'American Feuillage' by Walt Whitman
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AMERICA always!
Always our own feuillage!
Always Florida's green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of
Louisiana! Always the cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas!
Always California's golden hills and hollows--and the silver
mountains of New Mexico! Always soft-breath'd Cuba!
Always the vast slope drain'd by the Southern Sea--inseparable with
the slopes drain'd by the Eastern and Western Seas;
The area the eighty-third year of These States--the three and a half
millions of square miles;
The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the main--
the thirty thousand miles of river navigation,
The seven millions of distinct families, and the same number of
dwellings--Always these, and more, branching forth into
numberless branches;
Always the free range and diversity! always the continent of
Democracy!
Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, travelers,
Kanada, the snows;10
Always these compact lands--lands tied at the hips with the belt
stringing the huge oval lakes;
Always the West, with strong native persons--the increasing density
there--the habitans, friendly, threatening, ironical, scorning
invaders;
All sights, South, North, East--all deeds, promiscuously done at all
times,
All characters, movements, growths--a few noticed, myriads unnoticed,
Through Mannahatta's streets I walking, these things gathering;
On interior rivers, by night, in the glare of pine knots, steamboats
wooding up;
Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna, and on the valleys
of the Potomac and Rappahannock, and the valleys of the Roanoke
and Delaware;
In their northerly wilds, beasts of prey haunting the Adirondacks,
the hills--or lapping the Saginaw waters to drink;
In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lost from the flock, sitting on the
water, rocking silently;
In farmers' barns, oxen in the stable, their harvest labor done--they
rest standing--they are too tired;20
Afar on arctic ice, the she-walrus lying drowsily, while her cubs
play around;
The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail'd--the farthest polar
sea, ripply, crystalline, open, beyond the floes;
White drift spooning ahead, where the ship in the tempest dashes;
On solid land, what is done in cities, as the bells all strike
midnight together;
In primitive woods, the sounds there also sounding--the howl of the
wolf, the scream of the panther, and the hoarse bellow of the
elk;
In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead Lake--in summer
visible through the clear waters, the great trout swimming;
In lower latitudes, in warmer air, in the Carolinas, the large black
buzzard floating slowly, high beyond the tree tops,
Below, the red cedar, festoon'd with tylandria--the pines and
cypresses, growing out of the white sand that spreads far and
flat;
Rude boats descending the big Pedee--climbing plants, parasites, with
color'd flowers and berries, enveloping huge trees,
The waving drapery on the live oak, trailing long and low,
noiselessly waved by the wind;30
The camp of Georgia wagoners, just after dark--the supper-fires, and
the cooking and eating by whites and negroes,
Thirty or forty great wagons--the mules, cattle, horses, feeding from
troughs,
The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees--
the flames--with the black smoke from the pitch-pine, curling
and rising;
Southern fishermen fishing--the sounds and inlets of North Carolina's
coast--the shad-fishery and the herring-fishery--the large
sweep-seines--the windlasses on shore work'd by horses--the
clearing, curing, and packing-houses;
Deep in the forest, in piney woods, turpentine dropping from the
incisions in the trees--There are the turpentine works,
There are the negroes at work, in good health--the ground in all
directions is cover'd with pine straw:
--In Tennessee and Kentucky, slaves busy in the coalings, at the
forge, by the furnace-blaze, or at the corn-shucking;
In Virginia, the planter's son returning after a long absence,
joyfully welcom'd and kiss'd by the aged mulatto nurse;
On rivers, boatmen safely moor'd at night-fall, in their boats, under
shelter of high banks,
Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or fiddle--
others sit on the gunwale, smoking and talking;40
Late in the afternoon, the mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing
in the Great Dismal Swamp--there are the greenish waters, the
resinous odor, the plenteous moss, the cypress tree, and the
juniper tree;
--Northward, young men of Mannahatta--the target company from an
excursion returning home at evening--the musket-muzzles all
bear bunches of flowers presented by women;
Children at play--or on his father's lap a young boy fallen asleep,
(how his lips move! how he smiles in his sleep!)
The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the
Mississippi--he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eye around;
California life--the miner, bearded, dress'd in his rude costume--the
stanch California friendship--the sweet air--the graves one, in
passing, meets, solitary, just aside the horsepath;
Down in Texas, the cotton-field, the negro-cabins--drivers driving
mules or oxen before rude carts--cotton bales piled on banks
and wharves;
Encircling all, vast-darting, up and wide, the American Soul, with
equal hemispheres--one Love, one Dilation or Pride;
--In arriere, the peace-talk with the Iroquois, the aborigines--the
calumet, the pipe of good-will, arbitration, and indorsement,
The sachem blowing the smoke first toward the sun and then toward the
earth,
The drama of the scalp-dance enacted with painted faces and guttural
exclamations,50
The setting out of the war-party--the long and stealthy march,
The single-file--the swinging hatchets--the surprise and slaughter of
enemies;
--All the acts, scenes, ways, persons, attitudes of These States--
reminiscences, all institutions,
All These States, compact--Every square mile of These States, without
excepting a particle--you also--me also,
Me pleas'd, rambling in lanes and country fields, Paumanok's fields,
Me, observing the spiral flight of two little yellow butterflies,
shuffling between each other, ascending high in the air;
The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects--the fall traveler
southward, but returning northward early in the spring;
The country boy at the close of the day, driving the herd of cows,
and shouting to them as they loiter to browse by the road-side;
The city wharf--Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, New
Orleans, San Francisco,
The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan;60
--Evening--me in my room--the setting sun,
The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm
of flies, suspended, balancing in the air in the centre of the
room, darting athwart, up and down, casting swift shadows in
specks on the opposite wall, where the shine is;
The athletic American matron speaking in public to crowds of
listeners;
Males, females, immigrants, combinations--the copiousness--the
individuality of The States, each for itself--the money-makers;
Factories, machinery, the mechanical forces--the windlass, lever,
pulley--All certainties,
The certainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity,
In space, the sporades, the scatter'd islands, the stars--on the firm
earth, the lands, my lands;
O lands! all so dear to me--what you are, (whatever it is,) I become
a part of that, whatever it is;
Southward there, I screaming, with wings slowly flapping, with the
myriads of gulls wintering along the coasts of Florida--or in
Louisiana, with pelicans breeding;
Otherways, there, atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw, the Rio Grande,
the Nueces, the Brazos, the Tombigbee, the Red River, the
Saskatchawan, or the Osage, I with the spring waters laughing
and skipping and running;70
Northward, on the sands, on some shallow bay of Paumanok, I, with
parties of snowy herons wading in the wet to seek worms and
aquatic plants;
Retreating, triumphantly twittering, the king-bird, from piercing the
crow with its bill, for amusement--And I triumphantly
twittering;
The migrating flock of wild geese alighting in autumn to refresh
themselves--the body of the flock feed--the sentinels outside
move around with erect heads watching, and are from time to
time reliev'd by other sentinels--And I feeding and taking
turns with the rest;
In Kanadian forests, the moose, large as an ox, corner'd by hunters,
rising desperately on his hind-feet, and plunging with his
fore-feet, the hoofs as sharp as knives--And I, plunging at the
hunters, corner'd and desperate;
In the Mannahatta, streets, piers, shipping, store-houses, and the
countless workmen working in the shops,
And I too of the Mannahatta, singing thereof--and no less in myself
than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself,
Singing the song of These, my ever united lands--my body no more
inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any
more than my lands are inevitably united, and made ONE
IDENTITY;
Nativities, climates, the grass of the great Pastoral Plains;
Cities, labors, death, animals, products, war, good and evil--these
me,
These affording, in all their particulars, endless feuillage to me
and to America, how can I do less than pass the clew of the
union of them, to afford the like to you?80
Whoever you are! how can I but offer you divine leaves, that you also
be eligible as I am?
How can I but, as here, chanting, invite you for yourself to collect
bouquets of the incomparable feuillage of These States?
Editor 1 Interpretation
Walt Whitman's American Feuillage: A Celebration of the Human Experience
Walt Whitman, the father of free verse in American poetry, was often criticized during his lifetime for his unconventional style and subject matter. However, his work has stood the test of time and continues to inspire generations of poets and readers. One of his most celebrated works, American Feuillage, is a testament to his unique voice and his deep understanding of the human experience.
An Introduction to American Feuillage
American Feuillage is a collection of poems that Whitman wrote during the later years of his life. The collection was first published in 1888, four years before Whitman's death, and includes some of his most famous poems, such as "Song of Myself" and "I Sing the Body Electric." The collection is a celebration of American life and culture, and explores themes such as the beauty of nature, the joys and sorrows of love, and the mystery of death.
The Beauty of Nature
One of the recurring themes in American Feuillage is the beauty of nature. Whitman was a poet who celebrated the natural world and saw it as a source of inspiration and wonder. In "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," one of the most famous poems in the collection, Whitman mourns the death of Abraham Lincoln by using the imagery of spring and the blooming of lilacs:
"When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring."
The lilacs symbolize the beauty and fragility of life, and the poem is a powerful meditation on love, loss, and the cycles of nature.
The Joys and Sorrows of Love
Another major theme in American Feuillage is the joys and sorrows of love. Whitman was a poet who celebrated love in all its forms, whether it was romantic love, platonic love, or the love between humans and nature. In "I Sing the Body Electric," he writes:
"The love of the body of man or woman balks account—the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect."
The poem is a celebration of the human body and the sensual pleasures of life, and it reflects Whitman's belief that love and desire are essential parts of the human experience.
The Mystery of Death
Finally, American Feuillage explores the mystery of death, a theme that was especially poignant for Whitman during the later years of his life. In "Song of Myself," he writes:
"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."
The poem is a powerful meditation on the meaning of life and the inevitability of death. Whitman sees death as a natural part of the cycle of life, and he celebrates it as a source of renewal and transformation.
The Importance of Free Verse
What makes American Feuillage so unique is Whitman's use of free verse. Unlike traditional poetry, which is characterized by strict meter and rhyme, Whitman's poetry is free-flowing and unstructured. He believed that this style of poetry was more expressive and authentic than traditional forms, and he saw it as a reflection of the American spirit. In "Song of Myself," he writes:
"The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."
The poem is a celebration of individuality and self-expression, and it reflects Whitman's belief that poetry should be free and unbound by rules and conventions.
Conclusion
American Feuillage is a masterpiece of American poetry and a testament to Walt Whitman's unique voice and vision. Through his celebration of nature, love, and death, and his use of free verse, Whitman created a body of work that continues to inspire and challenge readers. As we continue to explore the mysteries of the human experience, we can turn to American Feuillage as a source of inspiration and guidance, a reminder that life is beautiful and complex, and that poetry has the power to capture its essence.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Walt Whitman's "American Feuillage" is a classic poem that captures the essence of American life and nature. The poem is a celebration of the beauty and diversity of the American landscape, and it is a tribute to the people who inhabit it. Whitman's use of language and imagery is powerful, and it evokes a sense of wonder and awe in the reader.
The poem is divided into four sections, each of which explores a different aspect of American life and nature. The first section, "Autumn Leaves," is a meditation on the changing of the seasons and the beauty of fall. Whitman describes the leaves as "yellow, and brown, and rustling," and he marvels at their "varied hues." He also notes the "whispering" of the leaves as they fall to the ground, creating a sense of peacefulness and tranquility.
The second section, "A Song for Occupations," is a celebration of the American worker. Whitman praises the "mechanic, the carpenter, the mason," and he notes the importance of their work in building the nation. He also celebrates the "sailor, the shepherd, the miner," and he acknowledges the hard work and sacrifice that they make in order to provide for their families.
The third section, "To the States," is a tribute to the diversity of the American landscape and the people who inhabit it. Whitman describes the "rugged mountains," the "rolling prairies," and the "mighty rivers," and he notes the different cultures and traditions that exist within the various states. He also acknowledges the challenges that the nation faces, including slavery and war, but he remains optimistic about the future.
The final section, "A Carol of Harvest," is a celebration of the bounty of the American land. Whitman describes the "golden corn," the "ripe apples," and the "plump grapes," and he notes the hard work and dedication that goes into harvesting these crops. He also celebrates the sense of community that exists among the farmers and the joy that comes from sharing in the harvest.
Throughout the poem, Whitman uses a variety of literary devices to create a sense of wonder and awe. He uses repetition to emphasize certain words and phrases, such as "yellow, and brown, and rustling" in the first section and "strong, ample, fair, enduring" in the third section. He also uses imagery to create vivid pictures in the reader's mind, such as the "rugged mountains" and the "rolling prairies" in the third section.
One of the most striking aspects of the poem is its celebration of the American worker. Whitman acknowledges the importance of manual labor and the role that it plays in building the nation. He notes the dignity and pride that comes from hard work, and he celebrates the sense of community that exists among workers. This celebration of the working class is a theme that runs throughout Whitman's work, and it is one of the reasons why he is considered a quintessentially American poet.
Another important theme in the poem is the celebration of diversity. Whitman acknowledges the different cultures and traditions that exist within the various states, and he celebrates the beauty and richness that comes from this diversity. He also acknowledges the challenges that the nation faces, including slavery and war, but he remains optimistic about the future. This optimism is a hallmark of Whitman's work, and it is one of the reasons why he is considered a visionary poet.
In conclusion, Walt Whitman's "American Feuillage" is a classic poem that celebrates the beauty and diversity of the American landscape and the people who inhabit it. The poem is a tribute to the American worker, and it acknowledges the importance of hard work and dedication in building the nation. It is also a celebration of diversity and a tribute to the sense of community that exists among Americans. Whitman's use of language and imagery is powerful, and it evokes a sense of wonder and awe in the reader. This poem is a testament to the enduring legacy of one of America's greatest poets.
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