact that poetry’s first function arises from personal experience, political controversy often intrudes into the realm of the personal and that is when poets are compelled to use their platform for activism.
Care must be taken, however, that the poet not become a brazen tool for propaganda. As an accomplished world poet and former Irish senator [1], Yeats possessed the acumen to broach issues of art, poetry, culture, and politics.
The former politician and literary Nobel Laureate [2] boasts numerous works that address culture and politics: “The Fisherman” remains one of the most colorful and culturally significant poems of the era.
The Fisherman
Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies, It’s long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I’d looked in the face What I had hoped ’twould be To write for my own race And the reality; The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The craven man in his seat, The insolent unreproved, And no knave brought to book Who has won a drunken cheer, The witty man and his joke Aimed at the commonest ear, The clever man who cries The catch-cries of the clown, The beating down of the wise And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelvemonth since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man And his sun-freckled face, And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark under froth, And the down turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream: A man who does not exist, A man who is but a dream; And cried, “Before I am old I shall have written him one Poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.”
Reading of “The Fisherman”
Commentary on “The Fisherman”
The speaker in William Butler Yeats’ poem is heralding a style of poetry that will be beloved by the common folk. He makes his contempt for charlatans known. He encourages the ideals that he believes must guide culture and art. Yeats was a promoter of the style of art that he thought was closest to the hearts and minds of the Irish.
First Movement: Recalling an Admired Man
Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies, It’s long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man.
The speaker appears to be remembering a special man whom he has respected: “[t]he freckled man” wearing “Connemara clothes.” This man has been in the habit of fishing at a “gray place on a hill.”
The speaker implies that in his mind’s eye, he can still perceive the man. And it may also be that the speaker literally meets the man occasionally in the village. However, the speaker has not as of late mused upon the man.
The speaker admires the man’s simple ways. He assumes that the man is “wise and simple.” The speaker then continues to cogitate upon those very same qualities as he continues his message.
The speaker entertains a deep desire to praise the virtues of simplicity and wisdom. He has observed those qualities in the folks who are doing ordinary, simple everyday tasks.
Second Movement: Researching History
All day I’d looked in the face What I had hoped ’twould be To write for my own race And the reality; The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The craven man in his seat, The insolent unreproved,
The speaker has determined that he will make a plan to write for his own people, including the real experiences they all undergo. With the plan in mind, he has begun to research the history of his nation and its people. The speaker asserts that he hopes to reveal the reality of the lived experience of his fellow citizens.
Such a reality should well acquit itself and at the same time demonstrate and dramatize the exact truths that future generations will be likely to undergo.The speaker offers a catalogue of qualities that the men who make up the current political landscape have put on display.
Some of those men will be the recipients of his ire. He brazenly states that there are living men whom he hates. He then contrasts that negative emotion with its opposite by emphasizing that there is as well the “dead man that [he] loved.”
The speaker continues in his enflamed hatred by asserting that the “craven” exist while the “insolent” remain unrestricted in their perfidy. The speaker believes that by contrasting good and evil, he can demonstrate the efficacy of the arrival of a steady virtue upon which to build a better art and poetry that can represent Irish culture more faithfully and honestly.
Third Movement: The Guilty Avoiding Justice
And no knave brought to book Who has won a drunken cheer, The witty man and his joke Aimed at the commonest ear, The clever man who cries The catch-cries of the clown, The beating down of the wise And great Art beaten down.
The speaker continues referring to the rogues and knaves, who have thus far evaded justice though guilty. The speaker loathes those frauds who have “won a drunken cheer,” even as they have remained undeserving of celebrity and honor.
The speaker makes it clear that there is a sector of despicable characters who damage, cheapen, and pile shame on the culture. The speaker accuses such unscrupulous scoundrels of attempting to destroy the art of the nation.
They, in effect, denigrate “the wise” as they dismantle the “great Art” that they have inherited. The speaker grieves that these killers of culture have succeeded in their perfidy. Thus, he is calling attention to their misdeeds. He is proposing a change in focus in order to improve values. He is not suggesting censorship of the charlatans.
Fourth Movement: Cultural Assassins
Maybe a twelvemonth since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man And his sun-freckled face, And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark under froth,
The speaker then reports that for a while he has been incubating the idea of creating an uncomplicated, “sun-freckled face”—the man in “Connemara cloth.” For his effort, he has thus far received only “scorn” from the ilk of those culture killers and unscrupulous reprobates.
Nevertheless, the speaker has been pressing on, striving to envision a simple fisherman, who “climb[s] up to a place / Where stone is dark with froth,” a natural place that continues to be pristine and still remains alluring.
The speaker is crafting a symbolic being whom he can describe and on whom he can bestow the qualities that he deems must become and remain an important part of the natural art, belonging to the people of his environs.
Fifth Movement: The Importance of Simplicity
And the down turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream: A man who does not exist, A man who is but a dream; And cried, “Before I am old I shall have written him one Poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.”
The speaker visualizes the fisherman’s wrist movement as the man casts his line into the water. He admits that this man does not yet exist, because he is still “but a dream.” The speaker’s keen sensibility is strong enough to bring to life such a simple, rustic character. He is urged then to take all pains to bring such a character to life.
Thus, while the poet is still young enough to use his God-given imagination, he vows to take on the task of writing this fisherman into existence and to compose for the man a poem “as cold / And passionate as the dawn.”
The speaker continues to muse on simplicity. He passionately desires to create a new ideal that will produce meaningful, original, dramatic poetry.
He insists that that new poetry must be able to speak with genuine originality and that it thus should become a harbinger of the beginning of a new era in art of poetry.
The speaker hopes to accomplish all of this despite the wrong-headedness and power-grabbing of too many of the political phonies—and despite the fraudulent deceivers whose selfishness is spreading the destruction of their own culture.
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
Image: Walt Whitman – Library of Congress/Getty Images
Walt Whitman’s “Reconciliation”
Walt Whitman served in field hospitals during the American Civil War (1861-1865), and he wrote extensively about his experience in both poems and essays. His much anthologized poem “Reconciliation” resulted from the poet’s first-hand observation of the ravages of war.
Introduction and Text of “Reconciliation”
Walt Whitman’s “Reconciliation” consists of only six sprawling lines. The lines are long and unwieldy—the third line has to be broken for almost any page. While one might contend that for such a subject, a cosmic voice is needed, Whitman has his speaker make his remarkable claims in a very personal, individual voice, revealed in the penultimate and final lines.
Far from ever professing a morose or melancholy view, Whitman was able to see in the overall scheme of things that death is an integral part of life, and he allows his speaker to profess his heartfelt observations.
Reconciliation
Word over all, beautiful as the sky! Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost; That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil’d world: … For my enemy is dead—a man divine as myself is dead; I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down, and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Commentary on “Reconciliation”
What does the speaker in Whitman’s poem titled “Reconciliation” attempt to reconcile? Two concrete entities—friend and foe, and two abstract—life and death. His sprawling lines are immediately recognizable as the Whitman style that has captivated readers for many decades.
First Movement: Cosmic Claim
Word over all, beautiful as the sky! Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost;
“Reconciliation” makes a cosmic claim in the first line, “Word over all, beautiful as the sky.” “Word” alludes to “the Word” as it is used in the beginning of the Gospel of St. John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (KJV John 1:1).
The speaker thus avers that God is “over all.” He then focuses on the limited space of humanity, claiming that something is “as beautiful as the sky.” And then he addresses his specific subject: the reconciliation of the entities he has chosen to feature. Influenced by the carnage he has witnessed, he comes to realize certain universal attributes that prevail and perplex humanity.
Despite the death and destruction that war engenders, it is a beautiful fact that eventually those evil “deeds of carnage” will disappear. The sky implies the beauty that is “the Word” (or vibration) of God, and the beauty that is lost in war will return because war “in time” loses its hold completely.
Second Movement: Death a Cleanser
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil’d world:
Line three continues the claim, stating that it is also beautiful that both “Death and Night” behaving as “sisters” employ their “hands” to continue to cleanse the world’s soil repeatedly. By personifying “Death and Night” as sisters who cleanse the dirt from the world, the speaker offers further evidence of deliverance from the “deeds of carnage.”
That bad things happen on this physical plane is undeniable, but that the bad things are corrected is beautiful. “Death” gives the tired soul a respite from the torment of earth life as “night” gives rest to the body.
Third Movement: On Loving One’s Enemies
… For my enemy is dead—a man divine as myself is dead; I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down, and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
In line four, the speaker makes a startling statement: he simply affirms that his enemy is now deceased, but further he avers that this vanquished enemy is a “child of God” every bit as much as he the speaker is.
It is customarily difficult for the ordinary mind to grasp that an enemy is, like one’s self, a child of God. But Whitman’s speaker does comprehend this truth, and thus he does as Jesus the Christ commands, “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (KJV Matthew 5:44).
The speaker views the dead enemy in his casket, but instead of denigrating the enemy or experiencing gladness at the man’s death as is usually expected, this speaker does the unthinkable: He “[b]end[s] down” to “touch lightly with [his] lips the white face in the coffin.” He blesses the face of the enemy by offering a consoling touch of the lips to the enemy’s pale countenance.
Sound and Meaning
Whitman’s short lyric relies on few poetic devices. Apart of the opening allusion and personification of Death and Night as sisters, the poem is fairly literal. It does employ alliteration in the same line as the personification: “the hands of the sisters . . . incessantly softly wash . . . the soil’d world.”
The many alliterative sibilant sounds enforce the meaning of the claim that the hands wash the “soil’d world.” The sounds seem to inundate the sentence as water would inundate as it cleanses.
Repetition of the “–ld” sound in “soil’d world” emphasizes the physical plane’s uncleanliness because the words are a near rime. Also, repetition of “is dead” in line four reinforces the finality that death has brought to the victim.
In a blaze of memory the streets flare up Between the concrete cells of my brain— Hard as night the rain has not loosened the fire That tears through the walls of my mad heart.
You rise out of the demolition of buildings. With the axe of your words you hack through the cement— Sidewalks and down alleyways you gain speed Surefooted and safe from this mad stalker heart.
My thoughts dangle at the end of a long line— A stranger assures me that many fish still swim In the oceans and time has a way with mad hearts— But she has not heard your boots on hardwood.
And she has not watched you brush grass from her hair And she did not feel the thunder in your voice The night that lightning struck the house And put out the fire with your naked hands.
Image: Max Surreal Abstract Image by Grok inspired by the poem
Walt Whitman’s seven-line poem titled “Cavalry Crossing a Ford” offers a simple, single unified image, much as a photograph of the same scene would offer.
Introduction and Text of “Cavalry Crossing a Ford”
This signature sprawling poem “Cavalry Crossing a Ford” is one of Whitman’s most widely anthologized poems from his Civil War experience; it first appeared in the section “Drum-Taps,” in 1865 in his much revised Leaves of Grass, his collection that he continually added to and revised for many years.
The speaker of this poem adds no commentary about what he sees; he simply reports the image as it appears to his sight. Each line becomes a single unit that gives its supporting value to the entire poem.
Cavalry Crossing a Ford
A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to the musical clank, Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink, Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles, Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while,
Scarlet and blue and snowy white, The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind.
Commentary on “Cavalry Crossing a Ford”
This seven-line poem offers a simple, single unified image, much as a photograph of the same scene would do.
Line 1: ”A line in long array, where they wind betwixt green islands”
The speaker is riding with a line of cavalry soldiers as they move into battle. The small group of soldiers is in the process of crossing a river, as the speaker commences his portrayal of this event. The attention of the viewer is directed to a line of the cavalrymen who are on horseback, “wind[ing] betwixt green islands.”
Whitman eschewed any traditional riming scheme with this poem; however, the assonance of words with such as “wind,” “island,” and “line,” offer a stand-in and function as rime would do in helping to render the line a unified whole. The viewer can see the whole group of cavalry in just the first line.
Line 2: ”They take a serpentine course— their arms flash in the sun–Hark to the musical clank”
The line of soldiers seems to form a snake-like line as it glides through the landscape. Crossing the river the “serpentine” line appears to move as the snake would move through grass.
The speaker now refers to the soldiers by reporting that, “their arms [are] flash[ing] in the sun.” The speaker then adds to his description a sound: “Hark to the musical clank.” The poem, therefore, is offering an image that a snapshot could never do.
Line 3: ”Behold the silvery river—in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop to drink”
The speaker now dramatizes the river, reporting that it is “silvery” with the horses “splashing” the water, taking a gulp of the water every time they halt to wait their turn to trot ahead. The speaker adds a marvelous touch by commanding his reader/listerner/viewer: “Behold the silvery river.”
Line 4: ”Behold the brown-faced men–each group, each person, a picture—the negligent rest on the saddles”
Employing this line and the following line to dramatize the soldiers, the speaker again commands his listeners to look at the “brown-faced men.” The speaker then asserts that each soldier represents a “picture,” as the whole group of soldiers also paints its own picture. He notes that some seem rather laid-back and seem to be merely relaxing in their saddles before they begin their difficult journey again.
Line 5: ”Some emerge on the opposite bank–others are just entering the ford—while”
The speaker then claims that a section of the line of soldiers is completing their crossing of the river, as others remain in the process of stepping into the river. The line connects immediately to the following line employing the subordinating conjunction “while,” giving the section obvious dependence on the following line.
Line 6: ”Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white”
The flags representing the colors of the united country, the union flag, which serve as a guidon for the group remain in a single line to stress their important function of representing the country they are fighting to preserve.
Line 6: ”The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind”
The final line finds the speaker stressing the colorful flags, “flutter[ing] gaily.” The speaker finds that fluttering a happy event as the flags do what they would simply and naturally do in a light breeze.
Image a: Walt Whitman – Mathew Brady – Walt Whitman Archive
Walt Whitman’s “Patroling Barnegat”
Walt Whitman’s American-Innovative sonnet demonstrates the power of the verb form known as the present participle, as his speaker dramatizes the activity of a severe storm at sea.
Introduction and Text of “Patroling Barnegat”
Walt Whitman’s “Patroling Barnegat” is an American-Innovative sonnet, a form which makes various transformations based upon the received sonnets from the past, particularly the Shakespearean (Elizabethan or English and Petrarchan (Italian) forms.
Unlike the English and Italian sonnet forms, the American-Innovative sonnet almost always features a much looser form. While the English sonnet is sectioned into three quatrains and a couplet and the Italian is sectioned into octave and sestet, the American-Innovative sonnets are often subdivided into “movements,” when it appears in its purest form.
The American-Innovative may, indeed, take the traditional form and section into quatrains and octaves, but as it does so, those stanzas are usually vastly altered from the traditional forms. Of course, the American-Innovative form usually dispenses with rime and meter, but again if it employs those devices, it does so in new and different ways.
These sonnet movements depend solely on the sonnet’s total environment. While some American-Innovative sonnets may move in ways similar to the English and Italian, they never feature the entire body of the early sonnet forms.
Walt Whitman’s American-Innovative sonnet moves on present participles: “running,” “muttering,” “pealing,” etc. The speaker is observing a wildly active situation, and in order to convey the activity, he keeps his descriptions moving through a piling on of the present participle verb forms.
Patroling Barnegat
Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing, Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing, Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting, Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing, (That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, That savage trinity warily watching.
Commentary on “Patroling Barnegat”
This American-Innovative sonnet “Patroling Barnegat” demonstrates the power of the verb form known as the present participle. The speaker is dramatizing the turbulence of a severe storm on the ocean.
First Movement: Setting the Scene
Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing, Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
The first movement of Walt Whitman’s “Patroling Barnegat” includes the poem’s introductory element of depicting the subject by creating the image of the sea wildly churning its wave into a “wild” storm, as the ocean waters are “running” high. The speaker is dramatizing the event of patroling the stormy waters of Barnegat Bay, off the coast of New Jersey.
The speaker emphasizes the severity of the storm by repeating the word “wild.” He shows the sea being whipped up in a frenzy which causes a “roar of the gale,” while a background noise creates an “incessant undertone” that seems to be “muttering.”
The noises bedevil the speaker; thus he calls them “shouts of demoniac laughter.” These sounds seem to pierce to speaker’s ears. He then invokes a “trinity” of “waves, air, midnight,” calling them the “savagest” that lash the sea vessel and the men who are manning it.
Second Movement: Drama of the Waves
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting, Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
The second movement includes the drama of the waves as they appear “out of the shadows”; he calls them “milk-white combs” as they come “careering.” He then observes that over the “beachy slush” there are “sand spirts of snow” that come in “slanting” as they move inland.
The storm creates a murkiness through which “the easterly death-wind” comes “breasting.” As the patrol-boat plunges through the storm and snow-filled air, it seems to be “cutting” its way through as the men remain vigilant.
Third Movement: Two Questions
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
The third movement, which consists of a single parenthetical line, dissects the sonnet to pose two questions regarding the sighting of a possible disaster. The speaker excitedly points to something he thinks my might be seeing in the distance. He seems to be asking someone if he is actually seeing something. His question includes the possibility that a wreck may have occurred.
And if there is something there, he then wonders if it may, in fact, be a wreck. Thus, he queries if there may be a “red signal” being sent out. The very purpose of this patrol in this storm is to search for people who might be in trouble on the sea as it whips up possible disasters.
The parenthetical questions are never answered. It seems to appear as a simple incidental thought, as the speaker continues to concentrate upon describing the storm and how it affects the water and the beach. The sounds of the water and winds become important for his description.
Fourth Movement: A Drama of Tension
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, That savage trinity warily watching.
The final movement consists of the final five lines that dramatize the tension between the beach of “slush and sand” and that savage trinity of “waves, air, and midnight.” The patrol has lasted all night and finally at the “midnight edge” still “those milk-white combs” continue “careering.”
The speaker concludes by invoking the image of “a group of dim, weird forms” that persists in flailing about in the night as the “savage trinity” continues to watch.
Walt Whitman remains one of the most important poets in American history. He has influenced every generation of poets since he first began to publish. He is rightly credited for leading American poetry into modernity. His long-lined, sprawling style is always easily recognized.
Early Life, Education, Early Career
Walter Whitman, Jr., was born on May 31, 1819, in West Hills, Long Island, New York, to Walter Whitman, Sr., and Louisa Van Velsor Whitman, a lower middle class family [1]. Walt, Jr’s early life greatly influenced his idiosyncratic world-view and artistic outlook. He became known as “Bard of Democracy” [2] because of his liberating employment of his cosmic, singular poetic voice.
His working-class parents worked hard to meet expenses, and the family changed residences often during Walt’s early years, in order to find better employment. These frequent new locations exposed the future poet to various environments, giving him an expansive outlook on life, as he experienced many different people from various backgrounds.
Walt was the second of nine Whitman children, and similar to the TV family “The Waltons,” the Whitman family often encountered scarce resources and many hardships as the parents labored to meet the needs of a family of eleven.
The poet’s father worked as a carpenter and as a farmer, but his laboring efforts never led to prosperity. This family dynamic led Walt to entering the workforce at an early age in order to help with family stay afloat financially.
The ancestors of the Whitman family had arrived in America as early as the 17th century, which rooted the family’s affection for their country very deeply, as the future poet would so often express in his works.
The poet remained close to his mother for his whole life. Louisa was a very affectionate and compassionate human being, and her positive attitude toward life proved to be a great influence on the life of her son. The poet could always count on his mother for unconditional love and support throughout his life.
Walt Whitman’s experience with formal schooling was virtually nil: he abandoned formal education after he turned eleven years old [3]. After a short stint in the public school system in Brooklyn, he made a swift departure because he family needed him to work and earn money to assist with family finances.
Despite leaving the formal schooling of the public eduction system, Walt continued to read, study, think deeply for the rest of his life. He pursued knowledge as assiduously as a bird seeks its daily nutritional intake. He maintained a life-long, insatiable thirst for knowledge.
After abandoning public education, Walt took a job as an office boy in Brooklyn [4]. After serving as an office boy, he became a printer’s apprentice, eagerly learning the craft of print- and typesetting. Such on-the-job experience brought Walt in contact with literary composition through manipulation of words, making them ready to publish.
Whitman later engaged in school teaching in a number of rural schools on Long Island. The sensationalism of a rumor has it that Whitman was tarred and feathered and chased out of the town of Southold for committing sodomy [5] on a student.
The likelihood of that particular rumor being true is virtually nil, because it has not been clearly established that Whitman ever taught in Southold. Whitman simply abandoned teaching because he found the work stultifying.
Image b: Walt Whitman portrait engraved by Samuel Hollyer, frontispiece to first edition of Leaves of Grass, 1855
Work in the Field of Journalism
Whitman’s actual career in journalism began in the late 1830s [6]. He founded and edited the Long Islander newspaper in Huntington. His early experience in the field of journalism allowed him to develop his writing skills and engage in public discourse.
At age 23, Whitman became the chief editor of the New York Aurora. By September of 1845, four months after turning 26 years of age, he had newspaper experience from working for at least a dozen newspapers.
He flitted from one newspaper to the next, often holding editorial duties. Whitman worked for several different papers in Brooklyn and New York City, including the Daily Aurora and the Brooklyn Eagle. His time as an editor sharpened his skills in crafting clear, concise prose. He also learned to handle deadlines.
Whitman’s experience in the field of journalism afforded him a stage upon which to elucidate his opinions and insight into political as well as social. issues. He became a staunch advocate for democratic principles and often broached topics such as abolition and temperance. His many editorials revealed his growing social awareness and reformist consciousness.
Dedication to Poetry
The publication of Leaves of Grass in 1855 [7], heralded a new era in American literature. Whitman self-published the first edition, which contained only twelve untitled poems. This innovative work defied conventional ideas of poetry, as it brazenly put on display free verse and non-traditional subject matter.
Famously, Whitman continued to revise and expand Leaves of Grass throughout his entire life, producing multiple editions. Each new revision revealed Whitman’s continuing artistic growth as well as the changing social worldviews and mores. The manuscript through its ever widening scope seemed to reflect the very growth of the nation itself.
His poetic style played out in a sweeping scope and direct address, all in celebration of the individual and the everyday person. Whitman wrapped his mind and heart around the entire spectrum of human experience—from the ordinary to the extraordinary, from the mundane to the transcendent. Within his poetry, Whitman strove to include all of America and all of what Americans had to offer the world.
Civil War and Humanitarian Work
The American Civil War (1861—1865) had a profound impact on the poet [8]. He diverted his intensity from writing to humanitarian efforts. He went to Washington, D.C., in 1862 after his brother George was wounded in battle. This experience showed the poet first hand the immense suffering caused by the war.
Whitman then became devoted to giving care to wounded soldiers in the military hospitals of Washington. He spent many hours calming and comforting the ill and dying.
Whitman helped the recovering soldiers write letters, and he even dressed their wounds, which was greatly appreciated by the overworked doctors and nurses. These selfless compassionate duties became the cardinal core of Whitman’s identity as a human being, as well as an expansive poet.
Whitman’s war-years experiences greatly affected his later poetry, particularly in works such as Drum-Taps and Memories of President Lincoln. He bore witness to the grim realities of conflict but also to the resilience of the human spirit. The war profoundly contributed to his understanding of the American identity.
Following the war, Whitman continued working in government offices, even as his health began to suffer. In 1873, he was afflicted by a paralytic stroke, severely limiting his ability to walk. Despite his physical health issues, he continued his writing and revising Leaves of Grass.
Whitman relocated to Camden, New Jersey and spent his final years in that city [9]. In Camden, he received visitors from around the world [10] who sought out the beloved poet. His home became a pilgrimage site for admirers of his innovative and influential works that focused on democratic ideals.
Walt Whitman died on March 26, 1892 [11], leaving an exceptional literary legacy. His Leaves of Grass remains a monumental achievement, influencing the course of American poetry for generations. The poet remains a towering, renowned personality in world of literature and literary studies, celebrated for his creativity, individualism, and originality.
Legacy
Whitman’s influence [12] has extended far beyond the field of poetry; it has continued to attract successive generations of poets, essayist, journalists, and thinkers. Whitman’s celebration of democratic principles, individualism, as well as the interconnectedness of all things continues to find positive responses from new readers.
The Whitman legacy, similar to that of Ella Wheeler Wilcox, can serve as a mollifying corrective to the obstructive impact that postmodernism has inflicted upon the poetry world. Decade upon decade, Walt Whitman’s poetry and prose, as well as his fascinating life story, continue to offer testimony to the power and influence of a truly unique voice.
Sources
[1] Editors. “Walt Whitman.” Family Search. Accessed September 19, 2026. [2] Curators. “Walt Whitman: Bard of Democracy.” The Morgan Library an Museum. Accessed June 2, 2025. [3] Ed Folsom and Kenneth M. Price. “Self-Education.” Walt Whitman Archive. Accessed June 2, 2025. [4] Editors. “Walt Whitman.” Biography. Updated: September 14, 2022. [5] Editors. “Schoolteaching Years.” Walt Whitman Archive. Accessed September 19, 2026. [6] Philip Eil. “On Walt Whitman, Unsung Newspaperman.” Literary Hub. May 29, 2019. [7] Editors. “Leaves of Grass, 1855-1861.” Library of Congress. Accessed September 19, 2026. [8] Editors. “Walt Whitman and the Civil War.” PBS. Accessed September 19, 2026. [9] Curators. “Walt Whitman.” The Historical Marker Database. Accessed September 19, 2026. [10] Curators. “Welcome.” The Walt Whitman House. Accessed September 19, 2026. [11] Rhys Griffiths. “Death of Walt Whitman.” History Today. March 3, 2017. [12] Curators. “The Powerful Influence of Walt Whitman.” Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. April 27, 2017.
Recommended Print Sources for Walt Whitman
Gay Wilson Allen. The Solitary Singer: A Critical Biography of Walt Whitman. New York: The Macmillan Company. 1955.
James E. Miller, Jr., editor. Complete Poetry and Selected Prose by Walt Whitman. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Riverside Editions. 1959. Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass: The Deathbed Edition. New York: Simon & Schuster. 1992.
