Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

Walter "Walt" Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist and journalist. A humanist, he was a part of the transition between transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described as obscene for its overt sexuality.

Born on Long Island, Whitman worked as a journalist, a teacher, a government clerk, and—in addition to publishing his poetry—was a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War. Early in his career, he also produced a temperance novel, Franklin Evans (1842). Whitman's major work, Leaves of Grass, was first published in 1855 with his own money. The work was an attempt at reaching out to the common person with an American epic. He continued expanding and revising it until his death in 1892. After a stroke towards the end of his life, he moved to Camden, New Jersey, where his health further declined. He died at age 72 and his funeral became a public spectacle.

Whitman's sexuality is often discussed alongside his poetry. Though biographers continue to debate his sexuality, he is usually described as either homosexual or bisexual in his feelings and attractions. However, there is disagreement among biographers as to whether Whitman had actual sexual experiences with men. Whitman was concerned with politics throughout his life. He supported the Wilmot Proviso and opposed the extension of slavery generally. His poetry presented an egalitarian view of the races, and at one point he called for the abolition of slavery, but later he saw the abolitionist movement as a threat to democracy.

Read more about Walt Whitman:  Writing, Legacy and Influence, Works

Famous quotes by walt whitman:

    I see before me now a traveling army halting,
    Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the orchards of summer,
    Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high,
    Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

    Let that which stood in front go behind,
    Let that which was behind advance to the front,
    Let bigots, fools, unclean persons, offer new propositions,
    Let the old propositions be postponed.
    Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

    I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
    How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
    upon me,
    And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
    And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my
    feet.
    Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

    In the far South the sun of autumn is passing
    Like Walt Whitman walking along a ruddy shore.
    He is singing and chanting the things that are part of him,
    The worlds that were and will be, death and day.
    Nothing is final, he chants. No man shall see the end.
    His beard is of fire and his staff is a leaping flame.
    Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)

    Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,
    Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the
    prairies wide,
    Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,
    I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O death,
    Walt Whitman (1819–1892)