There are occasions when, like Whitman, I celebrate myself.
Of me I sing: as the ubiquitous gulls sing of the sea.
I am of the sea; the brine is surging through my veins
and the ragged lines of this song
I sing.
Whitman's "well-made man appears not only in his face,
[but] curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists.…"
I myself lack a wrist to rest on, a hip to swing,
a shoulder to put to the squall, or, in Dylan's lament,
a "sulking, skulking, coal black soul" to embrace.
I am nevertheless my legitimate self. I rise and I fall
on the rhythms of the sea.
Of me I sing.
My song
warms the wind that seeks pleasure in the harmonic me.
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Peace,
Bill :-)
Love that image, Gene, of 'ubiquitous gulls' (used it in my first novel) especially relevant (in my experience) on fishing piers and the bloated corpses of whales, and when you're trying to eat fish tacos on the boardwalk. (-:
Thought you'd enjoy this gem ...
O ME! O LIFE!
O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
Walt Whitman
Blessings ...
Richard
From title to tail-end, this poem is a nominee for Poem of the Year on Authors Den. I'm glad I waited for comments from others. I agree with them, and cast my vote for your dego-tisticle twist in telling it like you are! - The Real Me, Bill
John
+nessa
Be always safe,
Karen
This is beautifully-written. I'm glad to know you better now.
Sandie Angel :o)
P.S. I like Whitman's poetry too.
Beautiful verses, Gene. The waves of the ocean is almost like a song.:)
Many blessings,
~Linda
The World Below the Brine,
HE world below the brine,
Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the thick tangle openings, and pink turf,
Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, the play of light through the water,
Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes, and the aliment of the swimmers,
Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, or slowly crawling close to the bottom,
The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray, or disporting with his flukes,
The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray,
Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those ocean-depths, breathing that thick-breathing air, as so many do,
The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle air breathed by beings like us who walk this sphere,
The change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres
:~)
Cryssa
Oh, this is glorious. Having no rigidity, you flow to a different rhythm...one I love. Well done.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.