Multiple Choice III: American Literature
please choose one only: Walt Whitman
1) was queer and wrote Leaves Of Grass
2) was queer but wrote Leaves Of Grass
3) was simply queer
4) had a blisterig affair with Thomas Eakins
5) none of the above
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Related quotes
I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks
If your ass is a Chinese restaurant I'll have the poo-poo platter
My friend Jerry Vandergrift kissed me in Home Ec. class
Later in the afternoon some jarheads in the locker room kicked my ass
I said guys I'm like you I like Monster Trucks too
Wanna see how many push-ups I can do?
I just wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
But if I were handsome just imagine how great it would be
Incognito as gay though but not actually that way though pseudo homo phony
Maybe it's a stupid theory or maybe just stupidity
But if I was a queerbee in the fashion industry
Scoring with a super model would be easy
Cause 'super model' means voluptuous but is also is synonomous with 'super dumb'
Ya see I'd be a good listener so she'd treat me like a sister and soon I'd become
That trusted friend that cares that rubs her back and braids her hair
No it wouldn't be a week before I'm in her underwear
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
Doesn't matter what I'm packin' in my denim it's what's in my genes
The only smoked meat the only sausage I would eat is made by Jimmy Dean
See I'm not to keen on the smell of Vaseline
No I'm not Princess Di and I don't wanna be a queen
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Anyway if I were gay I'd have to change my name to Dirk or Lewis
Hang out with my mom's hair stylist his name is Kip he's got a lisp he talks like this
And wear my mother's lingerie learn the songs of Broadway
And appreciate Depeche Mode and avant garde ballet
I wish I was queer so I could get chicks
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks dig guys that are
Queer guys that don't dig
Chicks that don't dig guys like me
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
And I don't shave my heiny
Don't shave my heiny
See I'm not queer I'm too ugly
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang from One Fierce Beer Coaster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men on t v ware lip stick
Men on t v ware lip stick
But when I do it they call me queer
Men in church ware long black dresses
But when I ware one they call me queer
Men on the football field slap each other
On the buttocks
But when I do it they call me queer.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All the world is queer save thee and me. And even thou art a little queer.
quote by Robert Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All the world old is queer save thee and me, and even thou art a little queer.
quote by Robert Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I first started to write, I was aware of being queer, but I didn't write about it. Queer poems would probably not have been accepted by the editors I sent them to.
These names: gay, queer, homosexual are limiting. I would love to finish with them. We're going to have to decide which terms to use and where we use them. For me to use the word ""queer"" is a liberation; it was a word that frightened me, but no longer.
quote by Derek Jarman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.
Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass (1855)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Philosophy
you make it candid
nothing of the non-transparent twists and turns
direct to the point
no holds bar nothing to hide
you say what is in your mind
you call a spade a spade a square is a square
not a queer queer queer ideal,
you don't write a poem it is pointless to write any
you live your life
you rhyme
you count every step like a meter
a haiku
a sonnet
you like it crisp and short and
always saying less
to anything
a trek on the mountainside
feeling the ways of the snake
rather than talk and talk
duck quacking
you say, 'plunge! '
live life
do not let it just be written by them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Far And So Far, And On Toward The End
SO far, and so far, and on toward the end,
Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of
me;
But whether I continue beyond this book, to maturity,
Whether I shall dart forth the true rays, the ones that wait unfired,
(Did you think the sun was shining its brightest?
No--it has not yet fully risen;)
Whether I shall complete what is here started,
Whether I shall attain my own height, to justify these, yet
unfinished,
Whether I shall make THE POEM OF THE NEW WORLD, transcending all
others--depends, rich persons, upon you,
Depends, whoever you are now filling the current Presidentiad, upon
you, 10
Upon you, Governor, Mayor, Congressman,
And you, contemporary America.
Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Height of the Ridiculous
I WROTE some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I.
I called my servant, and he came;
How kind it was of him
To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb.
"These to the printer," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,
I added, (as a trifling jest,)
"There'll be the devil to pay."
He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.
He read the next; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear;
He read the third; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.
The fourth; he broke into a roar;
The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.
Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,
And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No G. D. M.
Wanna be a great dark man,
Being but a lesbian.
You are perfect you are sheer,
If you are a red haired queer.
Thats life, one dice,
Cest la vie, ma cherie,
But it really doesnt matter.
No gdm, no great dark man
No gdm, no great dark man
There wont be a great dark man
If I am a red haired queer
You are perfect, you are sheer
If you are a red haired queer
Tel aviv, had a sniff,
Cest la vie, ma cherie,
But it really doesnt matter.
Yellow teeth between pink lips,
I like sher with a crazy lock
Perfume behind a lobe of ear,
Rouge on my face hides my beard.
Long violet finger nails,
I adore those magic tales,
I dont mind, I dont mind
Wanna be a great dark man,
Being but a lesbian.
You are perfect you are sheer,
If you are a rat tat queer.
Thats life, one dice,
Cest la vie, ma cherie,
Tel aviv, had a sniff,
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have You Seen Jackie?
Have you seen jackie?
Hes a strange strange strange little girl
Make up on his face and his hair in curls
Have you seen jackie?
Shes a strange strange strange little boy
Her long black beard is her pride and joy
And all the children follow him around
And all the grownups try to drag her down
So we sing
Hey, leave jackie alone
Hey, his pigeons have flown
Hey, shes never at home at all these days
Leave jackie alone
Have you seen jackie?
Hes an odd odd odd little fish
To fly around is his only wish
Have you seen jackie?
Shes a queer queer queer little bird
Shy and quiet neither scene nor herd
And all the rats will follow him around
The dogs and cats will chase her from the town
And we sing
Hey, leave jackie alone
Hey, his mind is all blown
Hey, shes not on the phone at all these days
Leave jackie alone
Jackie couldnt decide if he was a girl
Or if she was a boy
Have you seen jackie?
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sheer
Deer, seer, sheer, beer, queer, veer;
And like the trafficking of narcotic substances! !
Seer, deer, sheer, beer, queer, veer;
But their full names were withheld for security reasons,
Because of this illicit business!
Appearances,
Declined,
A court of law,
Honoured;
With circumstances beyond your control! !
But, the suspects were handed over.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes the whole universe for a vast practical joke.
quote by Herman Melville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes his whole universe for a vast practical joke.
quote by Herman Melville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homosexual or Homophobic?
When I see you coming
In all your 'Gaiety' and 'Pride'
I feel so mixed-up inside,
I think of sodomy and 'b*mming'
And I just want to run and hide.
I have some dreadful inborn fear
That 'normal' folk will think me 'queer'.
Why can't you simply let me be,
Not flaunt your sexuality,
Why can't you simply keep away -
I've told you once I'M JUST NOT GAY! ! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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An Apple from Walt Whitman
There's never been a poet where I live,
but I grew up in the shade of Whitman's name:
born in West Hills—our hills—he would have walked
our paths along the crest. I walked Whitman Road,
crashed the Whitman Drive-In, stole a book
from the sci-fi rack at the Melville-Whitman Pharmacy,
even played lacrosse against Whitman High;
we lost three times, the guys from Halfway Hollow,
to young men with Whitman in white on their varsity jackets.
My mother tells a story about Thanksgiving,
back when kids went begging in rags and blackface:
how Carrie Wicks's sister said she got
an apple from Walt Whitman, right at his house,
an old man with a beard. The big kids laughed,
knowing the white-haired caretaker was no one.
I set no foot inside the Whitman House
or Leaves of Grass till after I went away,
but I'm better having grown up with the name,
the house and hills of a poet everyone knew,
a poet big enough in the mothers' stories
for a girl to believe he came to the door with a long
white beard and smiled and handed her an apple.
If a poet the size of Whitman named our few
square miles and a few in Jersey it's going to take
a lot more big ones to hand us all a welcome
sweet as a Thanksgiving apple from Walt Whitman,
white-haired care-taker, seed of mothers' stories,
Appleseed of our poetry: nourishment, shade.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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