DOS POEMAS DE WALT WHITMAN

Walt Whitman





To a Historian

YOU who celebrate bygones,

Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life

that has exhibited itself,

Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,

rulers and priests,

I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself

in his own rights,

Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,

(the great pride of man in himself,)

Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,

I project the history of the future.

To a Pupil

IS reform needed? is it through you?

The greater the reform needed,

the greater the Personality you need to accomplish it.

You! do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood,

complexion, clean and sweet?

Do you not see how it would serve to have such a body and soul that

when you enter the crowd an atmosphere of desire and command

enters with you, and every one is impress'd with your

Personality?

O the magnet! the flesh over and over!

Go, dear friend, if need be give up all else, and commence to-day to

inure yourself to pluck, reality, self-esteem, definiteness,

elevatedness,

Rest not till you rivet and publish yourself of your own

Personality.

Poema del libro: Song of Mayself_Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman, USA




3

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the

beginning and the end,

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,

Nor any more youth or age than there is now,

And will never be any more perfection than there is now,

Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,

Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and

increase, always sex,

Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well

entretied, braced in the beams,

Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,

I and this mystery here we stand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not

my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,

Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age

vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they

discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty

and clean,

Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be

less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;

As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the

night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy

tread,

Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with

their plenty,

Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,

That they turn from gazing after and down the road,

And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,

Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?