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 |   Second blog -- answers to an ocean of prompts |
| Walt Whitman was born on 31st of May, 1819 and lived a good part of his life in Huntington, Long Island, NY within 20 miles of where I used to live. During his later years, he moved to Camden, NJ. Both towns have memorialized his existence by turning his houses into museums. He was a poet, essayist and journalist, and he also volunteered as a nurse during the Civil War. Walt Whitman has a very unique style, an American style to be exact, as he used common people as his subjects. For this reason he is referred to as the “poet of democracy.” You can download his work from Bartleby.com or from the Gutenberg Foundation for free. Most of his poems are long and come in parts. My favorite is Carol of Words, but it is too long to put in here. Instead, here’s a short one titled Miracles. MIRACLES Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the men in them, What stranger miracles are there? |
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