Here’s another hard right turn. Think
Of how Walt Whitman loved this country,
Loved the President who died. Imagined
Himself as a hand brushing a fly from the brow
Of a sleeping child. In the dark
I thought of a radiant ordinariness
That burned, that burned and burned.
As promised in class, I am opening this topic for discussion since we didn’t get to it today. I think there are many ways that this connects to (but is not the same as) Whitman’s model of selfhood, which some of you may be writing about through the prompt in Response #1. The basic question might be phrased something like this: when Whitman represents, includes, or speaks for others, does he do so ethically and in a way that respects their otherness from him (in identity and experience)? I think we also want to think through what might be our contemporary understanding of that question as well as what it might have meant in his own historical moment.
A few passages in which we might ground discussion. Feel free to add more.
Section 24, page 211, the two stanzas beginning “Through me many long dumb voices”
Section 33 following the long catalog, starting page 224 with “I am a free companion” and continuing through the rest of section on 226.
Just wanted to drop in a quote said by Yusef Komunyakaa from in an interview back in 2013 (thank you, Dr. Scanlon)!
I think that what happened is that Whitman gave me a deeper hearing, which may be in concert with a deeper singing. Because I think it’s all about listening. And sometimes if we have, even accidentally, listened, we can hear an echo of the singing. I don’t think that Whitman really sets out to make sense of the world. However, we participate as listeners and readers, to make sense of Whitman. And in that sense, we are making sense of Whitman’s world. Maybe what’s most constructive, for me, is to continue to believe that there’s mystery. Whitman I think taught me to accept mystery. Everything doesn’t have to be explained. Everything doesn’t have to equal a neat number. But there is this immense mystery.
This made me think about our class today, the idea of witnessing (which Komunyakaa discusses more, especially in regards to Whitman and race), and how the act of witnessing can be a song in itself. To witness means to see, to conversate, to repeat, to answer, to reflect—all of which Whitman/the speaker and the reader are required to do in “Song of Myself.” We echo each other in both concrete and ambiguous ways.
Aaliyah