Whitman's Barbaric Yawp... or mine?
Being the Christ, or at least someone who borrows the alleged Christ's name, I feel compelled to invoke God here. By God, I mean Walt Whitman.
Recognize!
"The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.The last scud of day holds back for me,It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds,It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,And filter and fiber your blood.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,Missing me one place search another,I stop somewhere waiting for you."
Isn't Walt grand? I may be a blood relative of William S. Burroughs, another great American original, but often I feel a greater affinity with my adopted great grandfather Walt Whitman. Anyway, tonight I feel like sounding my own "barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."
Maybe it's the exhaustion from having four very dear but demanding little children spend the weekend with us...and then spending six hours on the road today getting them home and then getting myself back home. Maybe it's the arguments or the five beers this pseudo-savior has imbibed. Maybe it's the Coldplay and Afghan Whigs playlist I have running or my memory of Dead Poets Society or my missing the ways things were or ought to be....
I dunno.
So let me simply reflect and try to see.
Good night, my friends!
perhaps the keats poem should be read at least once a day, although this one had me searching for an image as a comment, and i couldn't find the perfect one.
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I am ashamed to admit that I didn't realize Whitman's poetry was so Beat in style. Duh! I truly liked this poem, and am now inspired to add his poetry to my "must read" list.
" my missing the ways things were or ought to be....
I dunno.
So let me simply reflect and try to see."
I see pensiveness-- or is it pensivity, lol?-- there. Even when you weren't writing poetry, you were writing poetry. But then, I've always thought your blogs were poetry, anyway.
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