Archive for the ‘Song of Myself’ Tag

Cartoon du Jour   1 comment

In this age of coronavirus, we are discovering joy in the minuscule and routine.

Walt Whitman Cartoon-72
Sergio García Sánchez, The New York Times Book Review

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,

And the tree-toad is a chef-d’oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer’s girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.

— from Song of Myselfby Walt Whitman

Let Me Count The Moments In An Air Of Timelessness   1 comment

Tanuri Ridge Flowers Auguat 2013-7791 Barrel Cactus paint filter blog II framedEternity: Counting the Moments in an Air of Timelessness — Image by kenne

It is the clock that
counts the moment —

the sum of all
clocks ticking
in circles
spiraling
in an air
of timelessness
is eternity.

 — kenne

44
It is time to explain myself—let us stand up.
What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.
The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?
We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.
I do not call one greater and one smaller,
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.


— from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

Capturing The Moment — “. . . Brings More Beauty Than Words Can Tell.”   6 comments

Sunset Trail HikeImage by kenne

“Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!”

Nature, Poem 15: The Bee by Emily Dickinson

******

“The world is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first,
nature is incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on,
there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine beings
more beauty than words can tell.”

— from Song of Myself  by Walt Whitman,

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