Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.99 AVERAGE
3.99 AVERAGE
"Be composed--be at ease with me--I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature."
These Walt Whitman words may be the best way to describe his 400-poem-filled book as he professes his love for almost everything in existence. I couldn't help but imagine him standing upon a mountain shouting/singing each of his poems, smiling, with the setting sun beaming upon his face. His love for forests, mountains, rivers, animals, humanity, America, the sea, life, death, love, each leaf of grass, shines through each of his poems. This is a daunting collection of poetry written over the course of his life that took me nearly 6 months to complete as Whitman's poetry takes a peaceful, patient mind to feel as he did.
"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more then all the print I have in my life."
"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars."
"In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages,
And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo, then and there,
Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,
And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death."
"To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them!
To gather the love out of their hearts!
To take your own lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you!
To know the universe itself as a road-as many roads-as roads for traveling souls."
THE VOICE OF THE RAIN.
"And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed,
and yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own
origin, and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd. duly with love returns.)"
A PRAIRIE SUNSET
"Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver,
emerald, fawn,
The earth's whole amplitude and nature's multi-
form power consigned for once to colors;
The light, the genial air possessed by them—
colors till now unknown,
No limit, confine—not the Western sky alone—
the high meridian—North, South, all,
Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows
to the last."
These Walt Whitman words may be the best way to describe his 400-poem-filled book as he professes his love for almost everything in existence. I couldn't help but imagine him standing upon a mountain shouting/singing each of his poems, smiling, with the setting sun beaming upon his face. His love for forests, mountains, rivers, animals, humanity, America, the sea, life, death, love, each leaf of grass, shines through each of his poems. This is a daunting collection of poetry written over the course of his life that took me nearly 6 months to complete as Whitman's poetry takes a peaceful, patient mind to feel as he did.
"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more then all the print I have in my life."
"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars."
"In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages,
And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo, then and there,
Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,
And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death."
"To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them!
To gather the love out of their hearts!
To take your own lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you!
To know the universe itself as a road-as many roads-as roads for traveling souls."
THE VOICE OF THE RAIN.
"And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed,
and yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own
origin, and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd. duly with love returns.)"
A PRAIRIE SUNSET
"Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver,
emerald, fawn,
The earth's whole amplitude and nature's multi-
form power consigned for once to colors;
The light, the genial air possessed by them—
colors till now unknown,
No limit, confine—not the Western sky alone—
the high meridian—North, South, all,
Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows
to the last."
I found the history of the publication of this book more compelling mg than the actual poetry inside. Not terrible though.
My whole body broke out in hives while reading this book and I blame the ghost of Walt Whitman. What did Oscar Wilde and Brian Stroker see in this guy?!?
"I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars…”
I’m giving it four stars because the poems were really long and that’s a pet peeve of mine, but it was good; will probably get the full version someday
I’m giving it four stars because the poems were really long and that’s a pet peeve of mine, but it was good; will probably get the full version someday
Reading Leaves of Grass is like being stuck next to the drunk philosophy student in a bar that's super enlightened, and he is going to tell you about, in a lot of repetitive yet somehow incoherent words. This is a bloated, narcissistic work, that I found rather boring. There are a few golden poems in here, and then there are the 99 in between that are just exhausting.... and did I say repetitive yet? Seriously. It could be titled "Whitman's 1,001 poems about ships on the sea".
I'm not saying I don't recommend Whitman. I'm just saying I would recommend the "Best of Collection" rather than this self-published tome of blaaaaaaah.
The whole thing makes me feel like Jebediah Atkinson from SNL
I'm not saying I don't recommend Whitman. I'm just saying I would recommend the "Best of Collection" rather than this self-published tome of blaaaaaaah.
The whole thing makes me feel like Jebediah Atkinson from SNL
challenging
hopeful
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Boy where to begin, Song of Myself is quite the opener -in this copy - a 40+ page poem. Whitman has a passion for life that is so agonizingly unavoidable, he falls into sexual illusion regularly, if he’s not just outright talking about sex! He reads as a person almost tormented by his affection for the world:
“How quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me”
This expert alone, I believe, captures Whitman’s energy. It’s like you are watching a man being burned alive with ecstasy.
Lists. This is another thing about Whitman. He falls into lists. I found this to have a complicated effect on me. In the wrong mood, it feels dull and repetitive, but, in the right setting and place of mind, these contribute to his writing is such a surreal way. The repetition of format begins to feel almost trancelike. Like you are being carried up in the impossible ballooning energy of his words.
In the end. I personally prefer poets that offer their contemplations in a quieter, softer voice. Mary Oliver, Frost, etc. These are my comfort reads. What is undeniable, Whitman writes with a force that it hard to ignore. Where Mary Oliver may walk you out into a forest to sleep in the leaves and dream the dreams of a river pebble, Walt Whitman will climb in your window, and drag you naked into a crowded city center just to make you behold every knotted tendon in the sweaty masses of humanity.
Leaves of Grass is without a doubt, a celebration of the body, wild joy, and the pleasures and pains that accompany that.
“How quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me”
This expert alone, I believe, captures Whitman’s energy. It’s like you are watching a man being burned alive with ecstasy.
Lists. This is another thing about Whitman. He falls into lists. I found this to have a complicated effect on me. In the wrong mood, it feels dull and repetitive, but, in the right setting and place of mind, these contribute to his writing is such a surreal way. The repetition of format begins to feel almost trancelike. Like you are being carried up in the impossible ballooning energy of his words.
In the end. I personally prefer poets that offer their contemplations in a quieter, softer voice. Mary Oliver, Frost, etc. These are my comfort reads. What is undeniable, Whitman writes with a force that it hard to ignore. Where Mary Oliver may walk you out into a forest to sleep in the leaves and dream the dreams of a river pebble, Walt Whitman will climb in your window, and drag you naked into a crowded city center just to make you behold every knotted tendon in the sweaty masses of humanity.
Leaves of Grass is without a doubt, a celebration of the body, wild joy, and the pleasures and pains that accompany that.
adventurous
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
How does one judge poetry? I think I need to read this in tandem with the physical copy, as there are treasures within the lines, but hard to absorb via audiobook for me.
hopeful
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
Lovely book of poetry.
I enjoyed most of it, although there were a few that just didn't call to me.
Written very well.
I enjoyed most of it, although there were a few that just didn't call to me.
Written very well.