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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Related quotes
The Best Book In The World
the best book
in the world
the only true book
is the world itself
the Book of Nature
the best book is the silence
the wordless-ness in
the clouds and the sky
and the rivers and the oceans
and the lands
and the grass that breaks through the concrete;
and in the deserts and the volcanoes
and the stars
and the moon
and the creatures of the earth
and in all fellow beings
and the vastness beyond
and the vastness within
the best book
the only true book
(every other book is distortion)
is the world itself
the Book of Nature:
read it
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The great book for you is the book that has the most to say to you at the moment when you are reading. I do not mean the book that is most instructive, but the book that feeds your spirit. And that depends on your age, your experience, your psychological and spiritual need.
quote by Robertson Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Partnership
It depends on if you are serious.
I can only show I am...
If you say you are.
It depends on if you are serious.
If you are not...
We can just dropp this.
It depends on if you are serious.
I can only show I am...
If you say you are.
It depends on if you are serious.
If you are not...
We can just dropp this.
'Is that it?
No whispers or kisses?
With advancements started...
To tease then to dismiss? '
Like I said...
It depends on if you are serious.
If you are not...
We can just dropp this.
I am on a mission.
I would like to have partnership.
But if you are not completely into it...
Why would I wish to be into you?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Labor-Saving Machine
NO labor-saving machine,
Nor discovery have I made;
Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a
hospital or library,
Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America,
Nor literary success, nor intellect--nor book for the book-shelf;
Only a few carols, vibrating through the air, I leave,
For comrades and lovers.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The dirtiest book of all is the expurgated book.
quote by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Much Depends As I Once Remember It Then
so much depends
upon a swirl
of paints
of yellow
and green
and violet
so much depends
upon the silence
of the plow
so much depends
upon the farmer
still
so much depends
upon your
vanishment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who's Taller?
Depends on if the judge is fair,
Depends how high the heels you wear,
Depends on if they count the hair,
Depends if they allow the chair.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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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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Dependence
What is this, all of my darkest fears?
Why have they gathered here?
To watch a fool go down.
Go away. why would you waste your time?
Here where the sun wont shine.
Theres nothing left for you.
Chorus:
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont want me.
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont need me.
I cant go on this way
When everything I do depends on you.
Depends on you.
I had it all. one of the sunny boys.
Hear my pride and joy.
You were always there by me.
Funny how fast sunny times go by?
And fall to a darkened sky.
And lot of useless toys
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont want me.
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont need me.
I can t go on this way
When every step I take depends on you
Depends on you.
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont want me.
I cant go on this way
Knowing you dont need me.
I cant go on this way
When everything I do depends on you.
Depends on you
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
quote by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Many, How Much
How many slams in an old screen door?
Depends how loud you shut it.
How many slices in a bread?
Depends how thin you cut it.
How much good inside a day?
Depends how good you live 'em.
How much love inside a friend?
Depends how much you give 'em.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I Hear America Singing
I Hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of the girl sewing or washing--Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Mixed Emotions
First laughter, then tears
Never always happy
Never always depressed
It depends on the day
Sometimes scared
Sometimes worried
Sometimes confused
It depends on the hour
Sometimes lonely
Sometimes not
It depends on how i'm feeling
(1-18-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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We're all in the same room, so I want people to be involved with one another, but again you can't decide exactly to what extent that operates. It varies all the time and it depends on the show, it depends on the audience, it depends on everything.
quote by Mark Morris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poets to Come
POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for;
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than
before known,
Arouse! Arouse--for you must justify me--you must answer.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stopping, turns a
casual look upon you, and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
poem by Walt Whitman
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As The Time Draws Nigh
AS the time draws nigh, glooming, a cloud,
A dread beyond, of I know not what, darkens me.
I shall go forth,
I shall traverse The States awhile--but I cannot tell whither or how
long;
Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my voice will
suddenly cease.
O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this?
Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us?... And yet it is
enough, O soul!
O soul! we have positively appear'd--that is enough.
poem by Walt Whitman
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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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Lo! Victress On The Peaks
LO! Victress on the peaks!
Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world,
(The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;)
Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all;
Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
Flauntest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and bloom--lo! in these
hours supreme,
No poem proud, I, chanting, bring to thee--nor mastery's rapturous
verse;
But a book, containing night's darkness, and blood-dripping wounds,
And psalms of the dead.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Shut Not Your Doors, &c.
SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet
needed most, I bring;
Forth from the army, the war emerging--a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing--the drift of it everything;
A book separate, not link'd with the rest, nor felt by the intellect,
But you, ye untold latencies, will thrill to every page;
Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing, eternal
Identity,
To Nature, encompassing these, encompassing God--to the joyous,
electric All,
To the sense of Death--and accepting, exulting in Death, in its turn,
the same as life,
The entrance of Man I sing. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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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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