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Kliknij, aby przesłać wiersze do DayPoems, skomentuj DayPoems lub wiersz w komentarzach do innych witryn poezji, zaktualizuj linki lub po prostu skontaktuj się z nami. Forum DayPoems. Projekt Gutenberg. ogromny zbiór książek jako tekst, wyprodukowany jako wolontariat od 1990 roku. Jest to źródło pierwszej poezji umieszczonej na DayPoems. Tina Blues Przewodnik dla początkujących Prosody. dokładnie to, co mówi tytuł, i warte przeczytania. Kłódka epicantyczna. Jeśli facet gdzieś w Azji robi bloga i nikt go nie czyta, to naprawdę istnieje popomo. miniaturowe, inspirowane minimalistycznie rzeźby stworzone z przemysłowych cereamics, projekt artystyczny w Lewis and Clark College w Portland w Oregonie. pink. popomo. Więcej projektów z Portland oarena. Furby, Eliza, MrFriss i MissFriss. Zapisz punkt 0.8.1. Portland, Oregon, wystawa, 13 sierpnia-wrzesień. 5, 2004, w Disjecta. Pieśń o mnie Walt Whitman Świętuję siebie i śpiewam sobie, I zakładam, że przyjmiesz, Bo każdy atom należący do mnie jako dobry należy do ciebie. Ja leniuchuję i zapraszam moją duszę, chudam i czuję się swobodnie, obserwując włócznię letniej trawy. Mój język, każdy atom mojej krwi, formowany z tej ziemi, tego powietrza, Urodzony tutaj od rodziców urodzonych tutaj od rodziców tak samo, a ich rodzice tak samo, ja, teraz, trzydzieści siedem lat w doskonałym zdrowiu zaczynam, Mam nadzieję, że przestanę nie do śmierci. Wyznania wiary i szkoły w zawieszeniu, Odejście na pewien czas wystarczające do tego, czym są, ale nigdy nie zapomniane, ukrywam się na dobre i na złe, pozwalam mówić w każdym niebezpieczeństwie, Natura bez kontroli z oryginalną energią. Domy i pokoje pełne są perfum, półki przepełnione są perfumami, sam wdycham zapach i wiem, i podoba mi się. Destylacja też mnie upija, ale nie pozwolę. Atmosfera nie jest zapachem, nie ma smaku destylacji, jest bezwonna, To jest dla moich ust na zawsze, jestem w nim zakochany, pójdę na bank przy drewnie i staję się nieskażony i nagi, jestem szalony, że mam kontakt ze mną. Dym z własnego oddechu, Echa, zmarszczki, buzzd szepty, korzeń miłości, jedwabna nić, krocze i krzew winny, Moje oddychanie i natchnienie, bicie mojego serca, przechodzenie krwi i powietrza przez płuca, Powąchanie zielone liście i suche liście, a także lądowe i ciemno-kolońskie skały morskie i siano w stodole, Dźwięk przeplatających się słów mojego głosu spływał na wiry wiatru, Kilka lekkich pocałunków, kilka uścisków , sięganie dookoła ramion, gra połysku i cienia na drzewach, gdy wiją się giętkie konary, rozkosz sama albo w pośpiechu ulic, albo wzdłuż pól i pagórków, uczucie zdrowia, pełne tryl w południe, pieśń mnie wstającego z łóżka i spotkania ze słońcem. Czy recytowałeś tysiąc akrów, czy nazwałeś tę ziemię zbyt wiele Czy umiesz tak długo ćwiczyć, aby nauczyć się czytać Czy czułeś się tak dumny, by zrozumieć znaczenie wierszy? Zatrzymaj ten dzień i noc ze mną, a posiądziesz pochodzenie wszystkich wierszy. , Będziecie posiadać dobro ziemi i słońca, (pozostały już miliony słońc) Nie będziecie dłużej zajmować się rzeczami drugiego i trzeciego, ani patrzeć oczami umarłych, ani nie karmić się upiorem w książkach, Nie spojrzysz też przez moje oczy, ani nie weźmiesz ode mnie rzeczy. Będziesz słuchał wszystkich stron i odfiltrował je od siebie. Słyszałem, co mówili mówcy, mówienie o początku i końcu, Ale nie mówię o początku ani końcu. Nigdy nie było więcej, niż jest teraz, Ani więcej młodości ani wieku, niż jest teraz, I nigdy nie będzie więcej doskonałości, niż jest teraz, Ani więcej nieba ani piekła, niż jest teraz. Wzywajcie i ponaglajcie i ponaglajcie, Zawsze prokreację świata. Z ciemności przeciwnej równa się postęp, zawsze substancja i wzrost, zawsze seks, Zawsze dzianina tożsamości, zawsze rozróżnienie, zawsze rodzaj życia. Aby rozwinąć, nic nie daje, ucz się i zwalniaj z poczucia, że ​​tak jest. Pewnie jak najbardziej pewni, pion w pionach, dobrze zakuty, wzmocniony w belki, Stout jako koń, czuły, wyniosły, elektryczny, ja i ta tajemnica stoimy tutaj. Jasna i słodka jest moja dusza, a czysta i słodka jest wszystko, co nie jest moją duszą. Brak jednego brakuje obu, a niewidzialne jest udowodnione przez widziane, aż stanie się niewidzialny i otrzymuje dowód z kolei. Pokazując najlepsze i dzieląc je od najgorszego wieku, wieku dojrzewania, Znając idealną sprawność i równowagę rzeczy, podczas gdy dyskutują o tym, że milczę, kąpię się i podziwiam. Powitanie jest każdym organem i atrybutem mnie i każdego człowieka, który jest serdeczny i czysty, ani cal, ani cząstka cala nie jest nikczemna i nikt nie będzie mniej zaznajomiony z resztą. Jestem usatysfakcjonowany - widzę, tańczę, śmieję się, śpiewam Gdy tulący się i kochający bed-sypia śpi u mego boku przez całą noc, i wycofuje się na widok dnia z ukradkiem, pozostawiając mi kosze pokryte białymi ręcznikami puchnącymi dom z ich obfitością, Czy mam odłożyć moją akceptację i realizację i krzyczeć w moich oczach, Że oni odwracają się od patrzenia w tę iz powrotem drogą, I zaraz za szyfrem i pokazują mi do centa, Dokładnie wartość jednej i dokładnie wartość dwóch , a która jest przed nami Wywoływacze i pytający otaczają mnie, Ludzie, których spotykam, wpływ na mnie mojego wczesnego życia lub oddziału i miasta, w którym mieszkam, lub narodu, Najnowsze daty, odkrycia, wynalazki, towarzystwa, autorów starych i nowych Mój kolację, sukienki, towarzyszki, wygląd, komplementy, składki, Prawdziwa lub wyobrażona obojętność jakiegoś mężczyzny lub kobiety, którą kocham, Choroba jednego z moich ludzi lub mnie, lub złego postępowania, utraty lub braku pieniędzy, lub depresje lub egzaltacje, bitwy, horror bratobójczej wojny, gorączka wątpliwych nowości, niespokojne wydarzenia Przychodzą do mnie w dni i noce i odejdą ode mnie, ale oni nie są mną. Oprócz ciągnięcia i ciągnięcia stoi to, kim jestem, Stoi rozbawiony, samozadowolony, współczujący, bezczynny, unitarny, Spogląda, jest wyprostowany, lub zgina ramię w niewyczuwalnej pewnej chwili odpoczynku, Patrząc z zakrzywioną w bok głową ciekawy, co będzie dalej, Zarówno w grze, jak i poza nią, obserwując ją i zastanawiając się. W przeszłość widzę we własnych czasach, kiedy spociłem się przez mgłę z językoznawcami i pretendentami, nie mam kpin ani kłótni, jestem świadkiem i czekam. Wierzę w ciebie, moja duszo, drugą, której nie wolno ci się poniżać, i nie wolno ci się poniżać. Loafe ze mną na trawie, rozluźnij przestój z gardła, Nie słowa, nie muzyka i rymowanki, których chcę, nie zwyczaje czy wykład, nawet najlepsi, Tylko cisza, którą lubię, szum twojego zepsutego głosu. Pamiętam, jak kiedyś położyliśmy taki przejrzysty letni poranek, jak usadowiłeś głowę na moich biodrach i delikatnie obróciłeś się na mnie, i rozdzieliłem koszulę od mojej kościotrupowej kości i zanurzyłem twój język w moim nagim sercu striptizu, i dotarłem aż poczułaś moją brodę i sięgnęłaś, aż trzymałeś moje stopy. Szybko wstałem i obrzuciłem pokojem i wiedzą, które spełniają wszystkie argumenty ziemi, I wiem, że ręka Boga jest moją obietnicą, I wiem, że duch Boży jest moim własnym bratem, I że wszyscy ludzie, którzy kiedykolwiek się urodzili, są również moimi braćmi, a kobiety moimi siostrami i kochankami, i że kronika stworzenia jest miłością, a bezgraniczna to liście sztywne lub opadające na polach, i brązowe mrówki w małych studniach pod nimi, I omszałe strupy ogrodzenia robaka, sterty kamieni, starca, dziewanny i chwastów. Dziecko powiedziało: "Co to jest trawa, która przynosi mi je z pełnymi rękami?" Jak mogę odpowiedzieć dziecku? Nie wiem, co to jest więcej niż on. Sądzę, że to musi być flaga mojego usposobienia, z utkanych w nadziei zielonych rzeczy. Albo myślę, że to chusteczka Pana, pachnący prezent i wspomnienie, które upuszczono, nosząc nazwisko właściciela w kątach, które możemy zobaczyć i zauważyć, i powiedzieć, czyj, czy zgaduję, że trawa sama jest dzieckiem, kochanie wegetacji. Albo myślę, że jest to jednolite hieroglificzne, A to znaczy, Kiełkujące zarówno w szerokich strefach i wąskich strefach, Rosnące wśród czarnych ludzi jak wśród białych, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, kongresman, mankiet, daję im to samo, otrzymuję je tak samo. A teraz wydaje mi się piękne nieoszlifowane włosy grobów. Delikatnie wykorzystam cię do zwijania trawy, To może być wy tobie z piersi młodzieńców. Być może gdybym je znał, to bym ich pokochał. To może być ty od ludzi starych, lub od potomstwa niedobitków. ich matki okrążają, a tu macie kółka matki. Ta trawa jest bardzo ciemna od białych głów starych matek, Ciemniejsza niż bezbarwne brody starców, Ciemność, która pochodzi spod słabo czerwonych dachów ust. O widzę po tylu słowach, i widzę, że nie pochodzą z dachów ust za darmo. Chciałabym móc tłumaczyć wskazówki o zmarłych młodych mężczyznach i kobietach, a także wskazówki o starcach i matkach io potomstwie, które wkrótce wyrwały się z kolan. Jak myślisz, co stało się z młodymi i starymi ludźmi? Jak myślisz, co się stało z kobietami i dziećmi? Żyją i są gdzieś. Najmniejsza kiełka pokazuje, że naprawdę nie ma śmierci, A jeśli kiedykolwiek była, to prowadziło do życia i nie czeka na końcu, aby go aresztować, I odrzucił chwilę, w której pojawiło się życie. Wszystko idzie naprzód i na zewnątrz, nic się nie załamuje, I umrzeć różni się od tego, co ktokolwiek przypuszczał i miał więcej szczęścia. Czy ktokolwiek miał mieć szczęście, że się urodził? Pośpiesznie informuję go, że jest tak szczęśliwy, że umiera, i ja to wiem. Mijam śmierć z umierającymi i narodzonymi z nowo umytym dzieckiem, i nie jestem przechowywany między mym kapeluszem a butami, I oglądam rozmaite przedmioty, nie ma dwóch takich samych i wszystkich dobrych, Ziemia dobra i gwiazdy dobre, a ich dodatki wszystko dobry. Nie jestem ziemią ani adiunktem ziemi, jestem towarzyszem i towarzyszem ludzi, wszystko tak samo nieśmiertelne i bezdenne jak ja (nie wiem, jak nieśmiertelny, ale wiem.) Każdy rodzaj dla siebie i własnego , dla mnie mój mężczyzna i kobieta, Dla mnie tych, którzy byli chłopcami i którzy kochają kobiety, Dla mnie człowiek, który jest dumny i czuje, jak to żąda być lekceważony, Dla mnie słodkiego serca i starej służącej, dla mnie matek i matki matek, Dla mnie wargi, które się uśmiechały, oczy, które roniły łzy, Dla mnie dzieci i spłodzenie dzieci. Poddaj się, że nie jesteś dla mnie winny, ani nie stęchły, ani nie wyrzucony, widzę przez suknię i bawełniany materiał w kratkę czy, czy nie, i jestem w pobliżu, wytrwały, wytrwały, niestrudzony i nie można go wyrzucić. Ten mały śpi w kołysce, podnoszę gazę i długo patrzę, i cicho odgarniam muchy moją ręką. Młodzieniec i dziewczyna o czerwonych twarzach skręcają na krzakach wzgórza, a ja patrzę na nich z góry. Samobójstwo rozlewa się po zakrwawionej posadzce sypialni, widzę zwłoki z rozwichrzonymi włosami, zauważam, gdzie spadł pistolet. Blask bruku, opony wozów, snopy podeszwy butów, rozmowa z spacerowiczami, Ciężki omnibus, kierowca z kciukiem do przesłuchiwania, huk wystrzępionych koni na granitowej podłodze, Śnieżne sanie, brzęk, krzyczały dowcipy, futra śnieżnych kul, Hurrah popularnych faworytów, wściekłość rousd mobów, Flap z zasłoniętej ściółki, chory człowiek w szpitalu, Spotkanie wrogów, nagła przysięga, ciosy i upadki Podekscytowany tłum, policjant z gwiazdą szybko pracujący przejściem do środka tłumu, Kamienie obojętne, które otrzymują i wracają tak wiele ech, Jakie jęki nadmiernie nakarmionego lub półgwiezdnego powietrza, które spadają w słońcu lub w napadach, Co krzyki kobiet zabrane nagle, które śpieszą do domu i rodzą niemowlęta, Które żyjące i pogrzebane słowa zawsze tu wibrują, jakie wyrazy powracają przez decorum, Aresztowania kryminalistów, slights, cudzołożne oferty, akceptacje, odrzucenia z wypukłymi ustami, Mam na myśli lub pokaz lub rezonans - - Przybywam i odlatuję. Wielkie drzwi wiejskiej stodoły są otwarte i gotowe. Wysuszona trawa czasu żniw ładuje wolno ciągnący się wóz. Jasne światło gra na brązowoszarych i zielonych interlokach. Ramiona są zapakowane w zwisającą kosiarkę. Jestem tam, pomagam, przyjechałem rozciągnięty na ładunek, poczułem jego miękkie wstrząsy, jedna noga opierała się na drugiej, skaczę z belek poprzecznych i chwytam koniczynę i tymotki, I przewracam głowę na piętach i splątam moje włosy pełne kosmyków. Samotnie daleko w dziczy i górach, które poluję, Wędrując zdumiony własną lekkością i radością, Późnym popołudniem wybieram bezpieczne miejsce na noc, Rozpalam ogień i pieczę na świeżo zabitej grze, Zasypiam na zebranych liściach z mój pies i broń u mojego boku. Maszynka Yankee jest pod jej żaglami, ścina blask i piłuje, Moje oczy zasiedlają ziemię, pochylam się na jej dziobie lub radośnie krzyczę z pokładu. Wioślarze i kopacze małżonków wstali wcześnie i zatrzymali się dla mnie, wepchnąłem swoje trowser-kończyny w moje buty, poszedłem i dobrze się bawiłem. Powinieneś był z nami tego dnia w okolicach kotła z chowderami. Widziałem małżeństwo traperka na wolnym powietrzu na dalekim zachodzie, panna młoda była czerwoną dziewczyną, jej ojciec i jego przyjaciele siedzieli obok siebie ze skrzyżowanymi nogami i głupio palili, mieli mokasyny na nogach i duże grube koce zwisające z ich ramiona, Na brzegu lezal traper, byl najczciej w skórach, jego bujna broda i loki chronily jego szyje, trzymal za oblubienica za rece, Miala dlugie rzesy, jej glowa byla naga, jej szorstkie proste luzy opadaly na niej Zmysłowe kończyny i sięgnęły jej do stóp. Zbieg niewolnik przyszedł do mojego domu i zatrzymał się na zewnątrz, usłyszałem jego ruchy, trzaskające gałązkami drzewca. Przez rozklekotane pół-drzwi kuchni zobaczyłem go bezwładnego i słabego, I poszedł tam, gdzie siedział na kłodzie i prowadził go i zapewniłem go, i przyniosłem wodę i napełniłem wannę dla jego spoconego ciała i brustwowych stóp, i dałem mu pokój, który wszedł od mojego, i dałem mu trochę grubego czystego ubrania, i doskonale pamiętam jego obracające się oczy i jego niezręczność, i pamiętajcie, wkładając piastersa w galony jego szyi i kostek. Został u mnie na tydzień przed odzyskaniem sił i na północy, kazałem mu usiąść obok mnie przy stole, mój ognisty zamek w rogu. Dwudziestu ośmiu młodych mężczyzn kąpało się przy brzegu, dwudziestu ośmiu młodych mężczyzn i tak przyjaznych dwudziestu ośmiu lat kobiecego życia i wszystkich tak samotnych. Jest właścicielem wspaniałego domu po powstaniu banku. Ukrywa przystojne i bogato zagracone za oknami rolety. Który z tych młodych mężczyzn lubi najbardziej, z których najpiękniejszy jest dla niej piękny. Gdzie jesteś, pani, bo cię widzę, pluskasz się tam w wodzie, a mimo to trzymaj w zapasie w swoim pokoju. Tańcząc i śmiejąc się po plaży przyszedł dwudziesty dziewiąty kurator, reszta jej nie widziała, ale widziała ich i kochała. Brody młodych mężczyzn lśniły mokro, wybiegły z ich długich włosów, Małe strumienie przelatywały nad ich ciałami. Niewidoczna dłoń przemknęła przez ich ciała, zsunęła się drżąco ze skroni i żeber. Młodzi mężczyźni unoszą się na plecach, ich białe brzuchy wybrzuszają się do słońca, nie pytają, kto szybko je chwyta, Nie wiedzą, kto się zaciąga i odchyla przy pomocy wisiorek i łuku, Nie myślą, kogo oblewają sprayem. Rzeźnik-chłopiec odkłada swoje zabójcze ubrania lub wyostrza nóż na stoisku na targu, a ja cieszę się, że cieszę się jego repartee i jego przetasowaniem i zniszczeniem. Kowale z zarośniętymi i owłosionymi skrzyniami otaczają kowadło, każdy ma swoje główne sanie, wszystkie są na zewnątrz, w ogniu jest wielki ogień. Z progu wypełnionego żużlem podążam za ich ruchami, Gibkość ich talii bawi się nawet potężnymi ramionami, Overhand, młoty, kołyszą się, tak powolne, na wpół tak pewne, nie przyspieszają, każdy człowiek uderza w jego miejsce. Murzyn trzyma mocno wodze swoich czterech koni, klocek podpiera się na uwiązanym łańcuchu, Murzyn, który jeździ długą kamieniem, spokojny i wysoki, stoi na jednej nodze na sznurku, Niebieska koszula odsłania jego obfity kark i pierś i rozluźnia biodrowe opaski, Jego spojrzenie jest spokojne i władcze, odrzuca czapkę kapelusza z czoła, Słońce pada na jego chrupiące włosy i wąsy, pada na czerń jego wypolerowane i doskonałe kończyny. Widzę malowniczego olbrzyma i kocham go, a ja nie zatrzymuję się tam, idę też z drużyną. We mnie kreatorem życia wszędzie tam, gdzie się porusza, w tył, jak również w przepychaniu się do przodu, w niszach na bokach i młodzieńczym zginaniu, a nie w ludziach i przedmiotach, których nie ma, wchłaniając wszystko dla siebie i dla tej piosenki. Woły, które wstrząsają jarzmem i łańcuchem lub zatrzymują się w liściastym cieniu, co wyrażasz w twoich oczach. Wydaje mi się to bardziej niż cały wydruk, który przeczytałem w moim życiu. Mój krok straszy drewnianego kaczora i kaczego drewna w moje odległe i całodzienne wędrówki. Wstają razem, powoli krążą wokół. Wierzę w te skrzydlate cele, I uznaję czerwony, żółty, biały, bawiąc się we mnie, I uważam, że zieleń i fiołek i czerniona korona celowe, I nie nazywajcie żółwia niegodnymi, ponieważ ona nie jest czymś innym, A w lesie nigdy przestudiowałem gamut, ale całkiem dobrze dla mnie wyszło, a wygląd klaczy na zatoczce zawstydził mnie ze wstydu. Dziki drapieżnik prowadzi swoją trzodę przez chłodną noc, jak mówi Ya-honk, i wydaje mi się, że jest to zaproszenie. Szalenie może przypuszczać, że nie ma to znaczenia, ale słucham blisko, znajduję jego cel i umieszczam go na zimowym niebie. . Ostry kopyta z północy, kot na parapecie, chickadee, preryjny pies, miot chrząszczącej sowy, gdy szarpią jej sutki, potomek indyka-kury, a ona z jej połówką Rozpostarte skrzydła, widzę w nich i w sobie to samo stare prawo. Nacisk mojej stopy na ziemię wzbudza setkę uczuć, gardzą najlepszymi rzeczami, jakie mogę zrobić, aby je odnieść. Jestem zakochany w wyrastaniu na zewnątrz, z ludzi, którzy żyją wśród bydła lub smaku oceanu lub lasu, z budowniczych i sterników statków i dzierżawców toporów i mauls oraz kierowców koni, mogę jeść i spać z ich tydzień w tygodniu i na zewnątrz. Co jest najczęstsze, najtańsze, najbliżej, najłatwiejsze, to Ja, Ja wchodzę na swoje szanse, wydając na ogromne zyski, Adorując się, by obdarzyć mnie pierwszym, które weźmie mnie, Nie pytając nieba, by zstąpić do mojej dobrej woli, Rozpraszanie go swobodnie na zawsze. Czysty contralto śpiewa na organowym strychu, stolarz ubiera swoją deskę, język jego dziobu gwizdał jej dzikie wstępujące seplenienie. Żonate i niezamężne dzieci jeżdżą do domu na kolację z okazji Święta Dziękczynienia. Pilot chwyta króla, wsuwa się z Silne ramię, Mata stoi spięta w łódce wielorybów, lanca i harpun są gotowe, Kaczka-strzelanka przechodzi przez ciche i ostrożne odcinki, Diakoni są wyświęceni z rękami skrzyżowanymi przy ołtarzu, Kręcąca dziewczyna wycofuje się i posuwa do szum dużego koła, rolnik zatrzymuje się przy kratach, gdy idzie na leniuchu pierwszego dnia i patrzy na owsa i żyto, obłąkany jest w końcu przenoszony do azylu w potwierdzonej sprawie (nigdy już nie będzie spał jak to robił w łóżeczku w sypialni swojej matki) Drukarka z szarą głową i chudymi szczękami pracuje w jego walizce, Odwraca kadzi tytoniu, a jego oczy rozmazują się rękopisem. Zepsute kończyny są przywiązane do stołu chirurgów, To, co zostało usunięte, strasznie spada w wiadrze. Kwadr oon dziewczyna jest sprzedawany na stoisku aukcyjnym, pijak kiwa głową przez piec barowy, machinista zwija rękawy, policjant podróżuje swoim rytmem, znaki strażnika bramy mijają, młody człowiek jeździ wózkiem ekspresowym, (Kocham go, choć go nie znam) Taśmy pół-rasy na jego lekkich butach, aby rywalizować w wyścigu, Zachodnie turnieje z indyka przyciągają stare i młode, niektóre opierają się na karabinach, niektóre siedzą na kłódkach, wychodzą z tłum kroczy po strzelcu, zajmuje swoją pozycję, wyrównuje swój kawałek Grupy nowo przybyłych imigrantów pokrywają nabrzeże lub wał, jako że wełnista paszcza motyka w polu cukru, nadzorca widzi je z siodła, hejnał wzywa sala balowa, panowie biegają po swoich partnerów, tancerze kłaniają się sobie nawzajem, Młodzi ludzie budzą się na poddaszu z cedrowego daszku i podchodzą do muzycznych deszczów, The Wolverine ustawia pułapki na strumieniu, które pomagają wypełnić Huron, The skrzek w jej żółtawej szmacie oferuje mokasyny i torebki z koralikami na sprzedaż, Koneserzy rówieśnicy wzdłuż wystawy-galerii z półzamkniętymi oczami zgiętymi bokiem, Gdy pokładowe dłonie robią szybko parowcem, deska jest rzucana dla pasażerów na brzegu, Młoda siostra wyciąga motek, podczas gdy starsza siostra odwija ​​ją w kulkę i zatrzymuje się od czasu do czasu dla węzłów, jednoroczna żona odzyskuje zdrowie i cieszy się, że tydzień temu urodziła swoje pierwsze dziecko, dziewczyna Jankeska z czystym fryzem pracuje z maszyną do szycia lub w fabryce lub młynie, mężczyzna opiera się na swoim dwuręcznym ubijaku, reporterzy szybko przewracają muchy nad notatnikiem, malarz znaków pisze niebieskim i złotym, Kanałowy chłopiec kłusuje na holowniczej ścieżce, księgowy liczy się przy biurku, szewc woskuje nić, dyrygent bije czas dla zespołu i wszyscy wykonawcy podążają za nim, dziecko jest ochrzczone, konwertyta wykonuje swoje pierwsze zawody, regaty rozprzestrzeniają się w zatoce, zaczyna się wyścig (jak biały żagle iskrzą się) Pogromca obserwującego jego pojechał śpiewa do tych, którzy zbłądzili, The ped ler pot się z plecakiem na plecach, (nabywca śmieje się z dziwnego centa) Panna młoda rozplata jej białą sukienkę, minutnik zegarka porusza się powoli, Żarłacz do opium opiera się sztywną głową i ustami opadającymi, prostytutka ciągnie swój szal, jej czepki na czubku na karku i prążkowanej szyi, Tłum śmieje się z jej przysięgi, ludzie drżą i mrugają do siebie (Nieszczęśliwy Nie śmieję się z twoich przysiąg, ani nie szyderkuję) Prezydent trzyma szafkę rada jest otoczona przez wielkich sekretarzy, na placu spacer trzy matrony okazałe i przyjazne z uzbrojonymi ramionami, załoga z packa z rybami powtarza kolejne warstwy halibuta w ładowni, Missouriani przecinają równiny pełne swoich towarów i bydła, kolejarz przejeżdża przez pociąg, który daje znać, przez brzęczenie luźnej zmiany, ludzie podłogi układają podłogę, blaszani ocierają dach, murarze wzywają do zaprawy, w jednym pilku każdy z nich odbiera przepustkę hodowlą dalej Pory roku robotników ścigając się nawzajem, zbiera się nieopisany tłum, jest czwarty w siódmym miesiącu, (co salutuje z armat i broni ręcznej) Pory roku ścigają się nawzajem, a kosiarka kosi, a ziarno zimowe pada w ziemię. jeziora, które szczupak patrzy i czeka przez dziurę w zamarzniętej powierzchni, Kikuty stoją grubo wokół polany, siekacz uderza głębokim toporem, Płetwonurkowie pędzą w stronę zmierzchu w pobliżu drzew bawełny lub pecan, Coon - poszukiwacze przechodzą przez regiony Czerwonej Rzeki lub przez te draind przez Tennessee, lub przez te w Arkansas, Pochodnie świecą w ciemności, która wisi na Chattahooche lub Altamahaw, Patriarchowie siedzą przy kolacji z synami, wnukami i prawnuczami wokół im, w ścianach adobie, w namiotach na płótnie, łowcami odpoczynku i traperami po ich sportowym życiu, miasto śpi, a kraj śpi, żyjący śpią za ich czas, martwy sen za ich czas, stary mąż śpi przy żonie i the youn g mąż śpi przez swoją żonę I ci mają tendencję do mnie, a ja kieruję się na zewnątrz do nich, I jak to jest być z tych mniej więcej jestem, I z tych wszystkich, którzy splatają swoją piosenkę. Jestem stary i młody, nierozsądny jak mądry, Bez względu na innych, zawsze z szacunkiem dla innych, Matczyny, a także ojcostwa, dziecka i mężczyzny, Nadziewane rzeczami szorstkimi i nadziewanymi wszystko, co jest w porządku, Jeden z narodów wielu narodów, najmniejszy taki sam i największy taki sam, Południowiec wkrótce jako Northerner, plantator nonszalancki i gościnny na ziemi przez Oconee, którego mieszkam, Jankes związał moją własną drogę, gotową na handluję, moje stawy to najdostojniejsze stawy na ziemi i najtrwalsze stawy na ziemi, A Kentuckian idący doliną Elkhorn w legginsach ze skór jeleniowatych, Louisianin czy Gruzin, Barkarz nad jeziorami, zatokami lub wzdłuż wybrzeży, Hoosier, Borsuk , Buckeye W domu na kanadyjskich rakietach śnieżnych lub w buszu, albo z rybakami z Nowej Funlandii, W domu we flocie lodowych łodzi, żeglując z resztą i halsując, W domu na wzgórzach Vermont lub w lesie Maine, czyli Teksańskie ranczo, towarzyszu Kalifornijczyków, towarzyszu wolnych północno-zachodnich , (kochając ich wielkie proporcje,) Towarzysz flisaków i górników, towarzyszu wszystkich, którzy podają sobie ręce i witają na drinku i mięsie, Uczeń z najprostszym, nauczyciel najmilszego, Początek nowicjusza, ale doświadczający miriady pór roku, każdy odcień i kasta jestem ja, z każdej rangi i religii, rolnik, mechanik, artysta, dżentelmen, żeglarz, kwakier, więzień, fancy-człowiek, awanturnik, prawnik, lekarz, ksiądz. Opieram się jakiejkolwiek rzeczy lepiej niż moja własna różnorodność, Oddychaj powietrzem, ale zostawiaj po mnie dużo, I nie utknąłem, i jestem na swoim miejscu. (Ćma i jaja są na swoim miejscu, Jasne słońce, które widzę, a ciemne słońca, których nie widzę, są na swoim miejscu. Namacalny jest na swoim miejscu, a niepołączalny jest na swoim miejscu.) To są naprawdę myśli wszystkich ludzi w każdym wieku i kraju, oni nie są oryginalni ze mną, Jeśli nie są twoimi tak jak moje są niczym, albo prawie nic, Jeśli nie są zagadką i rozwiązują zagadkę, są niczym, Jeśli nie są tak blisko, jak są odległe, są niczym. To jest trawa, która rośnie wszędzie tam, gdzie jest ziemia, a woda jest, To wspólne powietrze, które kąpie glob. Przy silnej muzyce przychodzę, z moimi cornetami i perkusją, nie gram marszów tylko dla akceptowanych zwycięzców, gram marsze dla pokonanych i zabitych. Czy słyszałeś, że dobrze jest zyskać w dniu, w którym również mówię, że dobrze jest spaść, walki giną w tym samym duchu, w którym są wygrywane. Biję i walczę o umarłych, przeszywam moje najdelikatniejsze, najgłośniejsze dla nich. Vivas tym, którzy zawiedli I tym, których łodzie wojenne zatonęły w morzu i tym, którzy zatonął w morzu i wszystkim generałom, którzy stracili zaręczyny i wszystkim pokonanym bohaterom I niezliczonym nieznanym bohaterom dorównują największym bohaterom znanym z tego jest równo ustawiony posiłek, to mięso dla naturalnego głodu, to dla nikczemników tak samo jak sprawiedliwi, robię spotkania ze wszystkimi, nie będę nikogo lekceważył ani nie zostawiał, utrzymana kobieta, sponger, złodziej , zostają niniejszym zaproszeni, Zaprasza się ciężkiego niewolnika, zapraszana jest wenecja. Nie będzie różnicy między nimi a resztą. To jest uderzenie nieśmiałej ręki, to pływak i zapach włosów, To dotyk moich warg do twoich, ten szmer tęsknoty, Ta odległa głębokość i wysokość odzwierciedlają moją własną twarz, To przemyślane scalenie siebie i znów ujście. Czy zgadujesz, że mam jakiś zawiły cel? Cóż, mam na to, że mamy prysznic w Czteromiesięcznym miesiącu, a mika z boku skały ma. Czy weźmiesz to, co zadziwiłbym Czy światło dnia jest zadziwiające, to wczesna redstart świeci przez lasy Czy zadziwia mnie więcej niż oni? W tej godzinie mówię rzeczy w tajemnicy, mogę nie powiedzieć wszystkim, ale powiem ci. Kto idzie tam, tęskniąc, gruby, mistyczny, nagi Jak to jest, że wydobywam siłę z wołowiny, którą jem? Co to jest człowiek, w każdym razie, czym jestem, kim jesteś? Wszystko, co oznaczyłem jako własne, skompensujesz je swoim własnym, Innym, że czas straciłem mnie słuchając. Nie pochłaniam tego pożaru na całym świecie, Te miesiące to odkurzacze i ziemia, ale kałuża i brud. Skomlenie i ciężko składane z pudrami dla inwalidów, zgodność idzie do czwartego removd, noszę kapelusz jak proszę wewnątrz lub na zewnątrz. Dlaczego powinienem się modlić, dlaczego miałbym czcić i być ceremonialnym? Poszukując warstw, analizując włosy, konsultując się z lekarzami i obliczając blisko, nie znajduję słodszego tłuszczu niż patyki do moich własnych kości. We wszystkich ludziach widzę siebie, nie więcej, ani jednego mniej jęczmienia, a dobre czy złe, które mówię o sobie, mówię o nich. Wiem, że jestem solidny i zdrowy, Dla mnie zbieżne obiekty wszechświata nieustannie płyną, Wszystkie są do mnie pisane i muszę zdobyć to, co oznacza pismo. Wiem, że jestem nieśmiertelny, wiem, że moja orbita nie może zostać pochwycona przez kompas cieślaka, wiem, że nie przejdę jak dziecięcy cielec wycięty w nocy palonym kijem. Wiem, że mam przedsmak, nie przeszkadzam mojemu duchowi, by się usprawiedliwić, albo zrozumiem, widzę, że elementarne prawa nigdy nie przepraszają (myślę, że nie zachowuję się bardziej niż poziom, na którym posadzam mój dom). Tak jak ja, to wystarczy, jeśli żaden inny na świecie nie zda sobie sprawy z tego, że siedzę zadowolony, i jeśli wszyscy zdają sobie sprawę z tego, że siedzę zadowolony. Jeden świat jest świadomy i zdecydowanie największy dla mnie, i to jest ja, i czy przychodzę do mnie dzisiaj, czy za dziesięć tysięcy lub dziesięć milionów lat, mogę radośnie to przyjąć, lub z taką samą pogodą mogę poczekać . Mój przyczółek jest graniasty i zwarty w granicie, śmieję się z tego, co nazywacie rozpuszczaniem, a ja znam amplitudę czasu. Jestem poetą Ciała i jestem poetą duszy, przyjemności Nieba są ze mną, a bóle piekła są ze mną. Pierwszy przeszczepiam i powiększam na siebie, ten drugi tłumaczę na nowy język. Jestem poetą kobiety tak samo jak mężczyzna, i mówię, że równie dobrze jest być kobietą, jak być mężczyzną, i mówię, że nie ma nic większego niż matka ludzi. Śpiewam pieśń dylatacji lub dumy. Odwlekaliśmy i przestaliśmy mówić wystarczająco dużo, pokazuję, że rozmiar to tylko rozwój. Czy zdystansowałeś resztę, jesteś prezydentem? To drobnostka, oni więcej niż tam dotrą i nadal będą przechodzić dalej. Jestem tym, który chodzi z delikatną i wzrastającą nocą, wzywam ziemię i morze na pół zatrzymane w nocy. Wciśnij blisko nagiej-bosomd nocy - wciśnij bliskie magnetyczne odżywianie nocy Noc południowych wiatrów - noc wielkich nielicznych gwiazd Wciąż kiwa noc - szalona naga letnia noc. Smile O voluptuous cool-breathd earth Ziemia drzemiących i płynnych drzew Ziemia zmarłego słońca - ziemia gór mglistej ziemi Ziemia szklistego zalewania księżyca w pełni zabarwionego błękitną Ziemią połysku i ciemną plamą falę rzeka Ziemia przejrzystej szarości chmur jaśniejszej i jaśniejszej dla mojego dobra Daleko opadająca łokieć ziemi - ziemia rozkwitnięta jabłkiem Uśmiechnij się, bo twój kochanek nadchodzi. Marnotrawny, dałeś mi miłość - dlatego ja daję ci miłość O, nie dającą się opisać namiętną miłość. Ty także żegnam się z tobą - myślę, co masz na myśli, widzę z plaży twoje krzywe palce, wierzę, że nie chcesz wrócić bez poczucia mnie, musimy mieć zwrot razem, rozbierać się, pośpiesz się widok ziemi, miękko mnie uspokój, kołysz mnie w gęstym drzemeczu, Zmiłuj mnie miłosnym mokrym, mogę ci odpłacić. Morze rozciągliwych fal ziemi, Morze oddychające szerokimi i konwulsyjnymi oddechami, Morze z solanki życia i nieskażonych, ale zawsze gotowych grobów, Wyjec i szumot burz, kapryśne i filigranowe morze, Jestem integralną częścią ciebie, Ja też jestem jedna faza i wszystkie fazy. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others arms. I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finders or rejecters gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be workd over and rectified I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. Endless unfolding of words of ages And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science long live exact demonstration Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseasd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deformd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veild and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigurd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touchd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you Firm masculine colter it shall be you Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you You my rich blood your milky stream pale strippings of my life Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you My brain it shall be your occult convolutions Root of washd sweet-flag timorous pond-snipe nest of guarded duplicate eggs it shall be you Mixd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you Sun so generous it shall be you Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you Hands I have taken, face I have kissd, mortal I have ever touchd, i t shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. To behold the day-break The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heavd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why dont you let it out then Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.) My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heaveeyo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and colord lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march playd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I h ear the violoncello, (tis the young mans hearts complaint,) I hear the keyd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the traind soprano (what work with hers is this) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possessd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lickd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steepd amid honeyd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. To be in any form, what is that (Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more developd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one elses is about as much as I can stand. Is this then a touch quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip, Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist, Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields, Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me, No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger, Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch what are you doing my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. Blind loving wrestling touch, sheathd hooded sharp-toothd touch Did it make you ache so, leaving me Parting trackd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch) Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. (Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them. I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-doeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depressd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stuccod with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powderd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-billd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-containd, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. Space and Time now I see it is true, what I guessd at, What I guessd when I loafd on the grass, What I guessd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walkd the beach under the paling stars of the morning. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. By the citys quadrangular houses--in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorchd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river, Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter, Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish, Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flowerd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peakd farm house, with its scallopd scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leavd corn, o ver the delicate blue-flower flax, Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs, Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great goldbug drops through the dark, Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow, Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides, Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, Where the half-burnd brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below Where the dense-starrd flag is borne at the head of the regiments, Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball, At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw, At apple-peel ings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps, Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatterd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie, Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near, Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding, Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh, Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds, Where band-neckd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where bur ial coaches enter the archd gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crownd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs, Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well, Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, Through the gymnasium, through the curtaind saloon, through the office or public hall Pleasd with the native and pleasd with the foreign, pleasd with the new and old, Pleasd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleasd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleasd with the tune of the choir of the whitewashd church, Pleasd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impressd seriously at the camp-meeting Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole foreno on, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, Wandering the same afternoon with my face turnd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle Coming home with the silent and dark-cheekd bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,) Far from the settlements studying the print of animals feet, or the moccasin print, By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, Nigh the coffind corpse when all is still, examining with a candle Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diam eter of eighty thousand miles, Speeding with taild meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripend and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crows-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruind city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wifes voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my mans body up dripping and drownd. I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalkd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you How he followd with them and tackd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gownd women lookd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lippd unshaved men All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I sufferd, I was there. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemnd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, coverd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinnd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. I am the mashd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have cleard the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my forts bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aimd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments. Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,) Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men. Retreating they had formd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receivd writing and seal, gave up their arms and marchd back prisoners of war. They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age. The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five oclock and was over by eight. None obeyd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maimd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-killd attempted to crawl away, These were despatchd with bayonets or batterd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seizd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and coverd with the boys blood. At eleven oclock began the burning of the bodies That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars List to the yarn, as my grandmothers father the sailor told it to me. Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be Along the lowerd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touchd, My captain lashd fast with his own hands. We had receivd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten oclock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves. The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter If our colors are struck and the fighting done Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemys main-mast, Two well servd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moments cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Stretchd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquerd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet, Near by the corpse of the child that servd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curld whiskers, The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below, The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves, Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent, A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, The hiss of the surgeons knife, the gn awing teeth of his saw, Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan, These so, these irretrievable. You laggards there on guard look to your arms In at the conquerd doors they crowd I am possessd Embody all presences outlawd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barrd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuffd to jail but I am handcuffd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.) Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-colord, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Enough enough enough Somehow I have been stunnd. Stand back Give me a little time beyond my cuffd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. That I could forget the mockers and insults That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. I troop forth replenishd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years. Eleves, I salute you come forward Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. The friendly and flowing savage, who is he Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it Is he some Southwesterner raisd out-doors is he Kanadian Is he from the Mississippi country Iowa, Oregon, California The mountains prairie-life, bush-life or sailor from the sea Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncombd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask--lie over You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Earth you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarfd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow. I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home. I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down hang your whole weight upon me. I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an armd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. Sleep--I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all Magnifying and applying come I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved, With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image, Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more, Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days, (They bore mites as for unfledgd birds who have now to rise and fly and sing for themselves,) Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see, Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, Putting higher claims for him there with his rolld-up sleeves driving the malle t and chisel, Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation, Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the gods of the antique wars, Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charrd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames By the mechanics wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born, Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts baggd out at their waists, The snag-toothd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then, The bull and the bug never worshippd half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamd, Th e supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of the supremes, The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious By my life-lumps becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambushd womb of the shadows. A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has passd his prelude on the reeds within. Easily written loose-fingerd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thornd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexers hoot hoot till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death. Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and taild coats I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,) I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them. I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring This printed and bound book--but the printer and the printing-office boy The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms The black ship maild with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but the pluck of the captain and engineers In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way The saints and sages in history--but you yourself Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason and what is love and what is life I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern, Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, sal uting the sun, Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in the circle of obis, Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols, Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and austere in the woods a gymnosophist, Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, minding the Koran, Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum, Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine, To the mass kneeling or the puritans prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew, Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartend, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. How the flukes splash How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is considerd, each who stops is considerd, not single one can it fall. It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peepd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughterd and wreckd, nor the brutish koboo calld the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known. It is time to explain myself--let us stand up. What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation) I am an acme of things accomplishd, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly traveld, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Long I was huggd close--long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have helpd me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. O span of youth ever-pushd elasticity O manhood, balanced, florid and full. My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy from the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. Old age superbly rising O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward. My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there. I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and lookd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be filld and satisfied then And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dreamd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life. Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bulls eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers, And those well-tannd to those that keep out of the sun. I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them. I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosend.) I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air. If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. No shutterd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them. The soldier campd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me. My face rubs to the hunters face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are, They and all would resume what I have told them. I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than ones self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud, And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth, And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times, And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero, And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeld universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is signd by Gods name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoeer I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever. And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me. To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polishd breasts of melons. And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me. Wrenchd and sweaty--calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep--I sleep long. I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines I plead for my brothers and sisters. Do you see O my brothers and sisters It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal life--it is Happiness. The past and present wilt--I have filld them, emptied them. And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. Listener up there what have you to confide to me Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his days work who will soonest be through with his supper Who wishes to walk with me Will you speak before I am gone will you prove already too late 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 shadowd 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 fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. DayPoems Poem No. 1900 Comment on DayPoems If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback . Wont you help support DayPoems Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web. The DayPoems web site, daypoems, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. Wszelkie prawa zastrzeżone. The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors. Support DayPoems. Buy your books here Latest Chapbooks from Powells. Hey, glad you showed up Around here we discuss: Money 8211 Life 8211 Travel 8211 Business Almost anything can fit if it captures my imagination and I think you might be interested. The blog is best known for the Stock Series. If you are wondering whether to dive in, this independent review might help. I think it captures blog8217s essence perfectly. Beyond the Stock Series, and to give you some idea of what else around here resonates with the regulars, these are the Top 5 most popular posts: To help you get started, check out the sidebar for lists of the Most Popular, Most Recent and some of my favorite posts, along with the Archives, Categories and Blogroll. I started out writing this for my daughter. It8217s about what has worked for me and what has kicked me in the ass. Me Well since you asked8230.. I started selling flyswatters door-to-door and picking up empty pop bottles from the side of the road to turn in for the 2-cent deposit. Hey, gimme a break. I was eight. My first real job was in an ice cream parlor, although I spent most of my time scrubbing out the big metal ice cream cans. I was 13 and it paid 1.25 per hour. A fortune From there: Busboy, dishwasher, order-puller, grocery bagger, stock clerk, produce clerk and gas station pump jockey back in the day when someone pumped your gas, washed your windows and checked your oil for you (ask your grand parents). Mail clerk, ground man for a tree crew, landscaper, ad agency founder, account executive, ad space salesman, investment officer, entrepreneur, consultant, sales trainer, speaker, writer, radio talk show host, publisher and group publisher. Pretty much in that order although I8217ve done some more than once. And I may have forgotten one or two. My work has taken me to most states across the country as well as Canada, Germany and England. One of my few regrets is that I8217ve never had the occasion for an international posting. But I8217ve had the good fortune to see a bit of the planet on my own: Mexico, Canada, Ireland, Wales, England, Greece, Crete, Puerto Rico, Tahiti, Venezuela, Curacao, Scotland, Italy, Germany, Spain, Paris, India, Kashmir, Goa, Nepal, Zanzibar, Tanzania, Eleuthera, St. Thomas, St. Martin, Barbados, Antigua, Martinique, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Prague, Guatemala, Galapagos, Maui, Guam, Philippines (Manila, Cebu, Bohol, Dumaguete, Siquijor), Taiwan, Japan. Pretty much in that order although I8217ve visited some more than once. And I may have forgotten one or two. Ive traveled to and around those places by plane, train, bus, boat, subway, taxi, hired car, motorcycle, bicycle, rickshaw, hitch-hiking, foot, horse, donkey and elephant. Not only traveled by elephant, but herded rhinoceros by elephant back in Nepal. I love saying that My degree in English Literature is from the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana. They still send me alumni letters mostly, I think, hoping I8217ve become rich and famous. Im working on it. Here8217s my favorite cartoon: The visual is two guys in a corn field. They are up on racks dressed in shabby clothes. Straw is coming out from their shirt cuffs and pant legs. They are serving as scarecrows. One is looking over at the other and saying8230 8220English Major. How about you8221 Finally, one of my talented readers has stepped up to illustrate this: Cartoon illustrated by: Monica H. 8220avid reader of this blog and fellow index investor8221 Since June 2017 I8217ve left what will probably be my last full-time job. So I guess I8217m retired. Except this blog, which has now grown into an international readership. No one is more amazed than I. A pal of mine once said I had won the family lottery. He is right. As of June 19th, 2017 my wife Jane and I will have been married for 32 years. Our daughter Jessica just graduated Summa Cum Laude from the University of Rhode Island. She about to enter the Peace Corp. This Blog, as with everything I do, is dedicated to them. The investment ideas of others: Occasionally in the comments I am asked to read some book, article andor blog and dispute the ideas in them. I simply dont have the time or inclination to do this. If you read my blog youll soon have a very clear idea of my views. You can then read other sources, compare and decide for yourself what resonates. Oh, and one last thing8230.. Be sure to read the important Disclaimers regarding the content and advertising on this blog. For more on me check out8230 Mr. Collins is a senior executive with extensive PampL experience and a proven track record of growing revenue and profitability, integrating acquisitions, launching new products, developing and implementing business plans, creating powerful marketing strategies, building strong customer relationships and building effective teams. He is experienced in a broad range of markets including technology, automotive, investments, design engineering, electronics manufacturing, construction, horticulture and energy. Most recently he served as Senior Manager, Business Development with Penton Media working on Contracting Business, HVACR Distribution Business, The Comfortech Show and their related websites. Under his management revenues grew 82, setting an all time record. He has served as a Group Publisher for the Advanced Technology Division (ATD) of PennWell Corporation. There he integrated two newly acquired publishing businesses, Connector Specifier (CS) and SMT (Surface Mount Technology), into the ATDs operations and culture in what the board of directors called a textbook example of successful acquisition integration. Later he guided the integration of the subsequently acquired SMT Germany . He rebuilt the post-acquisition staff, combining acquired personnel, newly assigned PennWell employees and new hires into highly effective, motivated teams able to execute aggressive quality, cost-saving and revenue goals. Under his management both businesses set all-time revenue and profit records. CS gained 29 in revenue and 256 in profit and SMT increased 21 and 63 respectively. SMT s market share grew to nearly 50, positioning it as the industrys 1 publication. He also launched the ATDs first show daily venture, The APEX Show Dailies . (posting profit margins of 50) and SMT Mexitronica . Prior to PennWell, Mr. Collins served as Publisher of Counterman for Babcox Publications. There he substantially increased profitability (54 in year one and an additional 41 in year two) and launched Counterman DIY . He successfully increased revenue, ad sales and market share during a contracting market, positioning Counterman as the automotive aftermarkets second-largest publication, up from fourth. In 1988 Mr. Collins was recruited to join Roulston amp Company, Inc. an international investment research firm. There he served as an Investment Officer marketing investment research and analysis to institutional investors. He also produced analytical reports on a diverse group of publicly traded companies. Mr. Collins also spent eleven years with Penton Publishing, Inc. holding several positions of increasing responsibility. As Publisher, he successfully orchestrated the turnaround of Materials Engineering . generating its first consecutive years of profitability in well over two decades. He also launched Composite Materials and served as Market Development Manager for Machine Design . In addition to his work as a publisher, Mr. Collins is an accomplished consultant, author and speaker. He has provided reorganization strategies, sales and marketing strategies, sales training, business plans and operational reviews for clients such as The Aberdeen Group, East Ohio Gas, National City Bank and Thompson, Hine and Flory. He led the senior management team of Operation Bass in developing a business plan to expand into publications and television, and he wrote the business plan for and helped launch the Journal of Energy Management . He is the author of the sales-training seminar, Effective Selling , as well as several workshops, speeches, columns and articles on professional sales and peak performance including The Ten Sales Commandments, Enhancing Customer Relationships, The Myth of Motivation, The Most Dangerous Words Your Customer Can Say, Handling Mistakes and There Is No Old Business . He also produced, wrote and presented a weekly radio feature, Your Sales Guru , for WHK Radio, Cleveland. Mr. Collins launched his career selling advertising space in Chicago. He is a graduate of the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana and holds a BA in English Literature. Important Resources Vanguard (unfortunately Vanguard doesnt have an affiliate program) Personal Capital is a free tool to manage and evaluate your investments. With great visuals you can track your net worth, asset allocation, and portfolio performance, including costs. At a glance youll see whats working and what you might want to change. Heres my full review . Betterment is my recommendation for hands-off investors who prefer a DIFM (Do It For Me) approach. It is also a great tool for reaching short-term savings goals. Here is my Betterment Review YNAB has the best budgeting tools going and just might be the Best Place to Work Ever Republic Wireless is my 10 a month phone plan. My daughter is in South East Asia and is on the 5 a month plan. We talk whenever can and for however long we please. My RW Review tells you how. Tuft amp Needle helps me sleep at night. A very cool company and a great product. These are affiliate links and should you chose to do business with them, this blog will earn a small commission. Is this Jim and Fritz, the comedy team I met in Taos, NM Man, oh man. I just had a great flashback of burning sage and glowing lava stones, and crawling from a sweat-lodge onto the cool earth beneath that magical New Mexico moon. I thought I8217d check an old email address today. Sure enough, it led me here. Hi Mike 8211 yep, it8217s us. Good for Jim8217s blogger fans to see how the Red Road merges with business, life and money. Hopefully, he8217ll write about it. Jim hasn8217t mentioned his FBI connection and a Sundance that we participated in a few years back. Very humorous. Only Sundance participant that I know of to dress in a white, buttoned down, dress shirt. He was viewed with great skepticism by the participants. We worked our fingers to the bone for the ceremony8230 Ask him 8217bout the exploding rocks. New Mexico Lobo Dang, Jim Didn8217t know you was a blogger. Feel free to correct my grammar. Might as well put that degree to some use. Congrats on your retirement, or whatever it is. I8217m not one of those people who thinks that you have to keep working or you die. I don8217t get bored easily. I can always find something constructive(or at least amusing)to do. Personally, I could retire right now, and live happily another 40 years without ever thinking I was wasting my life. In fact, quite the opposite. I think work is gonna kill me early, if anything. I tried the retirement thing about 15 years ago, when I was in my late 308217s. I had about a years worth of wages saved up, and I figured that I could supplement that playing pool. Some nights I was winning 200.00-300.00,tax free. I figured if I could do that twice a week, or hell, even 5 times a month, I could make it. Funny how you can blow through a years wages in about 6 months when you8217re hanging out in poolrooms and bars every night. Funny too, how something that used to be easy freewheeling fun, turns into a pressure filled job, when you do it to put food on the table. My game went to shit, losing to people I should have schooled, and I was lucky most nights to get away with just paying my bar tab. Anyway, I envy anybody who can break out of the rat race, even for a while. Kudos to you. Rock on, amigo great to see you here and thanks for subscribing yer grammer be fine far as me can tell. I agree, there8217s lots to do in life besides work. For the most part I8217ve enjoyed my jobs and the only complaint was they took up so much freaking time. If things work out as I plan, I8217ll be 8216working8221 about 30 of the time now. I have a post or two planned about people I8217ve met who8217ve been able to make that happen. very cool that you took a year off, kinda like a retirement preview. but remind me never to play pool with you for Hi James L. Collins from Wilmette I finally found you because Chris foound Fritz - The Unholy Alliance is reunited It should be the Chicago Trib Headlines Well Thank you8230. So my wife recently went into the hospital for a gullbladder surgery. Fortunately she is doing better and we are now experiencing sticker shock for the bill. We have a high deductible health care plan where we pay 650 per month out of pocket for insurance. Our plan has us paying the first 6500. Surprise. our bill was 6382. I am trying to figure out the best way to pay this off. One option would be to pay the bill off monthly. They are offering payments of 212 per month interest free for 30 months. Second option is to pay them cash of 5105. The opportunity costs of this would be about 1200 over 30 months They may accept less cash I am curious how you would deal with this Thanks for your thoughts in adv. Glad to hear you wife8217s doing better. Sounds like they are offering a 20 discount if you pay cash: 212 x 30 months 6360 8211 5105 cash 1255 19.73 looking just at the numbers, I8217d pay the 5105 cash. But you might also try to negotiate for a lower bill first. The fact that they are willing to take 20 less says a lot about how much padding is in the bill and about how afraid they are of defaults. Start with negotiating the bill itself, before discussion of how you8217ll pay. It might be as simple as asking: 8220Wow. 6360 is a lot, especially since with our high-deductabel plan we8217ll be paying it all out of pocket. What kind of discount can you offer8221 Then, with whatever discount they offer and you accept: 8220Thanks That helps a lot. We8217ll also pay cash so that comes to (xxx 8211 20)8221 As with all negotiations you want to be friendly. Jcollins, This makes me wonder8230 What do you recommend for health insurance once my girlfriend and I hit FI We max out our company sponsored HSAs every year, but would like to not dip into that money. Health insurance is the biggest question she has to the early retirement scheme8230 I8217ve got her on board with everything else. Let8217s pretend Obamacare and the subsidies available to low-income FI folks don8217t exist (humor me). As an aside, this is the first blog I came across when I started becoming financially conscious. From there I found MF and MMM. The rest is history. Thanks for it all My office is next to a big name financial advisor, and I get a little sense of pride every time I walk by and DON8217T go in. I8217m afraid insurance is out of my wheelhouse. Back in the early 1990s my wife and I had both stepped away from our jobs. At the time we bought a high-deducatable, 10,000 as I recall, catastrophic policy. We were only interested in insuring against the possibility of a major hit and OK with paying the routine stuff out of pocket. I suppose we8217d look to do the same again, but only after checking out what the ACA had to offer. Great to hear this blog lead you to MF and MMM, two of my personal favorites. But now I8217m curious. How did you originally find your way here I hate fees (and now that I8217m 8216educated,8217 taxes). Every time I spend a frivolous dollar, I think that is one less dollar that will allow my to scuba dive with dolphins in Belize. You can imagine how I felt once I really began to understand compounding8230 I8217m 30 and didn8217t get my first real-money job until 2017. I8217ve always worked, but made enough to travel, quit, then repeat. When I got that job I felt a sense of panic thinking that I had missed out on 4 years of a raging bull market that would never repeat itself. I looked into dividend growth investing, but a 50 stock portfolio was a full time job. Then I found the bogglehead forum and learned about index funds. A google search later and I came across your site. Myślałem, że znalazłem świętego Graala. Then MF and MMM. I8217ve learned enough to convince Ms. Mountaineer how simple it is, and it really opened her eyes when I showed her a spreadsheet of what the expense ratio next to the nonsense investments in her 401k really meant (since transferred to a Van. Target Date). She sees how excited I get, and loves that I am really planning for the first time in my life. That makes her hot. What I8217m trying to say is you make my girlfriend hot. And rich. Which makes me hot. Thanks JLC I have to say this is the first time anyone has thanked me for making their girlfriend hot. Steve Kreindel says I just found your blog. MMM was the source and I have a lot to catch up on. My bio reads just like yours and it8217s encouraging. I8217m kinda retired, will be 60 next month, an investor for 45 years, two kids and a long marriage. I8217m one lucky guy. I started teaching personal finance to high school kids last year. Life just gets better if you know where you8217re going and appreciate the journey. glad you made your way here and very glad somebody is teaching HS kids personal finance New job for you or volunteer work If you find anything useful here, feel free to share it with your classes. Steve Kreindel says Volunteer work through Junior Achievement in Los Angeles. The course takes kids through budgeting, saving, credit and investing. I even taught a career development course on how to interview, write a resume and dress for work. Most important tip I gave them was how to hide their tattoos for an interview. Jim, great site. I run 27GoodThings, if you8217d ever like to be a guest sharing three good things to read, three to watch, and three to use please let me know. I would also love to see a post where you shared more resources like MMM and other FI, outspoken, intelligent writers. Or any books you recommend. Thanks for writing and sharing these ideas. That8217s a pretty cool site you8217ve got yourself. Great concept. I8217ve subscribed. BTW, the easiest sub process ever. I8217d be honored to participate. Let me start thinking about it. Do you have a time frame in mind As for other resources, I8217ve not done a post but you will find a blogroll in the left-hand column. I also imbedded links frequently to posts and writers I like. I do the same with books on occasion. As you spend time on my blog you8217ll come across these. For any of you interested, here8217s what I sent Mike: No time frame, some guests have a list created in a few days, others take a few weeks. Whatever your schedule will allow. You can email me at 27Goodthings at gmail dot com when you8217re done or if you have other questions. I8217ll keep an eye out for more books in the posts. Dzięki. I just discovered this great forum, am I late I guess not. There was this comment in marketwatch that recommend this site and I find topics here are both informative and entertaining. Some are not applicable to where I am now, I mean location-wise as I am located in Australia (like for example we have Super, not sure but I guess its like a 401k in the US). I am thinking to invest in index or etf funds and I am pretty sure you have more than a couple of articles about that. Not late at all, WE. Although as I8217m just back from six weeks in Ecuador I8217m a bit late responding Glad you found your way over here. While I8217m no expert in investment options for those outside the USA, people have found value in my stock series no matter where they live. You might especially check out: Be sure to read the comments, too. Readers from all over have added their insights. Good luck and I hope you stick around We met at the FinCon13 opening party happy hour and I said I8217d have to stop by and check out your blog Well, I made it and will be exploring the rest of your site, but just wanted to drop you a comment and let you know I made it Glad you found your way over here Hope you enjoy poking around. FinCon was quite the event. I almost didn8217t make it and am very happy I did. Very interesting life so far Jim I hope I can accomplish some of what you have. I am only 7 years into marriage with 3 kids and have only been to a few countries. Very inspiring to learn more about you. Nice work so far on the blog. It has been a great ride so far, even if I wasn8217t always astute enough to appreciate it at the time. How come you didn8217t post your comment under that post Purnima George says Hello Sir, I recently started reading your website. After reading your website I opened an account with vanguard (IRA account). Let me first give me background. I and my husband are working, 35 and 40 respectively. We just started saving drastically now from past one year before that we were settling and came from another country etc. Basically we are starting out fresh to get FI. Both have very good 401k plan and has lot of low cost vanguard funds. We both hold 500 index, extended market, international and bond index in 401k and the expense ratio is .05 altogether. We both work for the same employer. In our roth we have VTSMX, VGTSX, and VBMFX. Now the question I have is we have around 100 k to invest in taxable account. I am sure I am going to go with vanguard. I am thinking of investing the 100k in VTSMX and VGTSX at the 70 and 30 ratio. Do you have any suggestions in our case. We are under 28 tax bracket. Also I am planning to invest 30,000 every year in taxable account apart from 401k and roth (We are maximizing both of these from last year) till we achieve FI. Another note we have paid our house and live very frugally. We have a son in elementary school. We are also saving for his college vanguard age based aggressive portfolio(Yearly 5000) from last year. Our plan to achieve FI before my husband is 55. Do you have any taxable funds recommendations Thanks in advance. Keep writing your blog and educate people like us. Thanks Purnima George Thanks for writing. Questions like yours fit best here: jlcollinsnhask-jlcollinsnh But as you8217ll see from the note on that post, I am about to leave the country until April and will be unable to provide the thought and response your questions deserve until then. If you still have questions after reading those, come April please ask in jlcollinsnhask-jlcollinsnh Purnima George says Firstly, great website. Your stock series has been influential in helping me choose my asset allocation in my equities portfolio, but I did have one question. I know you8217re all about simplicity, I am too. While 2 holdings (VTIBND) are all that most people ever need, you do indicate that for some additional complexity and risk, international stock holdings (such as VXUS) can sometimes bring added benefits to a portfolio. I don8217t remember hearing whether or not you feel it is likewise helpful to hold international bonds to further round out one8217s portfolio. Right now I hold BNDX as well, since if I8217m going to add VXUS to balance out my national holdings I don8217t see why I shouldn8217t do the same for bonds. I don8217t really understand much about the bond market however, so I8217d be really curious what your thinking on the matter is, as I8217m not sure if I8217m adding unneeded complexity for little if no gain. Thanks Glad you like it. I don8217t feel the need to hold international stocks or, by extension, bonds for the reasons I describe here: jlcollinsnh20170926stocks-part-xi-international-funds-2 But mine is an outlier position and most who recommend holding international stocks also call for holding international bonds. You can read my thoughts for yourself and then decide. Were I going to hold international, I8217d likely hold both. Hope this helps Thanks JL I really appreciate the insight and speedy response. I reread the posts and still can8217t decide what to allocate Ha, I8217ll figure it out. Also, I do have one more question (I hadn8217t noticed the 8216ask8217 section till after I8217d originally written). In all your articles, you talk about the Vanguard index funds you recommend, but never mention why you prefer those over the corresponding ETF, even if they have the same expense ratio. What am I missing ETFs were created to make trading indexes easier and, of course, I am opposed to trading. Plus, since they are bought and sold like stocks, they often have trading costs associated with them. But not always. If you can buy them commission free and if you can resist the urge to trade, they work just fine. I have really enjoyed reading through your website. I first ended up here because I was looking at purchasing some Vanguard funds (one to start a Roth IRA for my wife 8211 ended up with VTIVX, another to throw in some money we probably won8217t need for another 3 years or more 8211 ended up with VBIAX) and got sidetracked. It8217s a little late to be starting an IRA (I am 35 and she is 33) for her but I figured better late than never. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for sharing your thoughts. You are very fun to read and there is the bonus that most of it is informative as well. I particularly like that you are civil with people who have differing viewpoints. This is in short supply in today8217s world, even more so in the online world. Your thoughts on home ownership were particularly well put IMO. For some people buying a house IS the right emotional decision and so long as they are cognizant of the associated cost there is no intrinsically right or wrong choice. Man, I really wish more people understood that concept in general (on both sides). Very often there is no 8220one right answer8221, there are only different answers for different situations and the most important aspect is making an educated decision for yourself. Now I am off to read more of your musings8230.. Thanks for your very kind words. Other than 82208230most of it is informative82308221 Only MOST of it. The truth is the vast majority of people who comment here are very civil, so it is easy for me to be civil in return. My mother would have liked to think I would be in any event8230 Thanks, too, for your take on my homeownership views. You nailed it Many tag me as being anti-homeownership. Not the case. As I8217ve said before, I owned them for 28 years myself. I8217m anti blindingly accepting the industry propaganda that houses are always a great investment and renting is throwing money away. And that, is pure nonsense I8217ve been reading your site pretty intently but I have a few questions that do not seem to be addressed anywhere and I was hoping I can ask you by email. A bit about myself 8211 I am in my late 30s and after years of medical training just started my first real job as a physician, however, even though my monthly income is gt 10k I8217m still struggling check to check. A lot of it is due to a temporary stress of going through an annoying and expensive divorce but much all has to do with my lack of financial awareness. I have been intently trying to get my financial act together over the past few months so that at some time in the near future I don8217t have to worry if I want to take a vacation. In your blog you discuss investing, and also the importance of getting out of debt but my questions are: 1: should I reduce high interest debt first or contribute to an emergency savings fundcash buffer first or both 2: what are your thoughts on whole life insurance and disability insurance 3: i contribute to a 403b where my employer contributes 2, and contribute to a 529 but wondering if i should also do a traditional ira8230 not sure if i should max out these retirement savings first or once again take care of high interest debt. 4: my goal is not necessarily to retire early as i enjoy what i do and want to do it for very long time, but i do want financial freedom. i8217m very new to all this and definitely not a financial genius by any means just trying to get my act together. Dziękuję za Twój czas. Glad you found your way here and that you are reading thru the site. As a physician, you8217ll be making good money and thus will become a target for financial sharks. Better to learn a bit to do it for yourself. On to your questions: 1. Focus on paying off the debt first. If you have an emergency, use your credit cards. Yes that will put you in a bit more debt, but only IF it happens. Meanwhile with each dollar you put toward the debt the lower your interest rate burden. For more: jlcollinsnh20180326stocks-part-xxviii-debt-the-unacceptable-burden 2. I8217ve never had life or disability insurance. The only reason to consider either is if you have dependents who rely upon your income. If so, chose carefully and buy only term-life and then only for as long as you need it. For more: caniretireyetlong-term-care-insurance-why-we-arent-buying-it Fully max out these before any 529 plans. Fund your 403(b) up to the match and then focus on getting rid of the debt. Once the debt is gone use the discipline to channel that money into your investments and watch your wealth grow just as you watched your debt fade. 4. It is wonderful to enjoy your work and hopfully you will for a long, long time. But, as Andy Rooney once said, 8220Never expect too much from your company. Even if it is a good company.8221 Things change and F-you Money is your shelter in the storm: jlcollinsnh20170606why-you-need-f-you-money You don8217t need to be a financial genius to make this work. You just need to get a couple of simple things right and let time and your money work for you. Mr. Collins, Just recently discovered your website and so thankful I did Thank you for taking the time to share your experience and insight In the wealth building phase should dividends be reinvested Thank you, Carmen My pleasure Carmen8230 I8217m glad you found your way here and it resonates with you. During the Wealth Accumulation Phase I always reinvested dividends. I wanted to invest as much as possible and automatic reinvesting is easy. Now that I am living on my portfolio, I have the dividends sent to me. No sense in reinvesting only to withdraw. Dear Mr. Collins, First thank you so much for sharing all your knowledge on building wealth. I love how you break everything down and make it super easy for me to understand. I too have a blog where I help urban millennials make wiser money choices and for the month of November I want to focus on investing and the simple path to wealth. What better person to feature on my blog than you. I know you8217re probably super busy and probably get asked to do interviews all the time. If you don8217t have time I can always use quotes from your website and a link back to your site, that would also be helpful. Po prostu daj mi znać. Thank you so much, Candice I would be delighted to have you interview me and I8217m honored you8217d ask. What format are you planing to use Podcast Can you ping me again in Early Dec Meanwhile feel free to quote and link Chris Tius says I8217m one of many who learned so much through your blog. I went from 8220what am I supposed to do with this growing pile of lazy cash8221 to 8220My Stockbond allocation will be xx(1-xx), and total market funds only, since I want both value and growth.8221 Im writing here not only to thank you, but to ask a question (and I couldn8217t find where else I could send this 8230) I write stories in my spare (and not so spare) time, and Ive created a character that is most definitely inspired by you and your blog. Since Im thinking to publishsubmit to a contestdo something that will put it for public ridiculescrutiny the story he appears, I thought it best to ask for your permission. Let me know if you have any concerns. I can send excerpts that contains the character if you so wish. If its not to your liking, Ill remove the character P. S. appearance wise, the character looks like this author, minus the mustache: en. wikipedia. orgwikiG. K.Chesterton This is certainly one of the most unique comment I8217ve gotten so far. I8217m not sure whether to be flattered or terrified. How did you happen to choose Mr. Chesterton as the character model And when you say -8220definitely inspired by you and your blog8221- is this character supposed to be me Sure, put up an excerpt. Yes, sir, he8217s supposed to be you His name is Moses Canes (for now), and he8217s an early retiree in his 8230 Late fifties. He got into blogging when he realized, considering his family history8211which showed the men usually died after three score years and some change8211 he may not live long enough to teach his grandchildren what he wanted to teach them about life and money. So he started OnMoneyAndLife. To his amazment (and consternation) he ended up teaching everyone BUT his children and grandchildren about money and life through the blog. The main character, Erik, is a fan. I have dialogue between Erik and Moe, but I8217m a bit terrified of posting it public. I could send it via PM. As for Mr. Chesterton, I decided to use his appearance because really liked his Father Brown detective stories, and because Mr. Chesterton has a very easy to describe physique jl collins i love your blog. thank you for these incredible insights on money. i wish i had known about these investment strategies way sooner. i think i would have made different choices. but, better late than never right i would be curious if you had any thoughts on the emotional component of money there is often alot of guilt, shame, and fear that gets handed down to us within our family in connection to money and it causes much distortion and pain. dont know if you can relate or know people who have had these sorts of experiences. in any case, im looking foward to saving my first 10,000 so i can invest it in VTSAX. My sense is we all have emotional issues around money, they just differ. To me, money represents security and it8217s not hard to see the roots of this in watching my father lose his business and our standard of living as smoking destroyed his health. As the saying goes, your mileage may vary. Paul Laflamme says Just read your 2017 piece on the Spitfire, very entertaining I too worked in the publishingadvertising game, now in real estate. Three months ago I bought my 2nd Triumph Spitfire, it8217s a 1980, 1500. I bought the first one, a 821772 Mark IV back in 84, sold it in 1988. Having had a Mini and a MGB a few years earlier in my life, I knew what to expect from a British automobile. My expectations were confirmed, but not to the degree that you were let down. I wonder if working in the ad game causes some sort of DNA alteration that induces automobile masochism. Speaking of the enjoyment of hardship, if you put your tale of woe to music it would make a great countrywestern song, 8230.you know the ones your ex-beautiful blond girlfriend probably liked. Write the song, make millions and buy a fleet of sport cars, (perhaps not British) and I8217m sure you8217ll get her back or a dozen like her Anyways, enjoying the pain of my 2nd Spit, only minor issues to date, after a couple of thousand miles. Lots of time left for disaster to strike. Luckily, I am mechanically inclined and like hobbies, so I have a ready-made excuse when I am experiencing any Spitfire downtime. I am also married 40 years, and she was around during the ownership of the first Spit, the radio didn8217tdoesn8217t work in either Spit, so I guess that8217s why we are still hitched after all these years and 2 Spitfires. Thanks again for the blog post. I8217ll be listening for your song on the radio, (in my regular car). You bought a second Spitfire after owning the first. Your ad carreer must have given you even more sins to atone for than mine. My sad saga would make a wonderful CW song, but I doubt my wife of 34 years would approve of the flocks of new blonde girlfriends. Enjoy your Spitfire. Better you than me. Hi Jim, I was thinking of writing a detailed set of blog posts on Investing and then, realized you have an outstanding 8216Stock Series8217 that would help anyone. So, instead, I wrote a summary post covering costs, efficient frontier and why 100 stocks, and pointed the readers to your stock series for elaborate study. I would greatly appreciate your view on my article: tenfactorialrockshow-to-invest-efficiently I have great respect for your work. I also request your views on my other articles and participation in my website. Thanks for the kind words and for linking to my Stock Series in that post. As you know, I like what I have read of your stuff. However, I just don8217t have to the time to become as involved in your site as you suggest. I am already deeply overloaded with other sites I try to keep tabs on. That said, please feel free to ping me when you have something you think would be of particular interest. And, if you8217ll be a FinCon, please introduce yourself. BTW, am I correct in thinking you are African American If so, it would be interesting to have you respond to apoorplayer8217s suggestion that FIRE is the preserve of the white middle class here: jlcollinsnh20180816what-the-naysayers-are-missingcomment-4215699 I8217ve met a number of AAs in the FI community, but somehow that point coming from me would be less effective. Thanks for your reply, and happy to know you read my site. I am outside the US now so unable to see you at FinCon, but probably will attend this in the future. I am far from AA, don8217t know how you got that impression. I don8217t feel comfortable discussing race in a public site, as anyway none of this matters in the journey to FI. I am surprised that some people think race even matters here It8217s the mindset and actions we all take to get there that matter. I8217ve read through your entire blog and recently read your book (within 5 hours). And I want to sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me an endless optimism for the future. Adult life used to be so terrifying because I had just presumed that one had to work continuously until they were 70 in order to have a decent life. But your teachings have shattered that notion. When I married my wife 4 years ago, she had an incredible amount of high-interest debt from years of bad money-management and putting degrees on credit cards. No one had taught her how to approach money. We went into chapter 13 with 90 grand of debt. Not an ideal start to a marriage. Luckily, 2 years later, she inherited enough money from a parent to destroy that debt completely and start a seed for our investing future. Even more fortuitously, I stumbled onto your blog last year and in no small terms, it changed the course of our lives. Finally, I have a no-nonsense guide to securing a bright future for us and our new child. Now, we have zero debt, and several hundred grand growing in VTSAX and 401Ks and are on track to be completely financially independent within 7 to 9 years. I can look forward to life filled with writing music, travel, and fostering our important relationships. I just had a great conversation with one of my best friends about your philosophy and gave him your book to borrow. As I was explaining the ins and outs of your incredibly simple system, I became more and more elated as I realized that we have the good fortune to be able to take control of our future in a way I never thought was possible without hitting the lottery. My friend was in a state of shock. He was resigned to a future of scarcity before we had this conversation. Now he8217s looking forward to grabbing ahold a future of abundant freedom. You made me realize the following tenet: our past mistakes matter little compared to the decisions we make right now for our future. I would have written off a thought like that as saccharine and inane a few years ago, but now I realize how empowering it is. Thank you kindly for your guidance and your humor. Thanks so much for writing, and congratulations on the awesome turnaround in only four years. Well done Thanks, too, for passing the book and message on to your friend. And kudos to him for being open to it. As I point out in this post: jlcollinsnh20180816what-the-naysayers-are-missing many react with hostility instead of interest. In fact, if you are willing, I8217d love to see you add your comment above to that post and the discussion there. Also, if you think it deserves it, please put a 5-star review of the book on Amazon. Dan Rutman says Loved your book You seem like a regular guy, and I could really relate to your perspective on investing. One question: Many in the academic community feel you can get maybe an extra 1 long term by adding small andor value to your equity portfolio, without adding much volatility. Why have you not chosen to do that You are obviously smart enough to mechanically do it. I think your mutual fund recommendations are great for people with limited math ability or no interest in investing, but what about you Glad you liked it. Interesting question. When you say, 8220you can get maybe an extra 1 long term8221 for me the operative word is 8220maybe8221. Under 1 falls within the margin of error and you could equally say 8220you can maybe lose extra 1 long term.8221 What is certain, your expenses will be a bit higher as will your volatility. Both small cap and value stocks have periodic runs where they are in favor, but then so too do large cap and growth companies. Since I have no idea when these runs will happen for which and when, I am content to hold them all. 20 years out this will give some folks the opportunity to tell me, 8220See, I told you so. Small (or large or value or growth) stocks have outperformed your stupid VTSAX.8221 Who am I to deny them this pleasure Trying to contact you about launching an online course but can8217t find your email anywhere. I love the content here on the site and am buying your book this afternoon. Sharing your content in an educational manner could provide a lot of value. Feel free to email me directly. Jim Sarina says I read your book on Amazon Prime for free. It was so good I bought three paperback copies for my three daughters (24, 22, 19). Your advice is outstanding. I will offer two seemingly contradictory suggestions and some comments. You should expand the book and contract it. What I mean is augment the information in the book to address some important asides and create a condensed version (maybe you already have one in this: jlcollinsnh20170608how-i-failed-my-daughter-and-a-simple-path-to-wealth. starting with It starts with nine basics. ) for advertising purposes. EXPAND: There are at least three places where additional information would strengthen your arguments: 1. The discussion of stock returns over time should address the issue of real versus nominal dollars. Using nominal dollars looks too good. 100,000 now is nowhere near 100,000 forty years ago. I bought a house in Manhattan Beach, CA in 1979 for 97,000. And dumbly, I sold it. The stock market return as the best investment is valid in either nominal or real dollars, but you address the difference. 2. The value of disposable income when you are still young enough to use it should also be addressed. Having money to travel in your 60s and 70s is useful. In your 80s and 90s, not so useful. When you argue for deferring consumption to your later years, lots of people, quite rightfully so, think that it wont be as effective. Again I think your argument is still valid, but this is a mitigating factor that should be addressed. 3. Renting versus buying a house is more complex than running the numbers. I agree with your calculations but the first question that has to be answered in non-economic. What lifestyle do you want (assuming you can afford it) A single 25-year-old banker in San Diego can sleep on the park bench, eat out of the McDonalds dumpster, walk to work and save 99 of their income. Is that what you really want to do You first have to make some basic lifestyle decisions. All that said, you correctly emphasize that housing is consumption just like food or clothing (more lifestyle choices). The rent vs buy should be looked as what minimizes a consumption expense. Sometimes you can make money buying, sometimes not. And the emotionalfinancial forces drive you to buying too much house. There is an old saying attributed to Will Rogers, The first thing a man does when he comes into a little money is buy too much house. It is true. Society encourages it. The financial institutions encourage it. Your spouse encourages it. Your pride encourages it. On rent vs buy, I would divide up life into three phases: If you are single or just marriedno kids, rent. When you have children they need stability through the growing years probably buy. Empty nester either rent or live in a paid off (15 year mortgage) house from stage 2. And on your Ecuador example, I would submit that a few thousand dollars a year should not swing the decision (not that you shouldnt do the calculation). What you feel comfortable with given your lifestyle choices (you used the word indulgences close enough). CONDENSE: Create a one page (maybe trifold) condensed version and give it away on Amazon or in paper version, for free. People will read it and then go buy your book(s). It worked on me. The condensed version would contain 80 of your insights, but the reader will not realize it. And it would be a valuable (to the rest of us, not to you) resource. Some asides: I owned motorcycles: a Honda 350 Sport and a Honda 700 Nighthawk long ago sold. Did you buy the place in Ecuador My youngest daughter is spending this fall semester in Quito and we will be visiting her during visit week, 7-12 Nov. I would lose the F-You money. It is cute, but will turn a lot of people off. Find some other cute reference that is positive. And I am taking your advice, especially regarding Vanguard. Can you think of a book that changed your life Im putting together a project for other young people based on books recommended by all the successful people around me. Im putting together a list of really influential books. Id really appreciate it if youd let me include you in this project. All I need is 2 (or more) book recommendations that you feel really inspired you, made you think, or just really spoke to you. Thank you so much, Quin At the end of this post: Are some of my all time favorites. Good luck with your project Just a quick Thank You. I8217ve been reading for a year or two and love the site. I went about this FI stuff in a different way (I grew up in Cicero and after college spent the 821780s bouncing around different fun jobs like park ranger). Back then, the FI lifestyle was called being a pollack. Now I have 2 kids in college and several nieces and nephews and am trying to pass down some of this philosophy. So8230Thanks Merry Christmas amp Happy New Year. craig Hello I just finished reading your great book The Simple Path to Wealth and had one comment that may be helpful to other readers. As a federal employee, I very much appreciated that the book included a section on the TSP system. In case you or other readers may have missed this feature, one nice thing about the TSP is that the expense ratios are (at least as of this post) constant across all of the the funds, including the lifecycle funds. My observation is that with other index fun providers, even Vanguard, there is a premium charged for the added convenience of the L-funds. L-funds aren8217t for everyone, but when trying to convince colleagues to move themselves out of our default TSP allocation of 100 G Fund (U. S. Treasury securities), they sure are a great starting place. Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. DayPoems Forum . Project Gutenberg. a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems. Tina Blues Beginners Guide to Prosody. exactly what the title says, and well worth reading. Epicanthic Fold. If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist popomo. miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. pink. popomo. More projects from Portland oarena. Furby, Eliza, MrFriss and MissFriss. Save Point 0.8.1. a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta. Song of Myself By Walt Whitman I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, formd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me. The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzzd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-colord sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belchd words of my voice loosd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. Have you reckond a thousand acres much have you reckond the earth much Have you practisd so long to learn to read Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learnd and unlearnd feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied--I see, dance, laugh, sing As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets coverd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events These come to me days and nights and go from me again, But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turnd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reachd till you felt my beard, and reachd till you held my feet. Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heapd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. A child said What is the grass fetching it to me with full hands How could I answer the child I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owners name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers laps, And here you are the mothers laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. What do you think has become of the young and old men And what do you think has become of the women and children They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceasd the moment life appeard. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. Has any one supposed it lucky to be born I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-washd babe, and am not containd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.) Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children. Undrape you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away. The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rousd mobs, The flap of the curtaind litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital, The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall, The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd, The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes, What groans of over-fed or half-starvd who fall sunstruck or in fits, What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes, What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restraind by decorum, Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips, I mind them or the show or resonance of them - - I come and I depart. The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are packd to the sagging mow. I am there, I help, I came stretchd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-killd game, Falling asleep on the gatherd leaves with my dog and gun by my side. The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuckd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reachd to her feet. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and filld a tub for his sweated body and bruisd feet, And gave him a room that enterd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and passd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock leand in the corner. Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. Which of the young men does she like the best Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. Where are you off to, lady for I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The beards of the young men glistend with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams passd all over their bodies. An unseen hand also passd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray. The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire. From the cinder-strewd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place. The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands poisd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band, His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead, The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polishd and perfect limbs. I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also. In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. I believe in those wingd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation, The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close, Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky. The sharp-hoofd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law. The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamourd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out. What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever. The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp, The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm, The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready, The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches, The deacons are ordaind with crossd hands at the altar, The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel, The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and looks at the oats and rye, The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirmd case, (He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mothers bed-room) The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript The malformd limbs are tied to the surgeons table, What is removed drops horribly in a pail The quadr oon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove, The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gate-keeper marks who pass, The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do not know him) The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race, The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs, Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee, As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle, The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their partners, the dancers bow to each other, The youth lies awake in the cedar-roofd garret and harks to the musical rain, The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron, The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemmd cloth is offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale, The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways, As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for the shore-going passengers, The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots, The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne her first child, The clean-haird Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the factory or mill, The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporters lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold, The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread, The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him, The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions, The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white sails sparkle) The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The ped ler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling about the odd cent) The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-opend lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, (Miserable I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you) The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gatherd, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms) Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface, The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe, Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees, Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through those draind by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas, Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw, Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them, In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their days sport, The city sleeps and the country sleeps, The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, The old husband sleeps by his wife and the youn g husband sleeps by his wife And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuffd with the stuff that is coarse and stuffd with the stuff that is fine, One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same, A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live, A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners , (loving their big proportions,) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat, A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest, A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.) These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquerd and slain persons. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have faild And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea And to those themselves who sank in the sea And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger, It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments with all, I will not have a single person slighted or left away, The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited, The heavy-lippd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited There shall be no difference between them and the rest. This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. Do you guess I have some intricate purpose Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. Do you take it I would astonish Does the daylight astonish does the early redstart twittering through the woods Do I astonish more than they This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. Who goes there hankering, gross, mystical, nude How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat What is a man anyhow what am I what are you All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-removd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. Why should I pray why should I venerate and be ceremonious Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counseld with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenters compass, I know I shall not pass like a childs carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night. I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. My foothold is tenond and mortisd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest are you the President It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosomd night--press close magnetic nourishing night Night of south winds--night of the large few stars Still nodding night--mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breathd earth Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake Far-swooping elbowd earth--rich apple-blossomd earth Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love O unspeakable passionate love. You sea I resign myself to you also--I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you. Sea of stretchd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovelld yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others arms. I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finders or rejecters gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be workd over and rectified I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. Endless unfolding of words of ages And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science long live exact demonstration Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseasd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deformd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veild and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigurd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touchd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you Firm masculine colter it shall be you Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you You my rich blood your milky stream pale strippings of my life Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you My brain it shall be your occult convolutions Root of washd sweet-flag timorous pond-snipe nest of guarded duplicate eggs it shall be you Mixd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you Sun so generous it shall be you Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you Hands I have taken, face I have kissd, mortal I have ever touchd, i t shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. To behold the day-break The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heavd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why dont you let it out then Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.) My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heaveeyo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and colord lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march playd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I h ear the violoncello, (tis the young mans hearts complaint,) I hear the keyd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the traind soprano (what work with hers is this) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possessd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lickd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steepd amid honeyd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. To be in any form, what is that (Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more developd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one elses is about as much as I can stand. Is this then a touch quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip, Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist, Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields, Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me, No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger, Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch what are you doing my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. Blind loving wrestling touch, sheathd hooded sharp-toothd touch Did it make you ache so, leaving me Parting trackd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch) Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. (Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them. I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-doeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depressd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stuccod with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powderd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-billd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-containd, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. Space and Time now I see it is true, what I guessd at, What I guessd when I loafd on the grass, What I guessd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walkd the beach under the paling stars of the morning. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. By the citys quadrangular houses--in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorchd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river, Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter, Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish, Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flowerd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peakd farm house, with its scallopd scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leavd corn, o ver the delicate blue-flower flax, Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs, Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great goldbug drops through the dark, Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow, Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides, Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, Where the half-burnd brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below Where the dense-starrd flag is borne at the head of the regiments, Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball, At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw, At apple-peel ings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps, Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatterd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie, Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near, Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding, Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh, Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds, Where band-neckd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where bur ial coaches enter the archd gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crownd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs, Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well, Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, Through the gymnasium, through the curtaind saloon, through the office or public hall Pleasd with the native and pleasd with the foreign, pleasd with the new and old, Pleasd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleasd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleasd with the tune of the choir of the whitewashd church, Pleasd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impressd seriously at the camp-meeting Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole foreno on, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, Wandering the same afternoon with my face turnd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle Coming home with the silent and dark-cheekd bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,) Far from the settlements studying the print of animals feet, or the moccasin print, By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, Nigh the coffind corpse when all is still, examining with a candle Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diam eter of eighty thousand miles, Speeding with taild meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripend and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crows-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruind city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wifes voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my mans body up dripping and drownd. I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalkd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you How he followd with them and tackd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gownd women lookd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lippd unshaved men All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I sufferd, I was there. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemnd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, coverd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinnd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. I am the mashd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have cleard the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my forts bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aimd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments. Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,) Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men. Retreating they had formd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receivd writing and seal, gave up their arms and marchd back prisoners of war. They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age. The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five oclock and was over by eight. None obeyd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maimd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-killd attempted to crawl away, These were despatchd with bayonets or batterd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seizd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and coverd with the boys blood. At eleven oclock began the burning of the bodies That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars List to the yarn, as my grandmothers father the sailor told it to me. Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be Along the lowerd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touchd, My captain lashd fast with his own hands. We had receivd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten oclock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves. The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter If our colors are struck and the fighting done Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemys main-mast, Two well servd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moments cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Stretchd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquerd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet, Near by the corpse of the child that servd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curld whiskers, The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below, The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves, Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent, A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, The hiss of the surgeons knife, the gn awing teeth of his saw, Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan, These so, these irretrievable. You laggards there on guard look to your arms In at the conquerd doors they crowd I am possessd Embody all presences outlawd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barrd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuffd to jail but I am handcuffd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.) Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-colord, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Enough enough enough Somehow I have been stunnd. Stand back Give me a little time beyond my cuffd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. That I could forget the mockers and insults That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. I troop forth replenishd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years. Eleves, I salute you come forward Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. The friendly and flowing savage, who is he Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it Is he some Southwesterner raisd out-doors is he Kanadian Is he from the Mississippi country Iowa, Oregon, California The mountains prairie-life, bush-life or sailor from the sea Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncombd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask--lie over You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Earth you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarfd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow. I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home. I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down hang your whole weight upon me. I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an armd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. Sleep--I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all Magnifying and applying come I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved, With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image, Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more, Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days, (They bore mites as for unfledgd birds who have now to rise and fly and sing for themselves,) Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see, Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, Putting higher claims for him there with his rolld-up sleeves driving the malle t and chisel, Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation, Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the gods of the antique wars, Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charrd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames By the mechanics wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born, Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts baggd out at their waists, The snag-toothd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then, The bull and the bug never worshippd half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamd, Th e supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of the supremes, The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious By my life-lumps becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambushd womb of the shadows. A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has passd his prelude on the reeds within. Easily written loose-fingerd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thornd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexers hoot hoot till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death. Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and taild coats I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,) I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them. I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring This printed and bound book--but the printer and the printing-office boy The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms The black ship maild with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but the pluck of the captain and engineers In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way The saints and sages in history--but you yourself Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason and what is love and what is life I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern, Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, sal uting the sun, Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in the circle of obis, Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols, Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and austere in the woods a gymnosophist, Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, minding the Koran, Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum, Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine, To the mass kneeling or the puritans prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew, Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartend, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. How the flukes splash How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is considerd, each who stops is considerd, not single one can it fall. It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peepd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughterd and wreckd, nor the brutish koboo calld the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known. It is time to explain myself--let us stand up. What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation) I am an acme of things accomplishd, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly traveld, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Long I was huggd close--long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have helpd me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. O span of youth ever-pushd elasticity O manhood, balanced, florid and full. My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy from the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. Old age superbly rising O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward. My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there. I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and lookd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be filld and satisfied then And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dreamd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life. Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bulls eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers, And those well-tannd to those that keep out of the sun. I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them. I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosend.) I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air. If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. No shutterd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them. The soldier campd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me. My face rubs to the hunters face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are, They and all would resume what I have told them. I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than ones self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud, And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth, And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times, And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero, And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeld universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is signd by Gods name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoeer I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever. And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me. To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polishd breasts of melons. And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me. Wrenchd and sweaty--calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep--I sleep long. I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines I plead for my brothers and sisters. Do you see O my brothers and sisters It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal life--it is Happiness. The past and present wilt--I have filld them, emptied them. And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. Listener up there what have you to confide to me Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his days work who will soonest be through with his supper Who wishes to walk with me Will you speak before I am gone will you prove already too late 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 shadowd 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 fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. DayPoems Poem No. 1900 Comment on DayPoems If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback . Wont you help support DayPoems Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web. The DayPoems web site, daypoems, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. Wszelkie prawa zastrzeżone. The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors. Support DayPoems. Buy your books here Latest Chapbooks from Powells.