A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands,
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same,
I receive them the same.
I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of you men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roof of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.
I love this poem by Walt Whitman.
April is National Poetry Month.
Share your favorite.
10 comments:
What a great idea to have a poetry month. I will have to put on my thinking cap. I am not always so good with poetry. Sometimes I find it difficult to live in and interpret the real world, and trying to interpret others' poetry seems even harder? But there are always some that speak to me too.
Thanks for visiting My World in NYC ... enjoyed doing those photos for you!
beautiful, joni.....thank you for sharing, as i have never "heard" this one before.....oh i love poetry too....and will try and reciprocate....although, mine might end up in may at the rate i am going!!! :)
loved it!
hugs,
kimberly
He has truly written some wonderful things, ever spurring your imagination forward in such a variety of ways! Thanks for posting this ... and hope you and yours are all well 'n happy. {{huggz!}}
Well, I could blog from now until the 4th of July and not get all my favorites posted! But I plan to list a couple soon. Too much going on.....AI'm getting behind!
Hugs and blessings.
I loved Whitman in high school, but I forget to read poetry much anymore. I love it when someone posts a poem that sends me back in time....
thanks!
One of my favorite parts of my favorite poem, "Song of Myself"...as I remember I bored my students with a discussion of the grass as poetry...or, specifically, the book they were reading, Leaves of Grass, and the many ways a poem can be read...I found it inspiring, even if they didn't...(though, actually, some did...two of the high points of my career being the two students who told me that Walt Whitman was now their favorite writer...kinda made all the bored stares worth it...).
I have always loved poetry. This is a beautiful post. I am a friend of Velvet Brick. I have read your posts many times, but haven't left a comment.
Cheela
Have a Blessed Easter:)
I fed your fish. . .
You have a lovely blog - joy to read. I so love Walt Whitman. Nice to find him here. Have a good holiday.
Lovely poem, not one I'd heard before.
Have a very blessed Easter. (hugs)
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