I should write a blog post about Whitman but I don't know what hive to post from anymore!
This scholar explains it so well:
he images the “past and present” as wilted plants, once alive and sentient but now withered and emptied of presence, of life. The moment of “Now” incessantly empties the past and present in order to open a new “fold of the future,” which becomes the ever-emerging moment of presence. In a later poem called “Unfolded Out of the Folds,” Whitman imagined all of life as a series of unfoldings, just as every new life and identity is “unfolded” out of “the folds of the woman.” Each and every moment is a new birth, a new world of Now unfolding before the awake senses of all those who are embodied in that moment.
As we read Whitman’s book, we are also aware of the “folds” of the pages, and, as we read each one and fold it over to confront the next, we are enacting in the process of reading the continual, literal unfolding of new moments, new ideas, new encounters, new sections of the poem.
Section 51
The past and present wilt—I have fill'd 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 day's 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 air has turned colder, and the leaves on the oaks are yellowing. A friend once showed me a maple leaf with red veins radiating from its stem, like a blush spreading across someone’s face, and said, “If you can’t write poems in autumn, you’re not a poet.” Season of contradictions: the orange blaze of pumpkins in a patch of spent stalks; a farmer sowing winter wheat; a basket of tulip bulbs ready for planting. Death and renewal: these are the double doors through which we pass again and again, according to Whitman, inscribed and inscribing.
This is all really beautiful Carol. Thanks so much. How do you do all you do?!
Love that line if you can't write poems in autumn, you are not a poet.
But Whitman! holy cow it's been awhile since I read any of his work, and I appreciate it much more now. Maybe you've chosen just the right pieces for me, but these are stunning to me today.
BTW, you are prescient. Freddy has put on a lot of weight, and your painting of him looks exactly like him now.
Ohhhhh Freddy.... gaining weight so my portrait would be more accurate. He did this on purpose, you know.
LOL
I love that cat!
Glad the Whitman hits the spot today. I'm smitten with Whitman.
And Dylan Thomas, and Gerard Manley Hopkins, and a haiku master known as owasco. :)
Interesting, the hive community you posted from - I hadn't heard of it until now!
@ecotrain is a global Hive community gathered around the concept of natural giving, living in harmony with nature and making our world a better place. Changing the world starts with changing ourselves and the way we live, love, work and create together as communities .
Sign me up!
I'm on a rampage lately, opposed to all the tin cans, jars, lids, plastic and packaging that our food comes in. I'm ready to take up #homesteading, learn to can (the Ball canning manual is daunting!) and freeze and dehydrate, because the apocalypse seems nearer every month. Who can forget shelves empty of toilet paper and bleach? Meh. I need a herd of goats more than I need a Christmas tree this year....
I should write a blog post about Whitman but I don't know what hive to post from anymore!
This scholar explains it so well:
Section 51
The past and present wilt—I have fill'd 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 day's 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?
https://iwp.uiowa.edu/whitmanweb/en/writings/song-of-myself/section-51
More from WhitmanWeb with professors Folsom and Merrill
This is all really beautiful Carol. Thanks so much. How do you do all you do?!
Love that line if you can't write poems in autumn, you are not a poet.
But Whitman! holy cow it's been awhile since I read any of his work, and I appreciate it much more now. Maybe you've chosen just the right pieces for me, but these are stunning to me today.
BTW, you are prescient. Freddy has put on a lot of weight, and your painting of him looks exactly like him now.
Ohhhhh Freddy.... gaining weight so my portrait would be more accurate. He did this on purpose, you know.
LOL
I love that cat!
Glad the Whitman hits the spot today. I'm smitten with Whitman.
And Dylan Thomas, and Gerard Manley Hopkins, and a haiku master known as owasco. :)
you are my #1 fan. xo
Interesting, the hive community you posted from - I hadn't heard of it until now!
Sign me up!
I'm on a rampage lately, opposed to all the tin cans, jars, lids, plastic and packaging that our food comes in. I'm ready to take up #homesteading, learn to can (the Ball canning manual is daunting!) and freeze and dehydrate, because the apocalypse seems nearer every month. Who can forget shelves empty of toilet paper and bleach? Meh. I need a herd of goats more than I need a Christmas tree this year....