ode to walt whitman

8/12/2019 Ode to Walt Whitman

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Where the Dawn Is Counterfeit

By DAVID H. ROSENTHAL

o other 20th-century Spanish author has so beguiled Anglo-Saxonreaders as the Andalusian poet Federico arcia !orca "#$%$-#%&'() So*e of the reasons are best forgotten - the political capital*ade out of his death at the beginning of the Spanish Ci+il War, for exa*ple, or the fact that at ti*es he e*bodies so*e of our *oretedious cliches about Spain) is real i*pact, howe+er, surely co*esfro* the star. +i+idness of his i*agery, his ability to con/ure up pri*alsub/ecti+e real*s of lo+e and death 1he guitar *a.es drea*s weep)1he sobbing of lost souls escapes through its round *outh) And li.ethe tarantula it spins a large star to trap the sighs floating in its blac.,wooden water tan.)

1his lo+ely poe*, 1he Six Strings, apparently spontaneous andsi*ple, yet baro3ue in its play of conceits, is typical of !orca s early wor. in boo.s li.e 4oe* of the Deep Song, now published in a new +ersion by Carlos 5auer) It is also a re*ar.ableexa*ple of poetic co*pression) 1he power of *usic to reach into subconscious depths of lossand sorrow is e+o.ed in the first two lines) We are then plunged into a harrowing, yet playful,+ision of the da*ned, succeeded by another +ision, less whi*sical, co*pounded of poisonousdread "the tarantula( and hope-engendering beauty "the star() And finally we return to the twingriefs of lo+e "sighs( and +iolent death "the trap, the water tan.()

!orca was *uch affected by deep song " cante /ondo, so*eti*es confused with itsco**ercial cousin, fla*enco(, which is about the closest thing one can find in 6urope to blac.A*erican *usic) !i.e /a77 and soul, it holds rage, irony and grief in uneasy e3uilibriu* andrelies hea+ily on a ra7or-sharp rhyth*ic and tonal sense to con+ey its *eanings) Also li.e /a77and soul, cante /ondo is the creation of outsiders gypsies such as !a 8ina de los 4eines in!orca s ti*e and 6l Ca*aron de la Isla in ours) !orca, of course, was also an outsider as aho*osexual, but, to /udge fro* his poetry, his *ain attraction to cante /ondo had to do with its*usical and e*otional contrasts austerity and profuse *elis*a, so*bra y sol "shadow and

brilliant light( that parallel his own +olatile sensibility)

So*bra y sol - a styli7ed Andalusia do*inates !orca s early poetry, a place of dar. co*pulsionsand *illennial 9editerranean landscapes, as in After 4assing 5y 1he children obser+e a pointfar, far away) 1he oil la*ps are put out) So*e blind girls 3uestion the *oon, and through the airrise spirals of weeping) 1he *ountains obser+e a point far, far away)

For all their perfection, howe+er, such early poe*s hardly prepare us for the *ore expansi+ecos*os of 4oet in 8ew :or.) In #%2%, for +arious reasons - not the least of which was a failedlo+e affair - !orca sailed for 8ew :or., where he spent the better part of a year) is sense ofconstriction within the style he had pre+iously culti+ated co*es through in a letter he wrote in#%2; to his friend <ose Antonio =ubio Sacristan 4eople confuse *y life and character) And thisis the last thing I want) 1he gypsies are nothing but a the*e) ) ) ) I /ust don t want the* to

POET IN NEWYORK5y Federico arc>a!orca) 6dited, and with

an introduction, byChristopher 9aurer)1ranslated by regDictionary Si*on andSte+en F) White)

POEM OF THE DEEPSONG5y Federico arc>a!orca) 1ranslated, andwith an introduction, byCarlos 5auer)



pigeonhole *e) I feel they are trying to chain *e down) In 4oet in 8ew :or. we enter theelastic real* of the poetic se3uence, stylistically +aried yet carefully structured in its e*otionaldyna*ics) In the first poe*, After a Wal., !orca establishes what are to be so*e of thedo*inant tonalities in the boo. With the a*putated tree that doesn t sing and the child with the

blan. face of an egg) With the little ani*als whose s.ulls are crac.ed and the water, dressed in

rags, but with dry feet) With all the bone-tired, deaf-and-du*b things and a butterfly drowned inthe in.well)

1hus presented, 8ew :or. strips its inhabitants of indi+iduality "the child s blan. face of anegg ( and strangles nature) 5ut in counterpoint to this alienation, the se3uence s basic *ood, wefind *o*ents of delicate lyricis* *e*ories of childhood, e+ocations of friends, *ore pastoral

poe*s written in ?er*ont and upstate 8ew :or.) After a Wal. is followed by #%#0"Inter*e77o(, with its recollections of innocence 1hose eyes of *ine on the pony s nec., on the

pierced breast of Santa =osa as she sleeps, on the rooftops of lo+e, with *oans and cool hands,on a garden where cats de+our frogs)

After the first section, called 4oe*s of Solitude at Colu*bia @ni+ersity, we enter 1he 5lac.s)It is a paean to tropical sensuality It s necessary to cross the bridges and reach the *ur*uring blac.s so the perfu*e of their lungs can buffet our te*ples with its co+ering of hot pineapple) Itis also a call to rebellion 5lood flows, and will flow on rooftops e+erywhere, and burn the blondwo*en s chlorophyll, and groan at the foot of the beds near the washstands inso*nia, and burstinto an aurora of tobacco and low yellow)

1his section, in turn, prepares us for *ore +iolent denunciations to co*e, with titles li.e!andscape of a ?o*iting 9ultitude "Dus. at Coney Island() Details pile up, inundating the

reader with +isions of tee*ing chaos and debase*ent so that uncontrollable light will arri+e tofrighten the rich behind their *agnifying glasses - the odor of a single corpse fro* the double

source of lily and rat)1he next three sections, 4oe*s of !a.e 6den 9ills, In the Far*er s Cabin "In the 8ewburghCountryside( and Introduction to Death "4oe*s of Solitude in ?er*ont(, are 3uieter, focusedon death and on loss of lo+e and innocence If you want to see that nothing is left, *yi*penetrable lo+e, now that you ha+e gone, don t gi+e *e your e*ptied space) 8o) 9ine isalready tra+eling through the air

5ut these *ore introspecti+e interludes lead into an e+en harsher attac. in the sections titled=eturn to the City and 1wo Bdes) ere e+en 8ew :or. City s dawn is counterfeit) Drawing

partly on Whit*an s incantatory style and on 6liot s +isions of faceless *ultitudes in 1heWasteland, !orca curses 8ew :or. as a *oney*a.ing *achine that crushes e+erything fragileand beautiful and denies the ulti*ate truth of our *ortality What shall I do now Set thelandscapes in order Brder the lo+es that soon beco*e photographs, that soon beco*e pieces ofwood and *outhfuls of blood 8o, no I denounce it all) I denounce the conspiracy of thesedeserted offices that radiate no agony)

1wo Bdes cul*inates in another pea. of fury in Bde to Walt Whit*an) !orca contrastsWhit*an s noble ho*osexuality " lo+ely old *an, +irile beauty ( with what he percei+es as the



s3ualor of the gay scene in #%2% 5ut yes against you, urban faggots, tu*escent flesh andunclean thoughts) 9others of *ud) arpies) Sleepless ene*ies of the lo+e that bestows crownsof /oy)

Bde to Walt Whit*an and 8ew :or. "Bffice and Denunciation( for* the twin pinnacles of

i*passioned +ituperation in 4oet in 8ew :or.) 1he se3uence then draws to a close in thestately and subdued Flight Fro* 8ew :or. "1wo Walt7es 1oward Ci+ili7ation( and ends with a /oyous release, an escape to the tropics, in the poe* 5lac.s Dancing to Cuban =hyth*s)

In its orchestration of pea.s and +alleys, of introspection and of the cruelty of *odern industriallife, 4oet in 8ew :or. is stunning) 1hough it initially pro+o.ed so*e reactions of wounded

patriotis* here, the Andalusian poet actually put his finger on a lot of what ails us) is criticis*sof our rapacity, *aterialis* and blindness to deep truths - not to *ention *ore specific ills li.eracis* - ring only too true) !orca s gifts for graphic and intensely patterned language areabundantly displayed, along with his .nac. for creating a *ood and stirring associations e+en athis *ost inco*prehensibly surrealistic 1he *oon could rest in the end along the pure white

cur+e of the horses) A +iolent bea* of light that escaped fro* a wound pro/ected the instant of adead child s circu*cision on the s.y)

1his new translation of 4oet in 8ew :or. by reg Si*on and Ste+en F) White includes ahilarious series of letters !orca wrote to his fa*ily, rapturously describing 8ew :or. City andreassuring the* that he was ha+ing a great ti*e) While celebrating the city s ethnic di+ersity, healso offered occasional conde*nations of all religions but =o*an Catholicis* that would ha+esoothed the *isgi+ings of the *ost de+out Spanish *other) 4oet in 8ew :or. is sensiti+elytranslated into li+ing 6nglish and includes a useful introduction by Christopher 9aurer) 4oe* of the Deep Song is less satisfactory in its 6nglish +ersion, which - partly because of a surfeit ofdefinite articles - lac.s the tautness of the original) Still, it s good to ha+e both boo.s a+ailable)

=arely has anyone written with such duende "soul(, such fer+ent elo3uence, such +i+idness andaudacity as !orca) As 9aurice Che+alier said of 6dith 4iaf "who also had plenty of duende(1his .id has guts)

David H. Rosenthal is a poet, a jazz and literary critic and a translator of Catalan and Portuguese literature.

Analysis And Summary

Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca used powerful, dramatic imagery, mystical at times, to attractfans and readers from all over the world. However, many loverss of poetry and literature have only a

cursory familiarity with his work. Perhaps one of the most accessible ways to connect with Lorca,

especially for merican readers, is through his poem !"de #o $alt $hitman.! %t is a piece that Lorca

wrote in &ew 'ork (ity in the )*+ s. Lorca visited the $hitman-s !old stomping grounds,! but instead

of finding the e uberant and electrifying merican spirit described in !Leaves of Grass,! Lorca is



confronted with a poverty/stricken slum/world of ugliness. #he poem becomes much a philosophical

dialectic between Lorca-s bleak view of e istence in contrast to the optimism found in $hitman-s

cosmology.

Lorca recogni0es the value and talent of $hitman, naming him as !beautiful, aged, $alt $hitman...,!and Lorca honors the importance of dreams and beauty and romance. However, the world itself is

nothing of the sort. %n fact life is neither !good, nor sacred,! even if stretches of romantici0ing can

show one lover-s passion for another. For Lorca, this is a dark world, one where no resurrection

e ists for the (hrist.

"f course, the parado of great poetry is that ugliness can be transformed into a beautiful work of

art, and here, Lorca makes the argument for the agony and pain of e istence yet paints this agony

and pain in a manner that awakens the reader. #he powerful, vital language, especially when read

aloud, 1and alas even more so if read in the original Spanish2, can infiltrate one-s lungs like crisp

autumn air. %t can awaken one-s blood like a good run, a work/out, or even a breathing meditation.

#his is the power of Lorca-s poetic affect3 it can enter the body as a visceral entity, and in contrast to

its dark sub4ect matter, the physical result is a healthy one. 5ust like $hitman, Lorca is good for the

soul, because his poems are him. $hitman said !whoever so touches this book touches a man,! and

the same is true for Lorca. #hey are, in a sense, brothers. %f $hitman was the golden child, then

Lorca is the black sheep. &o better introduction e ists for merican lovers of poetry then a

conversation like this one. 6eading !"de #o $alt $hitman,! is a high art 7uarrel between two kid

brothers that both love and abhor each other.

A=1 BF 6@=B46

Federico arcia !orca - Bde to Walt Whit*an5y the 6ast =i+er and the 5ronx

boys were singing, exposing their waistswith the wheel, with oil, leather, and the ha**er)

8inety thousand *iners ta.ing sil+er fro* the roc.s

and children drawing stairs and perspecti+es)5ut none of the* could sleep,none of the* wanted to be the ri+er,none of the* lo+ed the huge lea+esor the shoreline s blue tongue)

5y the 6ast =i+er and the ueensboro



boys were battling with industryand the <ews sold to the ri+er faunthe rose of circu*cision,and o+er bridges and rooftops, the *outh of the s.y e*ptiedherds of bison dri+en by the wind)

5ut none of the* paused,none of the* wanted to be a cloud,none of the* loo.ed for fernsor the yellow wheel of a ta*bourine)

As soon as the *oon risesthe pulleys will spin to alter the s.yEa border of needles will besiege *e*oryand the coffins will bear away those who don t wor.)

8ew :or., *ire, 8ew :or., *ire and death)What angel is hidden in your chee.Whose perfect +oice will sing the truths of wheatWho, the terrible drea* of your stained ane*ones

8ot for a *o*ent, Walt Whit*an, lo+ely old *an,ha+e I failed to see your beard full of butterflies,nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the *oon,nor your thighs pure as Apollo s,nor your +oice li.e a colu*n of ash,old *an, beautiful as the *ist,you *oaned li.e a birdwith its sex pierced by a needle)6ne*y of the satyr,ene*y of the +ine,and lo+er of bodies beneath rough cloth)))

8ot for a *o*ent, +irile beauty,who a*ong *ountains of coal, billboards, and railroads,drea*ed of beco*ing a ri+er and sleeping li.e a ri+er with that co*rade who would place in your breastthe s*all ache of an ignorant leopard)

8ot for a *o*ent, Ada* of blood, 9acho,*an alone at sea, Walt Whit*an, lo+ely old *an,

because on penthouse roofs,gathered at bars,e*erging in bunches fro* the sewers,tre*bling between the legs of chauffeurs,



or spinning on dance floors wet with absinthe,the faggots, Walt Whit*an, point you out)

e s one, too 1hat s right And they landon your lu*inous chaste beard,

blonds fro* the north, blac.s fro* the sands,crowds of howls and gestures,li.e cats or li.e sna.es,the faggots, Walt Whit*an, the faggots,clouded with tears, flesh for the whip,the boot, or the teeth of the lion ta*ers)

e s one, too 1hat s right Stained fingers point to the shore of your drea*when a friend eats your applewith a slight taste of gasoline

and the sun sings in the na+elsof boys who play under bridges)

5ut you didn t loo. for scratched eyes,nor the dar.est swa*p where so*eone sub*erges children,nor fro7en sali+a,nor the cur+es slit open li.e a toad s bellythat the faggots wear in cars and on terraceswhile the *oon lashes the* on the street corners of terror)

:ou loo.ed for a na.ed body li.e a ri+er)5ull and drea* who would /oin wheel with seaweed,father of your agony, ca*ellia of your death,who would groan in the bla7e of your hidden e3uator)

5ecause it s all right if a *an doesn t loo. for his delightin to*orrow *orning s /ungle of blood)1he s.y has shores where life is a+oidedand there are bodies that shouldn t repeat the*sel+es in the dawn)

Agony, agony, drea*, fer*ent, and drea*)1his is the world, *y friend, agony, agony)5odies deco*pose beneath the city cloc.s,war passes by in tears, followed by a *illion gray rats,the rich gi+e their *istressess*all illu*inated dying things,and life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred)

9an is able, if he wishes, to guide his desirethrough a +ein of coral or a hea+enly na.ed body)



1o*orrow, lo+es will beco*e stones, and 1i*ea bree7e that drowses in the branches)

1hat s why I don t raise *y +oice, old Walt Whit*an,against the little boy who writes

the na*e of a girl on his pillow,nor against the boy who dresses as a bridein the dar.ness of the wardrobe,nor against the solitary *en in casinoswho drin. prostitution s water with re+ulsion,nor against the *en with that green loo. in their eyeswho lo+e other *en and burn their lips in silence)

5ut yes against you, urban faggots,tu*escent flesh and unclean thoughts)9others of *ud) arpies) Sleepless ene*ies

of the lo+e that bestows crowns of /oy)Always against you, who gi+e boysdrops of foul death with bitter poison)Always against you,Fairies of 8orth A*erica,4 /aros of a+ana,<otos of 9exico,Sarasas of C di7,Apios of Se+ille,Cancos of 9adrid,Floras of Alicante,Adelaidas of 4ortugal)

Faggots of the world, *urderers of do+esSla+es of wo*en) 1heir bedroo* bitches)Bpening in public s3uares li.e fe+erish fansor a*bushed in rigid he*loc. landscapes)

8o 3uarter gi+en Deathspills fro* your eyesand gathers gray flowers at the *ire s edge)

8o 3uarter gi+en Attention!et the confused, the pure,the classical, the celebrated, the supplicantsclose the doors of the bacchanal to you)

And you, lo+ely Walt Whit*an, stay asleep on the udson s ban.swith your beard toward the pole, openhanded)Soft clay or snow, your tongue calls for



co*rades to .eep watch o+er your unbodied ga7elle)

Sleep on, nothing re*ains)Dancing walls stir the prairiesand A*erica drowns itself in *achinery and la*ent)

I want the powerful air fro* the deepest nightto blow away flowers and inscriptions fro* the arch where you sleep,and a blac. child to infor* the gold-cra+ing whitesthat the .ingdo* of grain has arri+ed)

G G G

Bde to Walt Whit*an

5y the 6ast =i+er and the 5ronx

boys sang, stripped to the waist,

along with the wheels, oil, leather and ha**ers)

8inety thousand *iners wor.ing sil+er fro* roc.

and the children drawing stairways and perspecti+es)

5ut none of the* slu*bered,

none of the* wished to be ri+er,

none lo+ed the +ast lea+es,

none the blue tongue of the shore)

5y 6ast =i+er and the ueensboro

boys battled with Industry,

and <ews sold the ri+er faun

the rose of circu*cision

and the s.y poured, through bridges and rooftops,



herds of bison dri+en by the wind)

5ut none would stop,

none of the* longed to be cloud,

none searched for ferns

or the ta*bourineHs yellow circuit)

When the *oon sails out

pulleys will turn to trouble the s.yE

a boundary of needles will fence in *e*ory

and coffins will carry off those who donHt wor.)

8ew :or. of *ud,

8ew :or. of wire and death)

What angel lies hidden in your chee.

What perfect +oice will spea. the truth of wheat

Who the terrible drea* of your stained ane*ones

8ot for a single *o*ent, Walt Whit*an, lo+ely old *an,

ha+e I ceased to see your beard filled with butterflies,

nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the *oon,

nor your thighs of +irgin Apollo,

nor your +oice li.e a colu*n of ashE



ancient beautiful as the *ist,

who *oaned as a bird does

its sex pierced by a needle)

6ne*y of the satyr,

ene*y of the +ine

and lo+er of the body under rough cloth)

8ot for a single *o*ent, +irile beauty

who in *ountains of coal, billboards, railroads,drea*ed of being a ri+er and slu*bering li.e a ri+er

with that co*rade who would set in your breast

the s*all grief of an ignorant leopard)

8ot for a single *o*ent, Ada* of blood, 9ale,

*an alone on the sea, Walt Whit*an, lo+ely old *an,

because on penthouse roofs,

and gathered together in bars,

e*erging in s3uads fro* the sewers,

tre*bling between the legs of chauffeurs

or spinning on dance-floors of absinthe,

the *aricas, Walt Whit*an, point to you)

i* too eHs one And they hurl the*sel+es



at your beard lu*inous and chaste,

blonds fro* the north, blac.s fro* the sands,

*ultitudes with howls and gestures,

li.e cats and li.e sna.es,

the *aricas, Walt Whit*an, *aricas,

disordered with tears, flesh for the whip,

for the boot, or the ta*erHs bite)

i* too eHs one Stained fingers

point to the shore of your drea*,

when a friend eats your apple,

with its slight tang of petrol,

and the sun sings in the na+els

of the boys at play beneath bridges)

5ut you ne+er sought scratched eyes,

nor the dar.est swa*p where they drown the children,

nor the fro7en sali+a,

nor the cur+ed wounds li.e a toadHs belly

that *aricas bear, in cars and on terraces,

while the *oon whips the* on terrorHs street-corners)

:ou sought a na.edness li.e a ri+er)

5ull and drea* that would /oin the wheel to the seaweed,



father of your agony, ca*ellia of your death,

and *oan in the fla*es of your hidden e3uator)

For itHs right that a *an not see. his delight

in the bloody /ungle of approaching *orning)

1he s.y has shores where life is a+oided

and bodies that should not be echoed by dawn)

Agony, agony, drea*, fer*ent and drea*)

1his is the world, *y friend, agony, agony)

5odies dissol+e beneath city cloc.s,

war passes weeping with a *illion grey rats,

the rich gi+e their darlings

little bright dying things,

and life is not noble, or sacred, or good)

9an can, if he wishes, lead his desire

through a +ein of coral or a hea+enly nude)

1o*orrow lo+es will be stones and 1i*e

a bree7e that co*es slu*bering through the branches)

1hatHs why I donHt raise *y +oice, old Walt Whit*an,

against the boy who inscribes



the na*e of a girl on his pillow,

nor the lad who dresses as a bride

in the shadow of the wardrobe,

nor the solitary *en in clubs

who drin. with disgust prostitutionHs waters,

nor against the *en with the green glance

who lo+e *en and burn their lips in silence)

5ut yes, against you, city *aricas,

of tu*escent flesh and unclean thought)9others of *ud) arpies) @nsleeping ene*ies

of !o+e that bestows garlands of /oy)

Against you fore+er, you who gi+e boys

drops of foul death with bitter poison)

Against you fore+er,

Fairies of 8orth A*erica,

4 /aros of a+ana,

<otos of 9exico,

Sarasas of C di7,

Apios of Se+ille,

Cancos of 9adrid,

Floras of Alicante,

Adelaidas of 4ortugal)



9aricas of all the world, *urderers of do+es

Sla+es to wo*en) 1heir boudoir bitches)

Spread in public s3uares li.e fe+ered fans

or a*bushed in stiff landscapes of he*loc.)

8o 3uarter Death

flows fro* your eyes

and heaps grey flowers at the swa*pHs edge) 8o 3uarter !oo. out

!et the perplexed, the pure,

the classical, noted, the supplicants

close the gates of the bacchanal to you)

And you, lo+ely Walt Whit*an, sleep on the ban.s of the udson

with your beard towards the pole and your hands open)

5land clay or snow, your tongue is calling

for co*rades to guard your dise*bodied ga7elle)

Sleep nothing re*ains)

A dance of walls stirs the prairies

and A*erica drown itself in *achines and la*ent)

I long for a fierce wind that fro* deepest night

shall blow the flowers and letters fro* the +ault where you sleep



and a negro boy to tell the whites and their gold

that the .ingdo* of wheat has arri+ed)

ode to walt whitman

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