A Critique of Walt Whitman
#1
Revision:

I cannot stomach comradeship,
the masculinity you loved, as soldiers sleep by lakes
and woo, women sew the meadow's store,
and everyone is ripe with joy, stranger holding
kind stranger, Indians and whites at peace;
what is this strange utopia, this place we tell children about
to placate them each night?

this optimism of the blind denies the tombs,
the leaves which fall on great stone beds
and wither in the summer light. when you explore
this transaction, this last exchange, immortal fields
of your bright world have more subtance,
feel like home. by acknowledging the moon
you justify the sun. I wish you'd done so more often.

***

Original:

flashes of brilliance bestow
the verses by this Yankee dear
with something nearing false legend,
a tale we believe in youth
but grow to distrust as we age.

tomb leaves, sunlight, free verse songs...
I feel compelled to leave of grass
and bury myself in his lines, his tender epitaphs,
but something holds me back each time.

I cannot stomach comradeship,
the masculinity he loved, as soldiers sleep by lakes
and woo, women sew the meadow's store,
and everyone is ripe with joy, stranger holding
kind stranger, Indians and whites at peace;
what is this strange utopia, this place we tell children about
to placate them each night?

I do not live for misery, to write my destiny
in tears, but facing life, and death, and pain, as Whitman deigns
to do sometimes, is I feel more noble than
the optimism of the blind.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
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#2
for me the whole poem is in the 3rd verse. i like the 1st verse but for me it adds little and says too much,
the 2nd verse feels as though it's trying much to hard to be poetic and ends up a bit fawny and a little cheesy. the last verse, again i like it but it's presence takes something from that 3rd verse. which i think is superb. the 3rd verse for me is worthy of publishing.
wish i could be more line by line jack
thanks for the read.
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#3
Thanks for the feedback Bilbo. I'm not sure I understand how the third verse is any more or less contrived than the second, why "comradeship" and "meadow's store" is better than "tomb leaves" and "leave of grass" (paraphrased quotes from Whitman); is it simply because the third is more critical of the wishy washiness it evokes?
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
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#4
the leaves felt too obvious and the reiteration didn't swing for me. it's because i think the 3rd verse is extremely well written. and the 2nd isn't. i seriously feel the 3rd verse is quite powerful. the 2nd i feel was weak because of the most obvious of quotes and connotations.
i dare say most won't feel the way i do. if you had quoted 'o captain my captain' it too would have felt weak...unless you used it in an extremely unusual way. jmo

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#5
Ah I see what you mean. I simply quoted Whitman instead of illustrating my thoughts about him. I'll see if I can re-write the second verse later. Thanks BilboSmile
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
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#6
i'll be honest jack, i found the 3rd to a poem all on its own, still i'd like to see a re write of the 2nd Smile
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#7
Jack,

You have flourishes in your work that I envy. I sort of agree with Billy though maybe from a slightly different angle I also feel that S3 is where this takes off because the first two strophes feel like buildup to the critique rather than the critique itself. Without seeing a rewrite for me I'd arrange the poem:

S3
S4

Final two lines stand alone:

a tale we believe in youth
but grow to distrust as we age.

Obviously that might require some slight edits to pull together. The rest isn't bad Jack it just feels like a delay to get to where you're going.

Oh, well do with these comments as you like.

Best,

Todd
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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