Leaves of Grass: The First (1855) Edition by Walt Whitman (English) Paperback Bo

Description: Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, Malcolm Cowley Features the poem of the author. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description "I am large, I contain multitudes"A Penguin ClassicWhen Walt Whitman self-published his Leaves of Grass in July 1855, he altered the course of literary history. One of the greatest masterpieces of American literature, it redefined the rules of poetry while describing the soul of the American character.Throughout his great career, Whitman continuously revised, expanded, and republished Leaves of Grass, but many critics believe that the book that matters most is the 1855 original. Penguin Classics proudly presents that text in its original and complete form, with an introductory essay by the writer and poet Malcolm Cowley."I celebrate myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust theseries to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-datetranslations by award-winning translators. Author Biography Walt Whitman (1819-1892) was born on Long Island and educated in Brooklyn, New York. He served as a printers devil, journeyman compositor, itinerant schoolteacher, editor, and unofficial nurse to Northern and Southern soldiers.Malcolm Cowley(editor/introducer; 1898-1989) a leadiing literary figure of his time, wrote numerous books of literary criticism, essays, and poetry. Table of Contents Editors IntroductionviiLEAVES OF GRASSFacsimile Frontispiece2(1)Facsimile Title Page3(2)Whitmans Introduction5(20)Song of Myself125(62)A Song for Occupations87(11)To Think of Time98(7)The Sleepers105(11)I Sing the Body Electric116(8)Faces124(5)Song of the Answerer129(4)Europe: The 72d and 73d Years of These States133(2)A Boston Ballad135(3)There Was a Child Went Forth138(2)Who Learns My Lesson Complete140(2)Great Are the Myths142 Review "Whitman, the great poet, has meant so much to me. Whitman the one man breaking a way ahead. Whitman the one pioneer . . . Ahead of Whitman, nothing. Ahead of all poets, pioneering into the wilderness of unopened life, Whitman. Beyond him, none." —D. H. Lawrence Review Quote "Whitman, the great poet, has meant so much to me. Whitman the one man breaking a way ahead. Whitman the one pioneer . . . Ahead of Whitman, nothing. Ahead of all poets, pioneering into the wilderness of unopened life, Whitman. Beyond him, none." -D. H. Lawrence Excerpt from Book INSCRIPTIONS Ones-Self I Sing Ones-Self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse. Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action formd under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing. As I Ponderd in Silence As I ponderd in silence, Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect, Terrible in beauty, age, and power, The genius of poets of old lands, As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs, And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said, Knowst thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards? And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles, The making of perfect soldiers. Be it so, then I answerd, I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and retreat, victory deferrd and wavering, (Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the field the world, For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul, Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles, I above all promote brave soldiers. In Cabind Ships at Sea In cabind ships at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves, Or some lone bark buoyd on the dense marine, Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read, In full rapport at last. Here are our thoughts, voyagers thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said, The sky oerarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet, We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion, The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables, The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm, The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim are all here, And this is oceans poem. Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purposd I know not whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you! Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;) Speed on my book! spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear oer the boundless blue from me to every sea, This song for mariners and all their ships. To Foreign Lands I heard that you askd for something to prove this puzzle the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy, Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wanted. 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 Thee Old Cause To thee old cause! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause, Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea, Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands, After a strange sad war, great war for thee, (I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be really fought, for thee,) These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee. (A war O soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book.) Thou orb of many orbs! Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent germ! thou centre! Around the idea of thee the war revolving, With all its angry and vehement play of causes, (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,) These recitatives for thee,--my book and the war are one, Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee, As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting to itself, Around the idea of thee. Eidolons I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean eidolons. Put in thy chants said he, No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all, That of eidolons. Ever the dim beginning, Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle, Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) Eidolons! eidolons! Ever the mutable, Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering, Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing eidolons. Lo, I or you, Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown, We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, But really build eidolons. The ostent evanescent, The substance of an artists mood or savans studies long, Or warriors, martyrs, heros toils, To fashion his eidolon. Of every human life, (The units gatherd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,) The whole or large or small summd, added up, In its eidolon. The old, old urge, Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles, From science and the modern still impelld, The old, old urge, eidolons. The present now and here, Americas busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, To-days eidolons. These with the past, Of vanishd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea, Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors voyages, Joining eidolons. Densities, growth, facades, Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, Eidolons everlasting. Exalte, rapt, ecstatic, The visible but their womb of birth, Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape, The mighty earth-eidolon. All space, all time, (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,) Filld with eidolons only. The noiseless myriads, The infinite oceans where the rivers empty, The separate countless free identities, like eyesight, The true realities, eidolons. Not this the world, Nor these the universes, they the universes, Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life, Eidolons, eidolons. Beyond thy lectures learnd professor, Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics, Beyond the doctors surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, eidolons. Unfixd yet fixd, Ever shall be, ever have been and are, Sweeping the present to the infinite future, Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons. The prophet and the bard, Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet, Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them, God and eidolons. And thee my soul, Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations, Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, Thy mates, eidolons. Details ISBN0140421998 Author Malcolm Cowley Short Title LEAVES OF GRASS Series Penguin Classics Language English ISBN-10 0140421998 ISBN-13 9780140421996 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY 811.3 Subtitle The First (1855) Edition Alternative 9781556855283 Illustrations illustrations Edition 1st Edited by Malcolm Cowley Birth 1819 Death 1892 Tag pengblackclassics Residence Long Island, NY, US Imprint Penguin Classics Place of Publication London Country of Publication United Kingdom DOI 10.1604/9780140421996 UK Release Date 1981-06-25 Pages 192 Publisher Penguin Books Ltd Year 1981 Publication Date 1981-06-25 Replaces 9780670000982 Audience General NZ Release Date 1981-06-24 AU Release Date 1981-06-24 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:1083672;

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