Leaves of Grass & "Some Say:" On Cleaving

Leaves of Grass, Section 2 As I ponder'd in silence,

Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,

A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,

Terrible in beauty, age, and power,

The genius of poets of old lands,

As to me directing like flame its eyes,

With finger pointing to many immortal songs,

And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,

Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?

And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,

The making of perfect soldiers.

Be it so, then I answer'd,

I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any,

Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,

Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the field the world,

For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,

Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,

I above all promote brave soldiers. There's Walt. And here's Sappho--one of those genius poets of old lands to which he refers: Some say an army of horsemen (some, foot soldiers; some, ships) is the most beautiful thing on this dark earth, but I say it is what one loves. _______ Aren't she and Walt both writing that the most beautiful thing, the most powerful thing, is whatever you love, whatever makes you sing? The thing that, when it's lost, is irretrievable and still beautiful and still worth the song? The thing that you cling to,the thing that divides you? Whatever is brightest in the dark? Whatever is noun to your controlling metaphor? ______

Share|