walt whitman |
2001-12-06 - 1:12 p.m.
walt whitman, you make me happy
i am mad for it to be in contact with me
you shall not look through my eyes either,
nor take things from me
you shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself
clear and sweet is my soul
and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul
what is that you express in your eyes?
it seems to me more than all the print i have read in my life
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
do you guess i have some intricate purpose?
well i have
do you take it i would astonish?
does the daylight astonish?
this hour i tell things in confidence,
i might not tell everybody, but i will tell you
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
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
dazzling and tremendous how quick the sunrise would kill me
if i could not now and always send sunrise out of me
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 don't you let it out then?
did it make you ache so, leaving me?
enough! enough! enough!
somehow i have been stunn'd. stand back!
give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping,
i discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake
flaunt of the sunshine i need not your bask-lie over!
you light surfaces only, i force surfaces and depths also
not i, not anyone 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
there is that in me - i do not know what it is - but i know it is in me
i do not know it - it is without name - it is a word unsaid
it is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol
you will hardly know who i am or what i mean
but it 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
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