By Whitman, Biweekly! November 17th

By Whitman, Biweekly!
Tuesday November 17th,  4pm SLT
Caledon Library, on the Hub in Victoria City
http://slurl.com/secondlife/Caledon%20Victoria%20City/160/117/23

A Discussion led by Dame Kghia Gheardi of the works of Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass is one of the works at the foundations of American poetry. Its expansive attempt to capture the spirit and landscape of the 19th century United States has influenced an entire culture's self-concept, and its rich language continues to inspire readers today as it has for the century and a half of its existence.

"By Whitman, BI-Weekly" will provide an opportunity to look closely at this beloved work. Each time we'll spend an hour discussing its context and examining the poetry of the 1855 first edition.

The series will also give those who love Leaves of Grass, and those who would like to learn more, an opportunity to explore Whitman's vigorous and heartfelt poetry together.

Here is what we'll discuss this week:

The old forever new things . . . . you foolish child! . . . . the closest simplest things—
         this moment with you,
Your person and every particle that relates to your person,
The pulses of your brain waiting their chance and encouragement at every deed
         or sight;
Anything you do in public by day, and anything you do in secret betweendays,
What is called right and what is called wrong . . . . what you behold or touch . . . .
         what causes your anger or wonder,
The anklechain of the slave, the bed of the bedhouse, the cards of the gambler, the
         plates of the forger;
What is seen or learned in the street, or intuitively learned,
What is learned in the public school—spelling, reading, writing and ciphering . . . .
         the blackboard and the teacher's diagrams:
The panes of the windows and all that appears through them . . . . the going forth
         in the morning and the aimless spending of the day;
(What is it that you made money? what is it that you got what you wanted?)
The usual routine . . . . the workshop, factory, yard, office, store, or desk;
The jaunt of hunting or fishing, or the life of hunting or fishing,
Pasturelife, foddering, milking and herding, and all the personnel and usages;
The plum-orchard and apple-orchard . . . . gardening . . seedlings, cuttings, flowers
         and vines,
Grains and manures . . marl, clay, loam . . the subsoil plough . . the shovel and pick
         and rake and hoe . . irrigation and draining;
The currycomb . . the horse-cloth . . the halter and bridle and bits . . the very wisps
         of straw,
The barn and barn-yard . . the bins and mangers . . the mows and racks:
Manufactures . . commerce . . engineering . . the building of cities, and every trade
         carried on there . . and the implements of every trade,
The anvil and tongs and hammer . . the axe and wedge . .  the square and mitre and
         jointer and smoothingplane;

The plumbob and trowel and level . . the wall-scaffold, and the work of walls and
         ceilings . . or any mason-work:
The ship's compass . . the sailor's tarpaulin . . the stays and lanyards, and the ground-
         tackle for anchoring or mooring,
The sloop's tiller . . the pilot's wheel and bell . . the yacht or fish-smack . . the great
         gay-pennanted three- hundred-foot steamboat under full headway, with her proud
         fat breasts and her delicate swift-flashing paddles;
The trail and line and hooks and sinkers . . the seine, and hauling the seine;
Smallarms and rifles . . . . the powder and shot and caps and wadding . . . . the
         ordnance for war . . . . the carriages:
Everyday objects . . . . the housechairs, the carpet, the bed and the counterpane of
         the bed, and him or her sleeping at night, and the wind blowing, and theindefi-
         nite noises:
The snowstorm or rainstorm . . . . the tow-trowsers . . . . the lodge-hut in the woods,
         and the still-hunt:
City and country . . fireplace and candle . . gaslight and heater and aqueduct;
The message of the governor, mayor, or chief of police . . . . the dishes of breakfast
         or dinner or supper;
The bunkroom, the fire-engine, the string-team, and the car or truck behind;
The paper I write on or you write on . . and every word we write . . and every
         cross and twirl of the pen . . and the curious way we write what we think . . . .
         yet very faintly;
The directory, the detector, the ledger . . . . the books in ranks or the bookshelves
          . . . . the clock attached to the wall,
The ring on your finger . . the lady's wristlet . . the hammers of stonebreakers or
         coppersmiths . . the druggist's vials and jars;
The etui of surgical instruments, and the etui of oculist's or aurist's instruments, or
         dentist's instruments;
Glassblowing, grinding of wheat and corn . . casting, and what is cast . . tinroofing,
         shingledressing,
Shipcarpentering, flagging of sidewalks by flaggers . .  dockbuilding, fishcuring, ferry-
         ing;
The pump, the piledriver, the great derrick . . the coalkiln and brickkiln,
Ironworks or whiteleadworks . . the sugarhouse . .  steam-saws, and the great mills
         and factories;
The cottonbale . . the stevedore's hook . . the saw and buck of the sawyer . . the
         screen of the coalscreener . .  the mould of the moulder . . the workingknife of
         the butcher;
The cylinder press . . the handpress . . the frisket and tympan . . the compositor's
         stick and rule,
The implements for daguerreotyping . . . . the tools of the rigger or grappler or sail-
         maker or blockmaker,
Goods of guttapercha or papiermache . . . . colors and brushes . . . . glaziers' im-
         plements,

The veneer and gluepot . . the confectioner's ornaments . . the decanter and glasses
          . . the shears and flatiron;
The awl and kneestrap . . the pint measure and quart measure . . the counter and
         stool . . the writingpen of quill or metal;
Billiards and tenpins . . . . the ladders and hanging ropes of the gymnasium, and the
         manly exercises;
The designs for wallpapers or oilcloths or carpets . . . . the fancies for goods for women
          . . . . the bookbinder's stamps;
Leatherdressing, coachmaking, boilermaking, ropetwisting, distilling, signpainting,
         limeburning, coopering, cottonpicking,
The walkingbeam of the steam-engine . . the throttle and governors, and the up and
         down rods,
Stavemachines and plainingmachines . . . . the cart of the carman . . the omnibus . .
         the ponderous dray;
The snowplough and two engines pushing it . . . . the ride in the express train of
         only one car . . . . the swift go through a howling storm:
The bearhunt or coonhunt . . . . the bonfire of shavings in the open lot in the city
          . . the crowd of children watching;
The blows of the fighting-man . . the upper cut and one- two-three;
The shopwindows . . . . the coffins in the sexton's wareroom . . . . the fruit on the
         fruitstand . . . . the beef on the butcher's stall,
The bread and cakes in the bakery . . . . the white and red pork in the pork-store;
The milliner's ribbons . . the dressmaker's patterns . . . . the tea-table . . the home-
         made sweetmeats:
The column of wants in the one-cent paper . . the news by telegraph . . . . the
         amusements and operas and shows:
The cotton and woolen and linen you wear . . . . the money you make and spend;
Your room and bedroom . . . . your piano-forte . . . . the stove and cookpans,
The house you live in . . . . the rent . . . . the other tenants . . . . the deposite in the
         savings-bank . . . . the trade at the grocery,
The pay on Saturday night . . . . the going home, and the purchases;
In them the heft of the heaviest . . . . in them far more than you estimated, and far
         less also,
In them, not yourself . . . . you and your soul enclose all things, regardless of estima-
         tion,
In them your themes and hints and provokers . . if not, the whole earth has no
         themes or hints or provokers, and never had.

I do not affirm what you see beyond is futile . . . . I do not advise you to stop,
I do not say leadings you thought great are not great,
But I say that none lead to greater or sadder or happier than those lead to.

Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last,
In things best known to you finding the best or as good as the best,

In folks nearest to you finding also the sweetest and strongest and lovingest,
Happiness not in another place, but this place . . not for another hour, but this hour,
Man in the first you see or touch . . . . always in your friend or brother or nighest
         neighbor . . . . Woman in your mother or lover or wife,
And all else thus far known giving place to men and women.

When the psalm sings instead of the singer,
When the script preaches instead of the preacher,
When the pulpit descends and goes instead of the carver that carved the supporting
         desk,
When the sacred vessels or the bits of the eucharist, or the lath and plast, procreate
         as effectually as the young silversmiths or bakers, or the masons in their
         overalls,
When a university course convinces like a slumbering woman and child convince,
When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the nightwatchman's daughter,
When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite and are my friendly companions,
I intend to reach them my hand and make as much of them as I do of men and
         women.