Walt Whitman's "One's-Self I Sing"

One’s-Self I sing, a simple separate person,

Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

 

Of physiology from top to toe I sing,

Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the

                Form complete is worthier far,

The Female equally with the Male I sing.

 

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,

Cheerful, for freest action formed under the laws divine,

The Modern Man I sing.

 

1. The speaker is a purposeful commentator, announcing his plans and stating fundamental beliefs.
   
2. The speaker is addressing the reader directly, almost conversationally.
   
3. I respond to the speaker as a student to a professor on the first day of class.  A bit of hope and expectation after a holistic introduction.
   
4. The setting is “modern,” which seems to focus on the new understanding of man as a fusion of mind and body, at the end of the Victorian era.
   
5. Speaking the poem aloud helps capture the rhythm and pulse of the poem.  Especially the “passion, pulse, and power,” which captures the beating heart of the individual.
   
6. The poem is paraphrased in the opening and closing lines, which address the topic of self, separate and distinct and defined as “Modern Man.”
   
7. The title of the poem is a statement of intent.  Whitman is declaring his intention to define the Modern Man as a unique individual, part of a larger whole.
   
8. The theme is directly presented, both in the opening and closing paragraph.  The fills out the definition of the individual and his context in the universe.
   
9. There are no direct allusions, but indirect allusion to Democratic governments and the “Modern” man emphasize the relationship to modern forms of nationhood and the “laws divine” place the subject under God.
   
10. The diction has an academic tone, with intermixed alliteration for emphasis.  A positive tone permeates the verse, the words giving a sense of standing on the edge of a new world.
    
11. The “laws divine” is a figure of speech referring to God, and “top to toe” an indirect reference to the human body.
    
12. The symbolic meanings of “Democratic” and “En-Masse” refer to forms of government that empower the individual.  The use of the French term refers the founders of Democracy and the change that brought to the world, abolishing the era of monarchy and tribalism and paving the way for the Modern age.
    
13. This poem does not use irony.  It is direct and clear in meaning.
    
14. The tone is consistently positive.  On the cusp of change from ignorance to knowledge.
    
15. The poem uses alliteration heavily: “simple separate person,” and “passion, pulse, and power,” and “top to toe.”
    
16. A melodic rhythm is used with soft rhyming between lines using similar words “physiognomy” and “physiology,” “female” and “male.”  The pleasant sounds carry the reader out of the mundane daily life and into a bright and shiny future.
    
17. The lines have a varying meter that lends to a dynamic rhythm with alternating longer and shorter lines which pulse the tempo.
    
18. The overall structure of the poem does not follow any established form.  Its free-form nature helps it to break away from the rigid structure of the past and into the modern age, almost like Jazz did for music.
    
19. The language of the poem is simple and straightforward.  Easy to understand and yet touched with science and depth of meaning.
    
20. I enjoyed the poem.  I was drawn to the core message of equality, unity of mind and body, and the power of the individual in society.
    
21. I think that this poem could benefit from a biographical study of Whitman and a historical analysis of the time when it was written.
    
22. Whitman seems filled to the brim, bursting with the joy of his ideas of Modern Man, anticipating how these ideas will change the world for the better.  Understanding his life, and his other poetry would help place this poem in context.  Is it a coda or an introduction?
    
23. The world was undergoing great change at the end of the 19^th century, and Whitman seems to have captured the American sense of individuality in many of his poems.
    
24. My own beliefs strongly affect my understanding of this poem.  The ideas it describes are core to my own individuality (with the exception of the divine component).
    
25. My initial analysis left out the longer lines, which, upon re-inspection provide further depth to my original interpretation.  The “Form complete is worthier far,” and “for freest action formed under the laws divine,” are less clear but still concentrate on the mind-body union and Freedom as a god-given right respectively.
    
26. The most useful interpretation of this poem is as a summation of the founding societal principals that marked the Modern, post-Victorian era.  This interpretation, coincidentally, is similar to the feeling I got from Heart of Darkness, which use introspection and extremism to comment on the negative sides of the Modern era in contrast to Whitman’s positive vision.

(*) The photo is called "Snow Shadows," an ephemeral springtime phenomenon.

NRJ #2: The Saving Grace of Work in Heart of Darkness

True, he had made that last stride, he had stepped over the edge, while I had been permitted to draw back my hesitating foot.  And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold of the invisible. (Part III)

Marlow’s reflection captures the essence of the difference between him and Kurtz.  Whereas Kurtz gave in to the “awakening of forgotten and brutal instincts,” Marlow simply “peeped over the edge.”  Though able to observe and understand the banal forces that controlled Kurtz, Marlow found the restraint to master his emotions and remain sane.  This is the essence of sanity, the power of the Id over the Ego, that keeps humans from killing each other to extinction.  But what gave Marlow this strength of will?  What was the source of his restraint?  Marlow’s own words reveal the answer: his work ethic and attention to the everyday necessities of life, the “infernal mess of rust, filings, nuts, bolts, spanners, hammers, ratchet-drills” focus his daily attentions, provide meaning to his life and an ethical basis for sanity.

Marlow informs the reader of the high value he places on work early in the novel, as he introduces us to the daily routine at Central Station: “I went to work the next day, turning, so to speak, my back on that station.  In that way only it seemed to me I could keep my hold on the redeeming facts of life.” (Part I)  He disdains the European workers as “men strolling aimlessly” (Part I) and complains that all he really wants is to be able to do his job: “What I really wanted was rivets, by Heaven! Rivets. To get on with the work – to stop the hole.” (Part I)  The more time he spends in the company of the listless overseers of Central Station, the more distant he grows from them and the more attached to his own work, "It was great comfort to turn from that chap to my influential friend, the battered, twisted, ruined, tin-pot steamboat… I had expended enough hard work on her to make me love her.  No influential friend would have served me better…" (Part I).  And then, after revealing that he prefers the company of his work to the Europeans at Central station, Marlow makes his most profound comment on work:

No, I don’t like work.  I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done.  I don’t like work – no man does – but I like what is in the work – the chance to find yourself. Your own reality – for yourself, not for others – what no other man can ever know.  They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means. (Part I)

This is the core of Marlow's work ethic.  His work defines him.  It provides meaning and definition to his existence.  Work is Marlow's path to inner discovery.

In contrast, though he maintains a condescending  view of the “savage natives,” he holds those that work on a higher level.  “I had to look after the savage who was fireman.  He was an improved specimen; he could fire up a vertical boiler…A few months of training had done for that really fine chap.” (Part II)  Later, on the steamboat, he again elevates the “working” native to the status of a friend: “Well, don’t you see, he had done something, he had steered; for months I had him at my back – a help – an instrument. It was a kind of partnership.  He steered for me – I had to look after him…” (Part II).

Finally, when he dances close to the edge, deeply attracted to the raw power inherent in Kurtz’ denial of restraint, Marlow falls back once again to the comforting arms of his work to save himself from stepping over the edge:

But I had not much time to give him, because I was helping the engine-driver to take to pieces the leaky cylinders, to straighten a bent connecting-rod, and in other such matters. I lived in an infernal mess of rust, filings, nuts, bolts, spanners, hammers, ratchet-drills – things I abominate, because I don’t get on with them. (Part III)

The satisfaction of work well done, a completed project, and the respect that earns from peers, is a powerful motivating force.  It keeps us on the road to progress, allowing us to achieve our goals.  The restraint required to avoid temptation is one way to stay sane.  I understand Marlow’s disciplined work ethic because that same force sustaines me.

(The image at the top was created recently by a happy client of my software.)

NRJ #1: Heart of Darkness

Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” is a journey into a soul surrounded by the omnipresent and enveloping force of nature.  Nature’s power pervades the story, guiding our journey on an inevitable path away from civilization and towards mystery.  As we move from the imperialistic civilization into the blackness of the depth of the Congo, Conrad uses the fearful imagery of the snake-like river to guide us ever deeper into the untamed depths of the human soul.  Once there, we find a mystery both wondrous and beautiful and yet terrifying in its power.

Beyond the fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight, and through the dim stir, though the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of the land went home to one’s very heart – its mystery, its greatness, the amazing reality of its concealed life…I felt how big, how confoundedly big, was that thing that couldn’t talk and perhaps was deaf as well.

In parts I & II, nature represents mystery, excitement and adventure.  Conrad, through Marlow, seeks an escape from the frustrations of society and civilization.  His desire to venture into the “white spaces” on the map is an adventure into the unknown both on land and within himself.  As he journeys up the river, nature takes on a powerful new role, both controlling the path of the journey and defining the world around the sanctuary of the steamer.  Kurtz has taken this journey to its logical end and has become part of nature and cannot live when separated from it.

I tried to break the spell – the heavy, mute spell of the wilderness – that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by the awakening of forgotten and brutal instincts, by the memory of gratified and monstrous passions.  This alone, I was convinced, had driven him out to the edge of the forest, to the bush, towards the gleam of fires, the throb of drums, the drone of weird incantations; this alone had beguiled his unlawful soul beyond the bounds of permitted aspirations.

His final act before succumbing to the return journey is a desparate attempt to stay within the bosom of nature.  Nature has entwined itself with his soul.  Kurtz can no longer live without it, but of course he can’t live with it either.

He had kicked himself loose of the earth.  Confound the man! He had kicked the very earth to pieces.  He was alone, and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in the air.

By diving headlong into nature, Kurtz has discovered the source of the river into his soul.  The horrors he finds there are too much to explain, but are too addictive to live without.  When finally separated from this raw power, life quickly leaves him and he soon dies, unable to take life on the civilization represented by the steamer.

Addendum, after a second reading:

 (Monday, March 30th)

Above I mentioned that "Conrad, through Marlow, seeks an escape from the frustrations of society and civilization."  I'm not sure this is true for either Conrad or Marlow.  Conrad intentionally took us to the Congo to contrast the atrocities there with the moralistic PR promulgated by The Company in Europe.  He shows us that power corrupts and that imperialism represented the worst in men, rather than the justifications used by European nations to fill their pockets with gold.   Unlike Conrad, Marlow is not trying to make a point, other than to show us how he was changed by this experience.  He is not escaping civilization by going to the Congo any more than he always has as a seaman.  He loves the clarity of vision and purpose that the sea provides.  I don't think he really knew what he wanted other than his next ship.

On my first reading, I didn't clearly see the relationship between Kurtz and the unconscious mind.  Although I understood this to be an allegory, I had to struggle with the plot the first time, which made it difficult to see the symbolism of the characters, the river, and the various settings. 

Missed DRJ #4 - Rationalization!

My apologies for not completing Drama Reading Journal #4 on Hamlet, Acts IV and V. These were the best acts of the play, in my opinion. I loved how the indecision of the earlier acts and the mysteries of each character come into focus and the plot begins to drive the action relentlessly toward the tragic conclusion. But alas, I ran out of time!

With the combination of the midterm, a crunch at work, reviews for a professional peer-reviewed journal, and work for my other classes, I simply ran out of time. I hope that my extra credit assignments make up for this lapse!

See you all in the jungle with Kurtz and crew next week. Time for a journey to the dark side!

DRJ #3: Hamlet, Act III

Act III seemed full of plot holes. The play within the play is so obvious in tone that clearly Claudius must know that someone, most likely Hamlet who has been acting strangely and organizing the players, is obviously aware of his murderous act? It is so transparent you would think everyone in the court would recognize the ruse. Claudius would definitely be on guard. Additionally, if Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Hamlet’s long time friends, surely they would know that he now distrusts them completely and their actions hold no weight. You might also think the Queen would have attendants in her chambers, or at least nearby enough to hear her protestations and the murder of Polonius. But no, Hamlet kills Polonius and only as a slight interruption to his discussion with his mother. Their discussion carries on almost ignorant of the bloody murder that has just occurred. Perhaps it is all just obvious to the reader, and not the players?

Horatio is the voice of reason. In Act I, as the learned man, he validates the visions of Marcellus and Bernardo. While in Act III, he is the objective observer that corroborates Claudius’ reaction to the play, confirming his guilt in Hamlet’s eyes. Hamlet is aware that passion clouds his mind, obscuring reason. Ironically, the court views Hamlet as mad, and yet, he is clearly is aware of his faults and emotions. So much so, that he has his closest friend bear witness to his plan and confirm his suspicions. Unlike the other key characters, Horatio seems above the pety plots of the court. Unlike Polonius, Ophelia, Gertrude, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio stands alone as Hamlet’s true friend – a trusted partner.

I find it strange that Claudius, while praying for forgiveness, admits his guilt to the audience. Without this, the reader might be left to wonder if, perhaps, Hamlet was truly mad. After all, despite his efforts to learn the truth, we are left with the word of a spirit and an emotional reaction to a play as the evidence which drives Hamlet to murder. Do you think the play would be better off without Claudius’ confession?

DRJ #2: Hamlet, Act II

Act II, for me, was about Polonius’ fall. Clearly Hamlet’s depression and decisions drive the plot, but Polonius’ character arc was not clear to me in previous readings. We are presented with a lapdog to the new King, who is guilty by association with a murderer and who, as an overbearing and overprotective father, deprives a young couple of the joy of love. In Act I, Polonius provides caring fatherly advice for Laertes, engendering compassion in the reader. But Act II begins with his suspicion of his son as demonstrated by his instructions to Reynaldo to spy on Laertes. We immediately begin to suspect his motives and character when we see him stoop to subterfuge upon his own son and “By indirections find directions out.” Even subtle changes, as Shakespeare has him forget himself in the middle of directing Reynaldo, demonstrate the change to Polonius’ character. He doubles down as he arranges to spy, together with Kind Claudius, on his daughter Ophelia as she speaks with Hamlet. And his fall from grace is complete when we witness Hamlet’s interactions with Polonius, who he suspects of both over-supporting his uncle and responsible for the denials of Ophelia. It is not without intent and awareness that Hamlet calls Polonius a lowly “fishmonger.”

Hamlet is a play about the faults in human nature. The contrast between the different faults of man portrayed by each character provides insight into Hamlet’s inner moral struggle. Polonius’ role is to show that misplaced loyalty and condescending overprotection can lead one astray from the moral path. Polonius is the follower to Hamlet’s lead.

For Act II, I decided to watch the Branagh version of Hamlet while following along in the Bedford text writing notes. I started by watching Act I, which I had read previously and gained some new perspectives on the text from the actors. As Act II started, which I had not read, I found that I was missing details of the text and switched to completely reading the text while the movie played in the background. I would occasionally glance at the movie, but predominantly was looking at the text. Following the text with an actor’s voice allowed me to see the detailed word choices more clearly than watching the film. Has anyone else tried reading along while listening or watching the movie?

DRJ #1: Hamlet, Act I

Shakespeare’s mastery of dialog is thrilling in its brevity and powerful in purpose.  Within the course of a single line, even a few words, he conveys such depth of meaning.  It feels as if he has a fountain of wonderful lines, but doles them out carefully to specific characters, lending them his voice to charm the reader.  Some characters, like King Claudius, are given boring and mundane lines, turning the reader away and building in a sense of the antagonist.  The hero, of course, is given the best turns of phrase: “A little more than kin, and less than kind!”  Hamlet’s classic line is the soul of sarcasm.  His snide retort offsets the fluffy and meaningless dialog spoke just prior by his uncle, conveying both Hamlet’s offense at his uncle’s recent marriage to Gertrude and internal, deeply personal woe.  Within this, only his second line, we already clearly see Hamlet’s contempt for his uncle, the King, and foreshadow the conflict to come.

Almost every line Hamlet speaks is filled with sharp turns and quick wit.  Only a few stanzas later, we are given a short soliloquy with not less than three of the most famous lines in all of English drama. First a bitter definition of depression, mourning and self loathing: “O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt / … / How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable / Seem to me all the uses of this world!”  Followed next by a marvelous simile extolling the grace of his father: “So excellent a king; that was, to this, / Hyperion to a satyr;” which, by its contrast, enhances Hamlet’s internal pain.  And followed closely by a classic pronouncement of anger toward his mother: “— Frailty, thy name is woman!”  Hamlet quickly progresses through the classic series of reactions to grief within a single page.

Shakespeare meters out his wit, allowing secondary characters a moment to shine, at least when he wants the reader to empathize with the character.  Polonius, for example, gives the classic speech on fatherly advice as Laertes prepares to return to France.  “Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; / Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.”  And, “Neither a borrower nor a lender be; / … / This above all: to thine own self be true, /” help the reader to feel compassion for Polonius.  This amplifies the meaning of his death at Hamlet’s hand to come, allowing us to understand another twist in Hamlet’s psyche, leading inevitably to tragedy.

Each time I read Shakespeare, the dialog becomes easier to understand and more powerful.  I began by carefully reading each of the footnotes in the Bedford text.  Most provided new insights that helped me understand the text.  But soon, they became ponderous, breaking me out of the flow of the dialog.  After a few pages, I stopped reading them entirely, focusing instead on the rhythm of the prose.  I’m curious to know if others found the footnotes similarly distracting?

Extra Credit

Hemmingway, Question #11:

It is hard to sympathize with Krebs without enduring the horror of war or alienation.   I have a loving family and spouse and supportive friends.  Although I have travelled around the world, I have been fortunate to be close to my family both during college and my working life.  It is hard to understand Krebs’ world, except at a cerebral level through various readings and analysis of the affects of war.  I have not experienced horrors on that scale in my personal life, though Hemingway’s description of Krebs clearly shows how the mind pushes horror away from consciousness, and along with it, the rest of Krebs’ emotions.  The difference between my personal experiences and the world Hemmingway describes is difficult for me to understand on an emotional level.  Of course I understand his difficulties on a concious level, but I hope that I never need to understand that sort of alienation on a personal level.

Walker, Question #8:

1.       He is not sure of the people around him.  So different than him.  His focus on the future, with this girl.  Children of his own to raise, and children of hers to help around the home.  Their religions are different, but it is of no matter.  She needs him and he needs her.  Different reasons, of course, but the need is there for both.   He knows she has suffered and he can provide for her.  Capable and strong.  He feels stronger every moment he is beside her.  Defining a new world for himself with her.

SSRJ #3: Peter Meinke, The Cranes

The rare beauty of the end of a loving relationship is symbolized by whooping cranes in Peter Meinke’s short story, The Cranes.  The poetic style of the writing paints a picture of two lovers nearing the end of life together.  Terse dialog forms the basis of the painting, and brief glimpses of the natural setting provide a backdrop for the couple to reminisce about the life together.  Filled with humor, slight regrets and deep love, the couple confronts tinges of fear as they head off together into the sunset.  I was reminded of the feelings of separation that I’ve experienced at key moments in life: leaving my friends at summer camp when I was young, my friends from college when we graduated, and of course the bittersweet family reunions that happen at funerals.

We are introduced to the central literary and classical symbol of the whooping cranes in the very first sentence of the story.  The birds are described positively from the start as “tall and stately” (1) while their actions mirror the mood of the couple, “staring motionless toward the Gulf.”   The uniqueness of the cranes is called out both in how they compare against the other birds, they “towered above the bobbing egrets and scurrying plovers,” (1) and in the man’s remark about their rarity.  I viewed this as symbolic of the uniqueness of the couple’s relationship, filled with love and lasting not only for the duration of their lives, but on into the sunset past their death.  They are able to maintain humor and love despite the vicissitudes of life.  Even though he “can’t smoke, can’t drink martinis, no coffee, no candy,” (8) and she feels that she is “just a lot of trouble to everybody,” (14) they still laugh together at their memories, support each other, and marvel at the beauty of nature: a truly rare and unique relationship.

The cranes are a classical symbol of life, bringing babies to hopeful couples.  But here, in a story clearly about death, they represent the new life together that begins when a satisfied life together ends.  There are few direct statements about death, but the feeling pervades the story.  Early on, she asks, “maybe this is the wrong thing?”  (8)  We wonder, what is she referring to? Slowly, more details are given when he “picked up an object wrapped in a plaid towel” and gives the toast “here’s looking at you kid.”  Although not directly stated, the implication is that they drank something.  Again indirectly, but toward the end we see the symbolic cranes “stepping delicately away from the commotion,” mirroring the couple’s separation from their life.  After they kiss, their eyes close, and the cranes fly away into the sun.  The implication, though never direct, is that our couple decided to end their lives together.

I’ve read the story a number of times, but still find it difficult to put together some of the smaller elements.  Meinke is so stingy with words that each one clearly is there for a reason.  If so, why mention the “shower curtain spread over the front seat?” (3)  Does it somehow relate to their joint suicide?  I’m also unclear on the meaning of the comment, “did you bring something for your ears?”  Obviously this was well prepared, but without direct comments it is hard to know for certain.  Perhaps my interpretation of the joint suicide via poison is incorrect?

SSRJ #2: Ernest Hemingway's, "Soldier's Home"

Perspective and experience shape reality.  The indescribable experiences of the two long years Krebs, the protagonist of Ernest Hemingway’s short story, “Soldier’s Home”, spent at war change his view of his prototypical American home town.  The people who stayed at home during the war do not understand why their problems, daily activities and hopes for the future, hold so little interest for one of their own who was gone for such a short time.  But for Krebs, the two years at war have made him an alien in his own town.  I can understand how time can change your childhood home.  I grew up in a sleepy college town that was transformed during the years I spent away at college into the heart of Silicon Valley.  Periodically, I would return home and notice small changes, the price of coffee doubled, the small taco bar that became a high-priced restaurant, and the theater with the couches and cats transformed into apartments.  When I moved back and started my career after college, I realized it had become a completely different town.  The professor’s kids had become dot-com millionaires and I was left as the one sarcastic and snarky person in a gold-rush town filled with hope.

Although I changed during college, in my case it was the town itself that changed more than me.  It is war that changes the character Krebs, and Hemingway illustrates this change through descriptive settings.  Before he leaves for war, Krebs is a typical middle-American attending a Methodist college.  Hemingway describes a photograph which shows Krebs fitting in with his surroundings “among his fraternity brothers, all of them wearing exactly the same height and style collar.” (1)  But, in the very next paragraph, we start to see him change through another picture, this one taken during the war, where along with his Army buddies, he slowly becomes more out-of-place, “too big for their uniforms.” (2)    Forced to lie to hide the atrocities of war, and, perhaps to distance himself from the horror, Krebs starts to paint his own picture of war through rose-colored glasses, by telling tales of “certain apocryphal incidents familiar to all soldiers.” (5)  Trying to fit in again, as a typical soldier only makes Krebs feel more alienated.  He can only tell the truth, that he was “frightened all the time” (6) to other soldiers.  Just as we start to understand the change within Krebs, Hemingway declares that “nothing was changed in the town,” (10) and we start to see how the inner change reflects itself through his disengagement.  The closer Krebs is to the town the less he likes it.  “He did not like them when he saw them [girls] in the Greek’s ice cream parlor,” but the further he is from the reality, the better.  “He liked the girls that were walking along the other side of the street.”  Krebs declares he has left the world of his family when he denies his religion and says “I’m not in His Kingdom,” (63) again curiously using a description of place.  The most profound moment is the contrast between Krebs’ silent response to his mother’s description of her hopes and dreams for her son through comparison to the other boys in town, “…that boys like Charley Simmons are on their way to being a real credit to the town.”  (68)  Krebs non-response is strengthened when he directly denies his mother’s love after she pushes further and asks her son to “make a start at something.” (70)  The contrast is again heightened by Hemingway’s use of setting, as she asks her son to pray with her “beside the dining-room table,” the heart of any home.  The resolution of the central conflict, Krebs’ alienation from his home town, is told through setting as well, when he decides to “go to Kansas City and get a job.” (95)

The terse dialog in the middle of the story gives the reader a sense of despair and hopelessness.   Krebs casually responds to his sister’s plea for sibling love with one word answers, and definitively responds with a plain “no” when directly asked for love by his mother.  I find it interesting that the first part of the story is told through exposition, with long paragraphs describing the setting and Krebs’ inner turmoil.  But Hemingway switches to dialog for the rest of the story until the last paragraph, which falls back to exposition.  Why the change in technique?  What does he gain from using so much dialog?