Presentation on theme: "Whitman’s Utopia The Liberator, April 28, 1854 (poetry section, p. 4)"— Presentation transcript:
The Liberator, April 28, 1854 (poetry section, p. 4)
New York Herald, October 30, 1841, “Politics and Poetry”
All else is gone; from those great eyes The soul has fled; When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead! Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame; Walk backward, with averted gaze, And hide the shame! Whittier, “Ichabod” (1850)
“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” Shelley, A Defence of Poetry, 1821 (first published 1841)
“Poets, prophets, and reformers are all picture makers—and this ability is the secret of their power and of their achievements. They see what ought to be by the reflection of what is, and endeavor to remove the contradiction.” Frederick Douglass, “Pictures” (ca. 1864
“Its author is Walt Whitman and his book is a reproduction of the author. His name is not on the frontispiece, but his portrait, half-length, is. The contents of the book form a daguerreotype of his inner tabernacle.” Walt Whitman, Self-Review of Leaves of Grass (1855)
Frontispiece to 1855 Leaves of Grass, based on a lost daguerreotype
Anon., Walt Whitman, ca. 1848
Anon., Walt Whitman, ca. 1849
Anon., Walt Whitman, ca. 1855
Anon., Walt Whitman, ca. 1859-60
Anon., Walt Whitman, ca. 1860-61
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands—all diffused.... mine too diffused, Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb.... loveflesh swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous... quivering jelly of love.... white-blow and delirious juice Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweetfleshed day. “I Sing the Body Electric” (lines 53-57)
The bodies of men and women engirth me, and I engirth them, They will not let me off nor I them till I go with them and respond to them and love them. … The expression of the body of man or woman balks account, The male is perfect and that of the female is perfect. “I Sing the Body Electric” lines 1-2, 5-6
If life and the soul are sacred the human body is sacred; And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, And in man or woman a clean strong firmfibred body is beautiful as the most beautiful face.... Who degrades or defiles the living human body is cursed, Who degrades or defiles the body of the dead is not more cursed. “I Sing the Body Electric” (lines 113-115, 118-119)
A slave at auction! I help the auctioneer.... the sloven does not half know his business. Gentlemen look on this curious creature, Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for him, For him the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant, For him the revolving cycles truly and steadily rolled. “I Sing the Body Electric” (lines 83-88)
Anglo-African Magazine, quoting Whitman’s “I Sing the Body Electric” (1856) to describe the migration of slaves and domestic slave trade to the southwest: “A man’s body at auction! Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, For it the globe lay preparing quintilions of years without one animal or plant, For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily rolled.” (Anglo-African Magazine, April 1859)
Federal Troops Send Anthony Burns Back Into Slavery, 1854
Clear the way there Jonathan! Way for the President’s marshal! Way for the government cannon! Way for the federal foot and dragoons.... and the phantoms afterward. I rose this morning early to get betimes in Boston town; Here’s a good place at the corner.... I must stand and see the show. I love to look on the stars and stripes.... I hope the fifes will play Yankee Doodle. (A Boston Ballad, lines 1-6)
A fog follows.... antiques of the same come limping, Some appear wooden-legged and some appear bandaged and bloodless... What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering of bare gums? Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake your crutches for firelocks, and level them?.. Retreat then! Pell-mell!.... Back to the hills, old limpers! I do not think you belong here anyhow. But there is one thing that belongs here.... Shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?
Dig out King George’s coffin.... unwrap him quick from the graveclothes.... box up his bones for a journey: Find a swift Yankee clipper.... here is freight for you blackbellied clipper, Up with your anchor! Shake out your sails!.... steer straight toward Boston bay. Now call the President’s marshal again, and bring out the government cannon, And fetch home the roarers from Congress, and make another procession and guard it with foot and dragoons.
You have got your revenge old buster!.... The crown is come to its own and more than its own. Stick your hands in your pockets Jonathan.... you are a made man from this day, You are mighty cute.... and here is one of your bargains.