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I enjoyed reading both Children of Adam and Calamus but I do have to say that overall, I prefer Calamus and even further, I still like Song of Myself much better than these two texts.

From Calamus, I was particulary drawn to a couple of the sections. The first was “Are You the New Person Drawn to Me?”. 

“Are You the New Person Drawn to Me?”  – I find it quite amusing and realisitic that the veneer to which Whitman referes is quite exact to what a lot of people wear, especially when meeting new people. I wonder if there is something intrinsically position within each of our characters that forces us to put up some kind of guard around certain people? There can’t possibly be a moment when meeting someone new allows us to be completely open or honest…raw, even, as though we were with someone we’ve know our whole lives. Then again, is one ever really completely open with oneself? Are there not things that we shy away from within our own minds and spirits because of embarrassment, jealousy, or otherwise? These were some of the ideas that immediately popped into my head as I was reading. To be in complete contact with oneself is to be completely honest that there are masks that are worn not only with new people but around certain people, one mask; with other people, another. When Whitman asks this “new person” (or the reader) all of these questions, such as, “Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?” or “Do you think I am trusty and faithful?” I think he is really pointing out the idea that first impressions are everything, whether good or bad. The first impression something has of another is probably what is going to remain in the back of their minds forever and sometimes it may be hard to redeem onself from a nasty image that s/he put in some else’s head. Then again, who wants to be too perky or nice because then it just seems that personality is one of a “pushover.” First impressions seem to be so tough because one must get it “just right” and it is what all will base their possible potential they see in you on this first impression. Surprisingly, in Song of Myself, Whitman seems to be strongly, if not completely, against the idea of conforming and then actually caring what people think of him. He seems to be in a world of his own, one in a million, and his attitude reeks of “I don’t give a damn.” So, I came to the conclusion that these questions are more for the new person to ponder, not so much that he actually cares what the answers are; just as long as the new person considers how superficial a first impression/mask/illusion can really be and how only skin-deep interest can lead nowhere if the honest personality behind the illusion is contradictory. In essence, I would think it’s fairly safe to assume that any kind of relationship would be started out with a lie, from both parties involved because neither one would be him or her self, yet I don’t know that there would ever be any kind of escape from it!

After reading the remainder of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, I can’t help but notice that the section beginning on 118 and ending on 124 is perhaps the most sexually charged section of all of them, yet not all references are “dirty” ones; some I believe are a sincere expression of wonderment of the body in general.

In the very first couple of sections, Whitman talks about the bodies of men and women as “perfect,” which then he so aptly follows up with “The strong, sweet supple quality he has strikes through the cotton and flannel” (118) as a description of just how one is to know the perfectness of a man’s body other than his face. Is Whitman not referring to a man’s penis here? What else could possibly “strike through” the fabric of his trousers other than a hardened penis? However, the sex references do not end there, for sure.

Moving onto when Whitman describes the body of a female (as well as the importance of it), I noticed that he  claims “A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot” (120)  in regards to her form. I did not know the meaning of the word “nimbus” and so I looked it up on Merriam-Webster online and basically it refers to a luminous cloud that surrounds a god or goddess while on earth. The definition surprised me a bit – not because of it’s actual meaning but because Whitman, up until this point in Leaves of Grass, in my opinion, seems to be full of himself. Here, on the other hand, Whitman seems to be placing women on such a high pedestal – namely, one that could be as high as where he places himself.

The next section that I noticed, regarding the “dirtiness” of what the human body is capable, was on page 121. Whitman says,

“Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous….quivering jelly of love….white-blow and delirious juice,

Bridegroom-night of love working surely and sofly into the prostrate dawn,

Undulating into the willing and yielding day,

Lost in the cleace of the clasping and sweetfleshed day” (121).

To be honest, I could have never imagined the act of ejaculation to be described in a better way…at least that’s what I believe this passage to be about anyway. I take it to mean that on the wedding night, the newly married couple will make love until the early morning, while the husband releases his “limitless” man-seed, which goes hand-in-hand with the parts of the play that Whitman references fathers having five sons or on page 124 when Whitman asks the reader which of the sons of mothers who bore them will mate with the daughters of another mother. The ideas are all interconnected that life cannot exist without either the man or the woman.

Whitman makes more than one example of the idea that women are the bearers of men and because of this fact are so special and sacred. An example of this is when he states, “You are the gates of the body and you are the gates of the soul…She is all things duly veiled….she is both passive and active….she is to conveive daughters as well as sons and sons as well as daughter” (124). I think it’s quite interesting in this particular instance that the words passive and active can be duly defined – as the original meanings of the word, but further that “passive” being the physical passing of the baby through the cervix into the world and “active” in pushing the baby out and then subsequently taking action to rear the baby into an adult. Additionally, on page 124 Whitman makes a claim that within males and females lives a “natal love…in them the divine mystery” which furthers all of the references he makes earlier in the text to both the male and female bodies as being sacred. By stating this “natal love” is a “divine mystery,” it seems to me that he believes that through some powerful force, whether God or man-created, there is a physical representation (or even manifestation – get it?  – the “man” part meaning man-kind that lives within the mother for nine months) of the love shared and acted between the mother and father.

The word that I chose to research: august. The few lines that surround this word are found on page 46 and they are as follows:

“I know I am august,

I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,

I see that the elementary laws never apologize,

I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by after all.”

 

The first bit of research I did was looking up the OED’s definition for “august” to see how many different uses of the word there are.  As a noun, “August” is simply the 8th month of the year, which at this point I cannot relate to the context in which the word is set within “Song of Myself.” However, the OED gives definitions for “august” as a verb and as an adjective. As a verb, it means “to ripen, bring to fruition”; as an adjective, it means majestic, stately, solemnly grand, amoung many others. The closest definition that Merriam-Webster gives is most related to OED’s adjective definition.

  My next step in research was taking a look at the life and history of Caesar Augustus (Roman Emporer) to see if there was any relation to his character or political life that had any kind of relevance to Whitman and his life. The most interesting point I came across was the section of the  page was “The Augustan Age”, which stated that Augustus was the empire’s “‘patron of the arts.” This section also mentioned how the Augustan era produced some of Rome’s most influencial writers.

The last piece of my research endeavors was looking for a video clip of a movie that came out a couple of years ago called “August Rush,” about a young, orphaned boy who uses his musical talents to find his birth parents. When I listened to this piece, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to become encapsulated with the music, which then reminded me of Whitman. He always did his best to be surrounded by and engrossed with nature. (see YouTube)

 

How it all comes together?

As I mentioned earlier, I do not quite see how August as a month relates to Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” nor do I wish to connect the two. Therefore, keeping in mind Whitman’s longing for individualism and originality, similar to Evan’s longing for his birth parents in “August’s Rush,” I seem to be drawn to the idea that the purpose for Whitman’s use of the word “august” is most likely the adjective, rather than the verb, both suggested by the OED. Although an argument could be made for the verb in that Whitman believed he constantly “ripened” his senses to his surroundings and therefore “bore the fruits” of his labor out and about in Philadelphia, NYC, DC, and Camden, I still wish to side with the adjective definition. As the definition states that it is “majestic, stately, etc,” I get the sense  from Whitman that he believes himself to be as close to God (majestic) as anybody and is so self-centered in ways that he knows who he is and, again, is pointing out his trademarks (or flaws, as some may see them) on purpose for the reader. This attitude definitely echoed throughout the remainder of the poem.

 

 

 

<<————-     …Now that’s what you call “august” !

My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain,

The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,

The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be

         there.

I know I have the best of time and space, and was never

          measured and never will be measured.

 

I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)

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