Back in the 1870s, this was hot stuff. But to me, it is like a bunch of entries in the World's Longest Run-on Sentence contest. Jesus, Walt! Were you too poor to afford some periods?!?
Oh, and the self-glorification.
It was all too much. I just shelved the thing and moved on. ( )

Got a facsimile copy of the 1855 first edition so I could read this in its original form, and for the preface which didn't appear in many subsequent editions. I'm glad I did, to get the interesting typographical things Whitman did with this publication. ( )

$950. original green cloth, gilt-decorated spine, gilt lettering, t.e.g., others untrimmed. Frontis portrait and one leaf of manuscript facsimile. An interesting and uncommon edition of Leaves of Grass, which according to BAL contains the first appearance the 13 poems that comprise "Old Age Echoes" - though Myerson does not recognize that. Herbert Small was one of the founders of Small Maynard in Boston, and Leaves of Grass was one of their first publications, the rights to which they acquired from Whitman's literary executors. This copy may well have been one of the first ones off the press as there is also a signature, The matter of the cancel leaf "Good Bye My Fancy" is a possible reference to later issues having a hyphen between good and bye.

I read this over the course of a few months, and probably should have read it more slowly. Some of his poems really resonate for me, especially "Song of the Open Road" and "Song of Myself." Many of his poems have beautiful individual lines, but taken as a whole just become a jumble of words and lists, rapidly becoming tedious. I love his total acceptance of everyone, regardless of sex, his comfort with sexuality and physicality. I feel he was very authentic, especially given the times he lived in. His poems are a celebration of America and its people, rather than a call for change. ( )

Walt Whitman was a visionary, a tolerant and kind man, who spoke out about injustices and did not allow himself to conform. Looking into the soul of human motivation and reaction, he purposefully chose everyday people to demonstrate his loftiest ideas. He had deep feelings about humanity's return to the earth, completing the cycle of life. The war greatly influenced his ideals, and probably was a trigger for him to create updated editions of this poem, and with each he honed the lines and the placement. In many ways, this self educated and self published author was also a book maker - taking into account everything about the physical book as well as the content. He rejected censorship and joined in with other bohemian writers of the day. I read this poem slowly with a class over a period of weeks, and we discussed a lot of the background, and how his words were influenced by the events of the day. Walt Whitman's vision and words are relevant still today.
Excerpt from section Full Of Life Now
"When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)"
( )

I own this as a digital audiobook (not CDs). For some reason, GoodReads won't let me mark this as to-read....

Walt does go on and on, at length, but often so well. His poetry is best read in small doses. ( )

I tried to read this book of poetry because it was mentioned so frequently in Voices in the Dead House, a book I read and reviewed for the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program. Unfortunately, I couldn't finish it. Most of Walt Whitman's free verse poems are way too long, in my opinion. It sometimes seemed like he was simply stringing together bunches of proper nouns or synonyms, rather than using imagery. More enjoyable for me were shorter poems like "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer," “Ethiopia Saluting the Colors,” and "O Captain! My Captain!"

Given that the book that inspired me to read Leaves of Grass was set in December 1862 and January 1863, what I *should* have read was the 1860-61 edition, the third of many, as Whitman constantly added, deleted, and edited poems from the original 1855 edition. Reading that one, plus Drum-Taps and Sequel to Drum-Taps (small poetry collections written during the Civil War and folded into later editions of Leaves of Grass), would have given me the background I needed for Voices in the Dead House, rather than trying to read the entire, huge final edition.

I'm enjoying this book of poetry just fine, but I've been slowly reading it for over a month now, and I keep forgetting that it even exists because I want to read other books way more than this one. So, I think that's the universe's way of telling me to put this down for now. I'll probably pick it back up in the future. ( )

I'm just going to say it: Walt Whitman was the King of List Poems. (At least, that's how I think of them.)

He does tend to get repetitive after a while, so I certainly wasn't able to read this in one sitting... But I've always thought that poetry was meant to be savored a little at a time.

Whitman will never be one of my favorite poets, but he certainly excelled at his craft. I enjoyed seeing the evolution of his writing as his life progressed, especially since he kept adding on to Leaves of Grass every so often.

My favorite of his poems will always be "Song of the Open Road" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed." I found a few more I really enjoy upon completion of this book though: "A Clear Midnight," "Out of May's Shows Selected," "The Voice of the Rain," and "A Prairie Sunset."

Whitman is a classic American poet and I'm glad I finally took the time to read this seminal work. I can't say I'll ever read it in its entirety again, but I'll definitely occasionally enjoy the poems I mentioned when my mood suits! ( )

Some beauty scattered throughout and one of those books with lots of 'aha' moments where you realise you've seen references in popular culture but didn't understand the source. ( )

A classic. I haven't read all of them, but read them on and off--especially Song of Myself. ( )

La prima edizione di questo che è il massimo libro di poesia dell'800 americano, apparve nel 1855 e diede voce all'America inquieta, colma di vitalità e di conflitti, ormai prossima alla grande prova della Guerra di Secessione. Dalla prima edizione del '55 alla decima e ultima del '91 Whitman lavorò ad ampliare e rifare il suo grande libro che è dunque il lavoro di una vita. Whitman in primo luogo canta se stesso, sorgente e centro di sensazioni, sentimwenti, volontà, ecanta il mondo, la strada, la scure, la sequoia, i mesteiri e gli strumenti e ogni simbolo della vita terrestre, concreta, dolcissima e violenta, peccaminosa ed innocente. "Gremito di male ... io contemplo composto la natura, e giorno e notte assorbo le gioie della vita". Poesia del nuovo mondo democratico, di grandi folle e grandi opere, annuncia nelle sue forme anche il rinnovarsi di modi poetici che andrà diffondendosi ovunque nella seconda metà dell'800. Whitman scrive non versi ma strofe, di libero e spontaneo ritmo, una scansione biblica che ben si addice al respiro ambizioso della sua poesia. ( )

yes, its beautiful and inspiring and whatnot

i suppose i dont feel like walt's radical equanimity and universal love have much to offer the present moment in the US. like, ya i get that it must have been super subversive for the time, thats rad and all, but walt only gets as far as "mb... criminals and poor ppl r not bad," never quite reaching "mb... police and rich ppl r bad"

yes im being reductive but frankly idgaf. like, this sort of even-handedness can only do so much, can only go so far. at least nietzsche transforms his ultra-individualism into a clarion call for action and vibrant life. i certainly like walt's sort of existentialism better than nietzsche's, but damn walt just makes it so fucking BORING, so content w the world as it is! nietzsche, in his refutation of schopenhauer and the dharmic traditions, attempted to find a role for striving, for desire, for ego within the physical world of direct unmediated sensation. when this centered direction is taken out of existentialism, we're left w a bland acceptance of the world of illusions, a sad refusal to acknowledge to reality of suffering that suffuses all, in its horrifying depth

several passages reminded me of this famous dril tweet:

the wise man bowed his head solemnly and spoke: "theres actually zero difference between good and bad things. you imbecile. you fucking moron." (June 1, 2014) ( )

A little inspiration from Whitman:



To be honest, I have not read this all the way through, only about 40% of the book. I don't like to read this heavy collection of poetry in just one go, it is meant to be read slowly, so I am taking my time. The five-star rating is for the first part, and it seems the rest deserves a five too.

----

Poems of my body and of mortality,
For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my soul and
of immortality

---- ( )

A little inspiration from Whitman:



To be honest, I have not read this all the way through, only about 40% of the book. I don't like to read this heavy collection of poetry in just one go, it is meant to be read slowly, so I am taking my time. The five-star rating is for the first part, and it seems the rest deserves a five too.

----

Poems of my body and of mortality,
For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my soul and
of immortality

---- ( )

Whitman sings the song of America like no other poet I know--the outsized joy and pain, the affinity for common folk and the love of nature and the sheer overwhelming feeling of every sight and sound and industrious noise around him. "I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear," he wrote. Because of this some are tempted to see Whitman as a poet of pure exuberance--like a proto-hippie or, worse, like a garrulous Hallmark card. But Whitman doesn't shy away from pain at all--he embraces it like he embraces everything else--not in a way that cheapens or ignores it but in a way that feels it deeply too. He did, after all, endure the civil war (he served as a nurse in army hospitals--we might shudder to think what those were like) and wrote about the experience in his typically direct, personal way.

Speaking of the personal, for many years I always brought an old tattered copy of Whitman with me backpacking, and whenever I had to endure a particularly awful commute, I'd listen to Whitman to calm down, to step outside myself and encounter something beautiful amid the soul-crushing traffic. Whitman has become like an old friend to me now, one I'll no doubt keep coming back to, no matter my station in life or what I'm going through. ( )

Got to book 27

The good parts of this book is that it was very shocking material for the time by focusing on general sexuality and the material world instead of just being devoted to the spiritual.

With that said I really hate his writing style. He tends to ramble on and on almost aimlessly. If you were to take a single stanza out and put it in a speech it would have a huge impact and may be a rallying point but having it over and over again makes the poem suffer from a bad case of diminishing returns.

While some of his shorter poems are fantastic most are the long-winded mess making this book such a pain to read. I actually had to resort to free audiobooks about midway so that way I could do other things while trying to finish this book.

( )

He bored many of my classmates to tears when we studied him, and yet I have nothing but affection for old Walt. ( )

Walt Whitman was a visionary, a tolerant and kind man, who spoke out about injustices and did not allow himself to conform. Looking into the soul of human motivation and reaction, he purposefully chose everyday people to demonstrate his loftiest ideas. He had deep feelings about humanity's return to the earth, completing the cycle of life. The war greatly influenced his ideals, and probably was a trigger for him to create updated editions of this poem, and with each he honed the lines and the placement. In many ways, this self educated and self published author was also a book maker - taking into account everything about the physical book as well as the content. He rejected censorship and joined in with other bohemian writers of the day. I read this poem slowly with a class over a period of weeks, and we discussed a lot of the background, and how his words were influenced by the events of the day. Walt Whitman's vision and words are relevant still today.
Excerpt from section Full Of Life Now
"When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)"
( )

I'm not a huge fan of poetry normally but I do like history, so thought I'd give Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman a try.

I downloaded my copy from Project Gutenberg after doing a bit of research. I decided to read the "Deathbed Version" of the original 12 poems, which were untitled when originally published in 1855. Whitman continuously revised his work for the remainder of his life with nearly 400 poems making up the 1892 Deathbed version.

I found it difficult to sit and read more than a couple of poems in one sitting. Whitman's stunning volume of words wore me down.

I would say I somewhat enjoyed the poems I read and that my 3 star rating reflects this. I acknowledge Whitman's innovation, creativity and place in history.

I'd like to think I'd come back to read other selected poems in Leaves of Grass, such as the ones dealing with Lincoln and the patriotic ones pre-Civil War.

What I really need is a proper guide and analysis plus a comparison of the poems during their evolution over the years. But that all begins to sound like a lot of study and effort that I'm not keen to undertake.

The poems I read were:
Song of Myself
A Song for Occupations
To Think of Time
The Sleepers
I Sing the Body Electric
Faces
Song of the Answerer
Europe: The 72d and 73d Years of These States
A Boston Ballad
There Was a Child Went Forth
Who Learns My Lesson Complete?
Great Are the Myths ( )

a Classic The greatness of the USA and those She welcomes from other countries ( )

I actually did have to read this entire collection of poems. I actually did hate that fact. I happened to enjoy some of it, and much of it made me what to stab my eyes out with knitting needles. Professors, please do not make your students read this entire collection in 1 week in a mandatory survey course for English majors--you are killing Whitman again, and again, and again. Perhaps, if this were an elective course and I had been given the time to enjoy it, I wouldn't shudder when my eyes pass over the spine of this book on my shelf.

My memory of this experience boils down to this: "The red marauder." Wouldn't Whitman want to be remembered for more? ( )

[From Books and You, Doubleday, Doran & Co., 1940, pp. 104-7:]

Now I have but Walt Whitman to speak of. I have kept him to the end, because I think it is in Leaves of Grass that we at last get, free from European influences, the pure and unadulterated Americanism which in these pages we have sought. Leaves of Grass is a work of immense significance, but since I began by reminding you that I would recommend you to read books which, whatever their other merits, were enjoyable, I am constrained to tell you that few great poets have been more uneven than Whitman. I think many books are spoilt for readers because the critics speak of them as though they had no defects. Perfection is not of this world, and generally merits can only be achieved at the cost of short-comings. It is much better that the reader should know what to expect; otherwise, finding himself at variance with the panegyrists, he will unduly blame himself for not appreciating something that in fact does not merit appreciation.

Whitman was a writer of splendid beginnings, but either because he found his way of writing too easy or because he was intoxicated with his own verbosity, often enough he went on and on when he had nothing of significance to add to what he had already said. That you must put up with. He wrote his poems partly in the rhythmic language of the Bible, partly in the sort of blank verse that was written in the seventeenth century, and partly in an uncouth pedestrian prose which offends the ear. Well, that you must put up with too. These defects are regrettable, but unimportant. It is easy to skip. Leaves of Grass is a book to open anywhere, read on as long as it pleases and then turn the pages and start at random elsewhere. Whitman could write lines of pure and lovely poetry, he could turn phrases that thrill, and often he hit upon ideas that were wonderfully moving. There can be no need for me to say that he is one of the most exciting of all poets. He had a vigour and a sense of life, in its manifold variety, in its passion, beauty and exhilaration, which an American may justly and with pride think truly American. He brought poetry home to the common man. He showed that it was not only to be found in moonlight, ruined castles and the pathos of lovesick maidens; but in streets and trains and steamboats, in the labour of the artisan and the humdrum toil of the farmer’s wife, in work and ease; in all life, in short, and the ways it is lived. Just as Wordsworth showed that you need not use poetic language to make poetry, but could make it out of the common words of our everyday speech, so Whitman showed that its subject matter was not only where the romantics had sought it, but was all about you in the most usual circumstances of your daily round. His was not a poetry of escape, but a poetry of acceptance. It would be a dull-spirited American who could read Whitman without receiving a greater apprehension of the vastness of his country, the splendour of its resources, and the illimitable hope that is contained in its future. I think it was really in Whitman that America became aware of itself in literature. It is a virile, democratic poetry; it is the authentic battle cry of a new nation and the solid foundation of a national literature.

In European museums you sometimes see the genealogy of the house of Jesse depicted as a tree, with Adam massively outlined in the trunk and the branches ending in figures of the patriarchs and the kings of Israel. If such a tree were made to represent the development of American literature and the branches ended with the shapes of O. Henry, Ring Lardner, Theodore Dreiser, Sinclair Lewis, Willa Cather, Robert Frost, Vachel Lindsay, Eugene O’Neill and Edwin Arlington Robinson, the trunk would be rough-hewn in the splendid, dauntless and original form of Walt Whitman.

I love Walt Whitman! He is my favorite poet. He saw things in a simplicity that had to divine in nature. He looked at the world through a childlike love. He wrote with his heart wide open. ( )