Dear Detective ,
This was a nice poetic exercise in the use of the repeated Whitman phrase from the poem of the same name. You infused personal experiences and appreciation of literature in with this theme, albeit somewhat disconnectedly, but enthusiastically.
Though, it was true that Whitman was celebrating America that had a song in their heart with an eye to a bright future, what you employ in "Sonnet 29 (Because It's Her Favorite)" are scenes from your surrounding that include birds, and shopping and people bustling, to the personal revelations that overwhelm someone who collects carts in the frigid cold and has their own dreams.
And then, this poem switches gears to a collection of summations about great authors and their stories. I think at this point, the poet become a daydreamer enjoying a bygone era of literature. Perhaps, it's a sharp contrast between reality and pure classic fiction that inspire a soul working with hands to dream of something better, the way that Whitman had hoped.
Perhaps, in an odd way, it's a commentary on how he may have been wrong about America, despite it still singing (maybe another, less harmonious tune?). That truth doesn't bear to fiction with as much sublime feeling as the poet. It does show that the narrator still burns with a passion for something that isn't so much Americana, but what it has produced and left behind for us to recall, like history, of what we were destined to be or become.
I'm probably over-analyzing a high School poem. But, even if unintended, there is something there in that raw, narrative dreamer's message that smells like hope to me, that we can resurrect America to former glory somehow, someday.
Brian
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Great poem. Always worth a read:
I Hear America Singing
BY WALT WHITMAN
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
n/a
Source: Selected Poems (1991)
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