Because, right? Right? I'm sorry. I'm having one of those private moments in public, which is not a good idea. So, yeah, I'm looking, there it is. There's my timer. Are we ready? Am I ready? We are ready if you're ready. It's watched me work. I hope everybody had a good, however long it was that we were away. It's been other work done. It's watched me work. I'm SLP, the writer and resident at the public theater. We've been doing watch me work for 11 years. And I think in this COVID time, when we were, we're kind of going every day for weeks. And then we've done as many sessions as we did every week. I don't know how to say that. Anyway, we've been doing this a lot lately.  I've been having a wonderful time. So what we do is we first we thank the public theater and think how around because they have been supporting us and making this beautiful thing happen. So given love to the public theater and to howl around. And we work for 20 minutes together and then I answer your questions about your creative process and your work. So it's basically all about you. That's what we're here for. And if you have a question, Audrey will tell you how to answer it. Thanks, SLP. So if you have a question, you're inside of the zoom.  Thank you for that time. If you are watching on howl round TV, you can ask us a question by tweeting at us at at watch me work SLP with the hashtag howl round which is H O W L R O U N D, or you can tweet us at public theater and why, or you can write to the public theaters, Instagram. And those are all the ways. And yeah, we are we are holding space and keeping faith and having some fun. So here we go for 20 minutes. You can't see it's weird the sun coming in what's going on this like this light. There it is anyway. Thank you. Look like a cookie.  Those cookies. My favorite kind of cookies. I love those. They're called there's a name for those cookies. Yummy. Yes. Hi. Are you ready. Yes, ma'am. Let's do it. All right, Melania. Oh, she's gone. We'll come back if you have. Oh, she's back. All right, don't worry. Here you go. Melania, are you still. I'm here. I pressed the wrong button. Hello, Susan. There are so many buttons in this thing.  Oh, likewise. Yes, I miss you a lot. So I am so happy to be here. And I would like to share that you know that the last time we talked, I was saying, I was thinking about sharing what I am doing. I was in this mentality of all or nothing.  Very, very nice. And there was something, something that happened to me that was a surprise during the quarantine. I was in, I am in contact with the singer and the puppeteer from Argentina. This person, but we are with social media chatting and talking and I never told her that I write. Never. But there was a puppet that she has and she's looking for a name for the puppet. So I gave names and ideas, but because I love to write. So I gave ideas and she replied to me, Melania, you should write scripts.  And I said, exactly. So I said to her, yes, I love to do that. That's what I do. And before coming to this stage, I'm going to have a very short version of my situation. And she said, okay, when you have time, if you want to share some ideas, I am interested. And this is the person that I really respect and admire. Okay, thank you. Thank you, Susan. It's because of you. Thank you. It's because of you. It's all the hard work you're doing and all the joy you're bringing to it. Oh, thank you. On the back. Because of you. That means they love you. I'm so happy for you. I am very happy also. And today, another thing that happened that we talked about together here in watch me work was that you remember in my church, they have this summer camp and they asked me for intros and outros. Right. And I wrote them and today, with my triggers, we were watching the summer camp virtual summer camp and they look at me because they knew what I was doing. And they said, mommy, those people are saying things that you wrote. And in that moment, the blessing was like, everything came together. My daughter, my writing, a moment of such joy. And I was in the middle of that thinking God and saying, thank God for Susan Lori Park and all the watch me work. Because without this group, without you. We don't work with them and send them and start joy. You know, it wasn't possible for me alone. And this community and you are everything. Well, so are you. Thank you. We're going to take that. Thank you so much. And like I say every day time, it's a circle, you know what I mean?  But always you've been so generous with what you're working on and all that and it's coming back to you. And that's, that's how it works. And I'm so glad to hear that. Thank you. I know it's magic. Really. All right. Up next, we've got Kendall. Hi, how are you? Happy Monday. Happy Monday. Um, okay, hang on. So this is, It's a question that makes sense in my head. I've been working on a series and a writing mentor I have has been telling me to gain a better sense of intent and focus with what I want to write that I need to just not get ahead of myself and not get ahead of myself. And just literally start outlining the first scene. And there's my problem. I'm not good at outlining because I'll write two sentences of an outline, but then I'll start writing the whole script and I'll lose my mind. And I know if I'm, if I'm right, you, you're a fan of outlining. That's what I've heard. That's great. Um, so how do you, do you have the problem where maybe you're writing something new and you start to outline and then you get way ahead of yourself. Or if you don't get ahead of yourself, how do you keep not getting ahead of yourself. Please help me. I'm dying over here. I think it's a great question, Kendall and we've all been there before. And some of you might have heard some ideas I'm going to say, but I'm going to repeat them. Have you tried Kendall have you tried outlining on three by five index cards. No, and I know in the, I know you love index cards. I have a thing for office supplies. Yeah. Kendall, I mean, the great thing about it. I'm guessing that for so far you've been outlining on by on the computer on the computer or I'll use all you I'll try to use like a notebook to try to get. Yeah, I'm like old fashioned. I like to do notebooks and then transfer what I think is juicy enough to a computer. Okay, great. So you're going to, you're going to use an index card and make sure it's a three by five index cards so you don't want an index card you know one of those big honkers, you know I'm saying. Sure. All little genius. Okay, I would suggest white with no lines. Okay, right. Just because it's kind of plain, you know you're not going to get distracted. It's going to be plain. It's going to hopefully calm you down. Lack of line won't feel like a straight jacket. So all these things are like, you know, we just want to get you into like, like you're looking into my soul right now just telling me what's there. That's my, that's my joyous job. Oh my God. Your soul is my soul, Kendall.   So you're going to get yourself some three by five index cards. Okay, to with no lines, if you can, you're going to, you, I'm glad you like handwriting. And you're going to just do scene by scene on the index card and the great thing is is that on an index card you can't go on and on and on and on and on right you can just just meet at the scene like this is a scene where such and such and this is not happens. And it, then the next thing I see in my mind because it's a screen, it's a teleplay right it's a series right the next thing I seen I see is this and this and this, and you just are writing these kind of snapshots down on the scenes on the on the index cards. Right. Yeah. Okay, so that will help you. That will help you not rain in or control your creative urge to write a lot. That'll help you. Let's think of it as you're keeping the lid on the pot, because you want to generate a really good boil. Right. So we're not saying control yourself or hold back or anything like that. I'm just saying, or it's like, let's say dating. It's more fun cooking.  That's how I met my husband. So it's cool. You meet him online.  Tell him all your stories and give him your thing thing and all that. But you know, it's much better if you kind of wait. Right. You're right. Right out. You're right. Little bit at a time. Okay, so you got your index cards. You're going to write one scene on an index card. Okay. Okay.  Perfect. It's going to help you become a better writer. Okay. All right. Thank you so much. It's fun. This is so good. Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thanks. Oh, all right. Next we've got Charles. Hey guys. Yes, thank you. Good. Good. I've been coming to class without my video because I was taking my tanning outside. And I didn't want you guys to see me tanning. So that's why we really are you serious? Yeah, I was writing outside like enjoying the sun in California and but you know, I don't want you guys to see me without my outfit from the top. So I was like, thank you. Thank you.  It's not like the war or something. Yes, exactly, exactly. Actually, I have today I'm going to ask a different question but I'm going to go back that project because so my friend. He offered me he's African American and he offered me. The story of Anansi, the folklore story from Anansi. And my question is, do you think I, what's your, what's your point on on characters folklore characters do we need the right for them. Do we need to take the rights or not. It's tricky Anansi the spider right is that exactly. Yeah, I my feeling is that with respect and grace. Folklore characters are, you know, like, I'm not a lawyer but I my guest would be folklore characters in the public domain. Okay, and their old tales and so you handle them with respect and grace it's like, it's like a beautiful thing that you're you know great great great great. Yeah, he's dealing with the old culture because he's African American like I'm like, dude, I will help with the you know writing and about you take care of all this. Oh, great. Okay, I think, I think it's, I think it's public domain that's what I think but I think a lawyer would have a. Thank you so much professional opinion. Thank you Susan and I'll get you another question this week so be ready for me. Thank you, thank you, right. It's so important. Next we've got Nick. Hi. Wow, this is happening. Long time watcher first time participating. Yeah, so I have, I do a lot of hip hop theater work, and I have a play I've been working on for years, I've gotten to do like a nice little run of it. I've gotten to do an updated draft I feel really good about where it's at. Of course the one problem I have is I cannot get a good synopsis down like actually two sentence, three sentence kind of thing that gets the gist of the play out there. And I'm a little lost on that. Okay, so how do so how do we write how do you write a good synopsis. Okay. So, right so I mean, I'm sure you're an improv. I'm sure you've tried 100 different ways to do it.  Right. You've actually gotten in an elevator you have an elevator in your building I'm guessing you're in New York where are you man. I'm in Brooklyn.  Great, what floor you on. Third. Great. Can you walk up the stairs. Great. I mean you have you have the ability. Great. So go downstairs. And tell yourself the story. It's not an elevator pitch because you don't have no elevator and I don't want you to go to an elevator with COVID and risk your life.  If you also you get your cardio which is doubly good. Right. So go upstairs with a friend or by yourself and talk to yourself out loud. Okay, so this is what my plays about. There's this guy, there's this woman there's this jackalope, and they're watching that. Right. Try it. Try it get your body do you have you involved your body in the in the writing of this synopsis. No, not yet, but there you go.  So in walking up the stairs, you're actually doing.  You're also actually using your legs, not just sitting at your desk going. Hmm, right.  You know what I mean? So it's an actual thing.  But right now we're going to have you walk up the stairs and talk out loud telling your synopsis you want three sentences right. Yeah. This is it.  You can just do gobbledygook. Like when Paul McCartney wrote yesterday, he was saying scrambled eggs. You know that like when children learn to talk, they just go. So you're just going to go gobbledygook what you want to say, and then you can and in the end. That's your synopsis. You're going to find the right words. Okay, it's fun. And if it doesn't work, you at least get your steps in. Yeah, that's, thank you. Thanks, Nick.  I have a I play the I play, I play the violin. Right. So my violin teacher says, when you're worried about getting the right notes, instead of concentrating on the finger in hand, concentrate on the bowing hand. Right. And the right notes are just there. Right. So it's just trying to activate different parts of your brain. So we'll see and report back to us. We want to see if that works. All right, up next you've got Larry. The roar bori Alice. Yes. How's the directing going. Slow distant. Thank you. I am trucking along. So things are good. I have a character who you know those people who you just can't argue with their they use words and they're so eloquent, you just cannot keep up. And what I want to work with a character like that. But of course that means that that person has to use words better than me. I'm trying to write a character who's kind of a better writer than I am. And I particularly because you're trying to make all of your characters speak in an interesting way to then take to already struggle for that and then have a character who's supposed to sort of stand above that. So I'm finding myself. A little stuck on like how to get myself to be a better writer visit. There's that. There's a line in this Mac Wellman play where he's talks about she how Shakespeare is used as a cudgel to beat down our contemporaries. And so I just, I'm thinking a lot about, you know, how do you how do you transcend the writer you are to write better than you know how to write. And I'm not like blocked like I'm writing but it's just not elevated enough and I'm wondering how you ever have had that experience of needing to like kick it up. Right. That's interesting. Let's see. One of the answers is I, I pretty much probably never write better than I can, on any given day, you know I'm saying, and I, and that's okay. There are, if you have a character who is say more eloquent than you are. Right. It sounds like this character is more, maybe cooler than you maybe, you know, in any way different from you. Right. You've got to write for them and and it might not be directly from your own personal day to day experience. It might be from another place. You have to access that other place. It's funny, and I love Mack Welman the person and I love Mack Welman's work also he's an awesome guy and I've known him for a long time I love that line of his. That is one way of using Shakespeare. Another way of using Shakespeare is as a great inspirer. So a hammer can be hit over the head, something to hit yourself up the head with with a hammer you can also make a house. It's your choice, your choice, Larry, you know what I'm saying every day we have a choice. Right. And so you can use your wonderful idea for this awesome character as a vehicle to write in a certain way that perhaps you don't ordinarily right. Yeah, so you can have fun with it.  He just has to talk more eloquently, which means maybe he has dictionary talk. Well it's funny you just you just reminded me of what you said to the person asked the last question I'm sorry for your name. You. The character could essentially speak gibberish, because all that really needs to happen is that other character needs to feel a smarter. So you're sort of right that it sort of doesn't matter what he says it's about the effect he has on the other. No, you're right, Larry, because you just said that you just you just untangled it. There you go man. Now you're right there you go.   Yeah, that's great. Yeah, it sounds like fun. Cool. No problem. Hold on everyone. Thanks Larry. All right, up next we've got Simone. Oh, okay. Oh, hi. Hey Simone. Are you are you there now. Yeah, I'm here I'm here sorry. Yeah, so, yeah, thank you very much for all this and great questions today too. Wow, well every day inspiring. Anyway, so my question to use. I'm collaborating with a friend of mine, who has just finished the first draft of her play, and she read it to me a few days ago, and so now she wants to take it and she wants to read it to some trusted readers. I was just wondering, what sort of questions, would she present to her trusted readers for feedback, like, rather just read it to people and you know they're going to come all from all over the place. What sort of questions, or how does she create the questions that she wants to get some answers towards the response of her play. More so than like, did you like it. Right. Yes. Right. Yes. Well, I mean, it might depend on good questions Simone it might depend on what she's concerned with like, and if she can, if she's concerned with the story being intelligible like, did you understand the story. You know, yeah it was a great story. It was a really great yeah. And did you and did the did you understand what the characters wanted and the characters motivations. You know, yes, anything bump you like speed bump, you know all of a sudden right something did anything kind of. I don't get that anything on character plot setting language dialogue anything. And for me, I felt that there was some scenes where there's too many characters that were just sort of like filling space up. That was one thing. Okay, and so there is that you know they were unnecessary in the telling of the story. And then I felt that there was some scenes that she was in a relationship like her characters development that she was really afraid to go too deep into it. So I could feel her holding back in the writing. So a question for her, or you know might be. Is there a way that you could go further with this character's relationship. And is there a way that you could make all the characters in this scene really meaningful to the story. You know what I mean. You see what I'm saying so it becomes a question that she can answer. Do you see what I'm saying. Does that make sense. It does. It does. I guess. My question was more like these are things I can go to her about, but if she's going to read it to other people. What is she, yeah, what is she looking for from them like right so we go back to what I was saying initially. She the writer would ask her audience. Is there anything that about the story they don't understand. Okay, you see what I mean those are all quick. Is there anything that bumps you that when you read it you didn't get. Do you understand my character's motivations. Do you understand what's happening in each scene. Is there any scene that I could do without. Is there any scene that is missing in the character development. You know, things like that just just basic just to generate a conversation those kinds of things. Okay, you know, okay that's great that makes sense okay. Yeah, good. Thank you. Thank you so much. All right, we actually don't have any questions at the moment about 10 minutes left. Oh, I lied. I lied so hard I'm so sorry. And I got the sun coming. Marta you're up next. Are you there. Hi. So my question is, and I hope this makes sense I don't even know if it does but like, what we, how do you let go of ideas that you've had but that eventually someone else executes, because I like a few months ago I was a little scarred by an experience where, like this idea I had, like a few years ago, and kind of forgot well started working on but then, you know, put aside, like, literally, like somebody else did exactly that to the point that I do believe, almost in like ideas having some, you know, consciousness or something and it was like what are you doing, I'm going to go to somebody who's more like on the case. And like, I think that's fine, because like, I think I'm sure, like, so many other people like I have more ideas than time to you know like ideas. Yeah, and I tried to do what you said of like a notebook where I write them down or, you know, different places where I write them and go back to the thing I'm trying to finish and all that but I'm trying to let go, because like I don't think I need to do all of them. But yeah, but like I'm scared all the time about, yeah, things that I that I'm like waiting to do next year or whatever. Yeah, that that will happen again and I don't want to think like that because like it doesn't feel generous. You should know what I mean but yeah. I know, I feel I think I think it's, it's, it's painful to have an idea, and then to kind of read online or whatever that somebody else has kind of been, you know, written it already been there done that. This, I'm guessing that this was not a person you know. No. Okay, great. So we're not in the lawsuit. No, and, and a lot of, yeah. A lot of these are things that like it's not a coincidence, it was something like they're things that other people might come up with like they're not about something that happened to me or super personal. Yeah. Yeah. So, so, so while it is painful. And you could use it as an opportunity to kick yourself, you know, down, right. You dummy it didn't get to it fast enough see what happens when you don't do it, you know, but up but up but you know we know that record, we run that in our head.  We can do that. Again, we can use a glare Shakespeare as a cudgel to beat ourselves with we can use what happens in were in the world. This person did not steal from you, but we could still use it as a way to make ourselves feel shitty or anxious. Or, or you can take the middle path, and you can say, okay ideas, like you said ideas float around. Mine come to me at the right time, and I manifest them when I have the time to work on them. And if you work, do your work every day, then the work you're going to be doing will be in sync with, you know, the bigger picture. You know what I mean. And you can let it you can just let the other stuff go, and be happy that it came to visit, you know, you, and know, and be happy for it that it got a life.  So whatever you're working on right now, work on it. Do you know what I mean, and know that it's a wonderful thing and it's going to be great when you get it finished you know. Okay. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But yeah, but we're all you know in this sort of atmosphere and ideas are whizzing around and, and it's okay. There are so many great wonderful things to write about or sing about or paint about or anything like that you know, and many people.  And that doesn't mean that there's only one time to do it if you still want to do it you can also carry that idea through you know. Okay, so just use it as fuel, fuel. Okay. Yeah, thank you. Smart. We've got about five minutes left and we're going to go to Greg. Oh, hey, Greg. Hi. Hey everybody. I love you guys I haven't been here in a while and it's so nice to hear all your questions you're also brilliant. You kind of answered it actually in the last question but it's a I'll ask it anyway because I think you might have something interesting. I'm in flow right now like like I'm loving it I want to write I'm heading to my desk I'm like oh I got this you know and it's really really great. But for like a year. I have not been in flow. And I've been showing up. But I realize now that I'm in this space. That it wasn't about the showing up it was about that I had a wrong view about what I was doing. And it was confusing me. And so it was an insight into my view that actually shifted my process rather than showing up and now that I saw how like I see how close I've been to like flow. You know, all that whole year, and I was just obscured by my own unwillingness to acknowledge something. And so I'm wondering if you have any like practice that are if anyone has any practice that they do. That's more about like shifting perspective if you feel like you're stuck but you don't really know why, because now that I see what I was thinking incorrectly. It's just like the gates have burst open but somebody had to point it out to me, you know. Mm hmm. Mm hmm. Yeah, it does make sense and I. I mean I've come to the point in my career where I think it's all flow. It's nice. Yeah. It's not all easy though, Greg. If I can believe that it's all flow, just, I'm always on the river in the river. Sometimes it's difficult. Sometimes it's easier, but I'm always in the river.  And then what are you supposed to do after that walk around and go I'm a three day writer.  The spirit goes, huh, right, right. And then the next play takes a year and a half to figure out. And then you go Oh no, I must be on the wrong track. Guess what, no, you're just on the track. Okay, see, so you've been in flow all the time all this time you've been in flow it's like that that that thing that people say you know God where were you in my time of trouble.  You know, we're in flow, even when it's difficult, and that faith that you bring to your, your, your writing desk when you show up or your, your easel when you paint or your dance studio when you dance that faith that I am in flow. You know, all the time. The spirit is always talking to you. Always. You know, and you just have to get maybe to get to another level you know sometimes I realize that whoa I just had to like get to another level of skill of craft. You know, that's great thank you that's it's really.   Well I guess that's why I'm going crazy is because I, I'm now that I'm there I'm I have seen that it's like Oh, I was working it out but it just felt so awful you know like.  Yeah. And I think something I like about this group is there's a lot of bravery and showing up when you have those bad periods are not bad periods but painful periods. And people here show up like rain or shine and I love that. Me too. I do too. You always say it's not about you but I'm just so curious how long to take you to write father.   I love that play. Greg. Well, it's got three seconds until six p.m. so six p.m. it's time. We were waiting. Yes. Yeah. Amazing. Welcome back. It's fun. This is so much fun. Yes. And we'll see you tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you. And as a reminder, please sign up by three p.m. Eastern on the public theater website or how round. And I'll send you a link between three and 430 p.m. Eastern. Thank you Audrey. Thank you SLP. We love you.


Book 32 of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman This Liberfox recording is in the public domain Recording by phone Book 32 from noon to starry night Thou orb aloft full dazzling Thou orb aloft full dazzling Thou hot October noon Flooding with sheen-y light the grey beach sand Disibilant near sea with vistas far and foam And tawny streaks and shades and spreading blue O son of noon refulgent, my special word to thee Hear me illustrious, thy lover me, for always I have loved thee Even as basking babe, then happy boy, alone by some wood edge Thy touching distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old As now to thee I launch my invocation Thou canst not, with thy dumbness, me deceive I know before the fitting man all nature yields Thou answering not in words, the skies, trees, hear his voice And thou, O son, as for thy throes, thy perturbations Sudden breaks and shafts of flame gigantic I understand them, I know those flames, those perturbations well Thou that with fructifying heat and light, or myriad farms, or lands and waters, north and south Or Mississippi's endless cores, or Texas grassy plains, Canada's woods Or all the globe that turns its face to thee, shining in space Thou that impartially enfoldest all, not only continents, seas Thou that to grapes and weeds and little wild flowers, give us so liberally Shed, shed thyself on mine and me, with but a fleeting ray out of thy million millions Strike through these chants Nor only launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these Prepare the later afternoon of me myself Prepare my lengthening shadows Prepare my starry nights Faces One Sauntering the pavement, or riding the country by-road, faces Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality The spiritual prescient face, the always-welcome, common, benevolent face The face of the singing of music, the grand faces of natural lawyers and judges Broad at the back-top The faces of hunters and fishers bulged at the brows The shaved, blanched faces of orthodox citizens The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's face The ugly face of some beautiful soul The handsome, detested, or despised face The sacred faces of infants The illuminated face of the mother of many children The face of an amour, the face of veneration The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face A wild hawk, his wings clipped by the clipper A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the gilder Sauntering the pavement thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry Faces and faces and faces I see them, and complain not, and am content with all Too Do you suppose I could be content with all if I thought them their own finale?  Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march? Well, you cannot trick me I see your rounded, never erased flow I see neath the rims of your haggard and mean disguises Splay and twist as you like, poke with the tangling foes of fishes or rats You'll be unmuzzled, you certainly will I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum And I knew for my consolation what they knew not I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother The same weight declared a rubbish from the fallen tenement And I shall look again in a score or two of ages And I shall meet the real landlord perfect and unharmed every inch as good as myself 4. The Lord advances and yet advances Always the shadow in front, always the reached hand bringing up the laggards Out of this face emerge banners and horses Oh superb, I see what is coming I see the high pioneer caps, see staves of runners clearing the way I hear victorious drums This face is a lifeboat, this is the face commanding and bearded It asks no aunts of the rest This face is a flavored fruit ready for eating This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake They show their descent from the master himself Off the word I have spoken, I accept not one Red, white, black, are all deific In each house is the oven, it comes forth after a thousand years Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me Tall and sufficient stand behind and make signs to me I read to promise and patiently wait This is a full-grown lily's face She speaks to the limber-hipped man near the garden pickets Come here, she blushingly cries Come nigh to me, limber-hipped man Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you Fill me with albacent honey, bent down to me Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my breast and shoulders Five The old face of the mother of many children Wist, I am fully content Lulled and late is the smoke of the first day morning It hangs low over the rows of trees by defences It hangs thin by the sassafras and wild cherry and catbrier under them I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree I heard what the singers were singing so long Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water blue Behold a woman, she looks out from her quaker cap Her face is clearer and more beautiful than the sky She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the farmhouse The sun just shines on her old white head Her ample gown is of a cream-yewed linen Her grandsons raise the flax and her granddaughter spun it with a distiff and a wheel The melodious character of the earth The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does not wish to go The justified mother of men The mystic trumpeter One Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician Hovering unseen in air vibrates capricious tunes tonight I hear thee, trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost Two Come nearer, bodiless one, happily in thee resounds some dead composer Happily thy pensive life was filled with aspirations high, Unformed ideals, waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, peeling Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine That I may thee translate 3 Blow, trumpeter, free and clear, I follow thee While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene, the fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdrawal A holy calm descends like dew upon me I walk in cool refreshing night, the walks of paradise I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses Thy song expands my numbed, imbonded spirit, thou freest, launchest me Floating and basking upon heaven's lake 4 Blow again, trumpeter, and for my sensuous eyes Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world What charm thy music works, thou makest pause before me Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls, the troubadours are singing Armed knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the holy grail I see the tournament, I see the contestants encased in heavy armor Seated on stately-champing horses I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel I see the crusaders, tumultuous armies, heart, how the cymbals clang Low, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high 5 Blow again, trumpeter, and for thy theme Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting Love that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang The heart of man and woman, all for love No other theme but love, knitting and closing, all diffusing love Oh, how the immortal phantoms crowd around me I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that heat the world The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark and nigh to death Love that is all the earth to lovers Love that mocks time and space Love that is day and night Love that is sun and moon and stars Love that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume No other words but words of love No other thought but love 6 Blow again, trumpeter, conjure war's allerums Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum, like distant thunder rolls Blow, where the armed men hasten Blow, mid the clouds of dust, the glint of bayonets I see the grind-faced canoneers, I mark the rosy flush amid the smoke I hear the cracking of the guns Nor war alone, thy fearful music song, wild player, brings every sight of fear The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder I hear the cries for help I see ships, foundering at sea I behold on deck and below deck the terrible tableaux 7 Oh trumpeter, me thinks I am myself, the instrument thou playest Thou meltest my heart, my brain Thou movest, drawest, changes them at will And now, thy sullen notes, sent darkness through me Thou takest away, all-charing light, all hope I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the oppressed of the whole earth I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race It becomes all mine Mine too, the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds and hatreds But her defeat upon me weighs, all lost, defo-victorious Yet, mid the ruins, pride colossal, stands unshaken to the last Endurance resolution to the last 8 Now trumpeter, for thy clothes, vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future Give me for once its prophecy and joy Oh glad, exulting, culminating song A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes Marches of victory, man disenthroned, the conqueror at last Hymns to the universal God from universal man, all joy A reborn race appears, a perfect world, all joy Women and men in wisdom, innocence, and health, all joy Riotous laughing bacchanals, filled with joy War, sorrow, suffering gone The rank earth purged, nothing but joy left The ocean filled with joy, the atmosphere, all joy Joy, joy, in freedom, worship, love, joy in the ecstasy of life Enough to merely be, enough to breathe Joy, joy, all over, joy, to a locomotive in winter Thee, for my recitative, thee, in the driving storm, even as now, the snow, the winter day, declining Thee, in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive Thy black cylindric body, golden brass and silvery steel Thy ponderous sidebars, parallel and connecting rods Gyrating, shuffling at thy sides Thy metrical, now swelling pant and drawer, now tapering in the distance Thy great protruding head, light-fixed in front Thy long, pale, floating vapor penance, tinged with delicate purple The dense and murky clouds out belching from thy smokestack Thy knitted frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering Type of the modern, emblem of motion and power, pulse of the continent For once come served amuse and merge in verse, even as here I see thee With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow By day, thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes By night, thy silent signal lamps to swing Fierce throated beauty, roll through my chant with all thy lawless music Thy swinging lamps at night, thy madly whistled laughter Echoing, rumbling like an earthquake, rousing all Law of thy self-complete, by an own track firmly holding No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills returned Launched o'er the prairies wide, across the lakes To the free skies unpent and glad and strong O magnet south O magnet south, o glistening, perfumed south, my south O quick metal, rich blood, impulse and love, good and evil, oh all dear to me Oh dear to me, my birth things, all moving things and the trees where I was born The grains, plants, rivers Dear to me, my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow Distant, over flats of slivery sands or through swamps Dear to me, the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Otamaha, the Padí, the Tombeji, the Santee, the Cusa and the Saline O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my soul to haunt their banks again Again in Florida I float on transparent lakes I float on the Okeechobee, I cross the hummock land Or through pleasant openings or dense forests I see the parrots in the woods I see the papal tree and the blossoming titi Again sailing in my coaster on deck I coast off Georgia, I coast up to Carolinas I see where the live oak is growing I see where the yellow pine, the scented bay tree, the lemon and orange, the cypress, the graceful palmetto I pause rude sea headlands and enter pemlico sound through an inlet And dart my vision inland Oh, the cotton plant, the growing fields of rice, sugar, hemp The cactus guarded with thorns, the laurel tree with large white flowers The range afar, the richness and barrenness The old woods charged with mistletoe and trailing moss The piney odour and the gloom, the awful natural stillness Here in these dense swamps the freebooter carries his gun And the fugitive has his concealed hut Oh, the strange fascination of these half-known, half-impossible swamps Infested by reptiles resounding with the bellow of the alligator The sad noises of the night owl and the wildcat and the whir of the rattlesnake The muckingbird, the American mimic, singing all the forenoon, singing through the moonlit night The hummingbird, the wild turkey, the raccoon, the opossum A Kentucky cornfield, the tall, graceful, long-leaved corn Slender, flapping, bright green with tassels but beautiful ears each well sheathed in his husk Oh, my heart, oh, tender and fierce pangs, I can stand them not, I will depart Oh, to be a Virginian where I grew up, oh, to be a Carolinian Oh, longing's irrepressible, oh, I will go back to old Tennessee and never wander more Manahata I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city Whereupon low up sprang the aboriginal name Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient I see that the word of my city is that word from of old Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, rich, hemmed, thick, all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, towards sundown, the flowing sea currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, the countless masts, the white shore steamers, the lighters, the ferry boats, the black sea steamers, well-modeled, the downtown streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses of business of the ship merchants and money brokers, the river streets, immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, the carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the brown-faced sailors, the summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft, the winter snows, the sleigh bells, the broken ice in the river, passing along up or down with the flood tide or ebb tide, the mechanics of the city, the masters well-formed, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, trotters thronged, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows, a million people, manners free and superb, open voices, hospitality, the most courageous and friendly young men, city of hurried and sparkling waters, city of spires and masts, city nested in bays, my city, all is truth. Oh me, man of slack faith, so long, standing aloof, denying portions, so long, only aware today of compact, all-diffused truth, discovering today there is no lie or form of lie, and can be none, but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon itself, or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth does. This is curious and may not be realized immediately, but it must be realized. I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest, and that the universe does. Where has failed a perfect return indifferent of lies or the truth? Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire, or in the spirit of man, or in the meat and blood? Meditating among liars and retreating sternly into myself, I see that there are really no liars or lies after all, and that nothing fails its perfect return, and that what are called lies are perfect returns, and that each thing exactly represents itself and what has preceded it, and that the truth includes all, and is compact just as much as space is compact, and that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth, but that all is truth without exception, and henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am, and sing and laugh and deny nothing. A riddle song. That which eludes this verse and any verse, unheard by sharpest ear, unformed in clearest eye or cunningest mind, nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth, and yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly, which you and I and all pursuing ever miss, open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion, costless, vouchsafe to each, yet never man the owner, which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in progs, which sculptor never chiseled yet, nor painter painted, which vocalist never sung, nor orator, nor actor ever uttered, invoking here and now a challenge for my song. Indifferently, mid-public, private haunts, in solitude, behind the mountain and the wood, companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage, it and its radiations constantly glide, in looks of fair and conscious babes, or strangely in the coffined den, or show of breaking dawn or stars by night, as some dissolving delicate film of dreams, hiding yet lingering, two little breaths of words comprising it, two words yet all from first to last comprised in it, how ardently for it, how many ships have sailed and sunk for it, how many travellers started from their homes and never returned, how much of genius boldly staked and lost for it, what countless stores of beauty, love ventured for it, how all superbous deeds since time began are traceable to it, and shall be to the end, how all heroic martyrdoms to it, how justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth, how the bright, fascinating, lambant flames of it, in every age and land, have drawn men's eyes, rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands and the cliffs, or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable. Hattly gods riddle it, so vague and yet so certain, the soul for it, and all the visible universe for it, and heaven at last for it. Excelsior, who has gone farthest, for I would go farther, and who has been just, for I would be the most just person of the earth, and who most cautious, for I would be more cautious, and who has been happiest? Oh, I think it is I, I think no one was ever happier than I, and who has lavished all, for I lavish constantly the best I have, and who proudest, for I think I have reason to be the proudest son alive, for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topped city, and who has been bold and true, for I would be the boldest and truest being of the universe, and who benevolent, for I would show more benevolence than all the rest, and who has received the love of the most friends, for I know what it is to receive the passionate love of many friends, and who possesses a perfect and enamoured body, for I do not believe anyone possesses a more perfect or enamoured body than mine, and who thinks the amplest thoughts, for I would surround those thoughts, and who has made hymns fit for the earth, for I am mad with devouring ecstasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth, ah, poverty's wincings and sulky retreats, ah, poverty's wincings and sulky retreats, ah, you foes that in conflict have overcome me, for what is my life or any man's life but a conflict with foes, the old, the incessant war, you degradations, you tussle with passions and appetites, you smarts from dissatisfied friendships, ah, wounds the sharpest of all, you toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, you shallow tongue-talks at tables, my tongue, the shallowest of any, you broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smothered ennuis, ah, think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, it shall yet march forth or mastering till all lies beneath me, it shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory, thoughts of public opinion, of a calm and cool fear sooner or later, how impassive, how certain and final, of the president with pale face asking secretly to himself, what will the people say at last, of the frivolous judge, of the corrupt congressman, governor, mayor, of such as these standing helpless and exposed, of the mumbling and screaming priest, soon, soon deserted, of the lessening year by year of venerableness, and of the dicta of officers, statutes, pulpits, schools, of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader of the intuitions of men and women, and of self-esteem and personality, of the true new world, of the democracies resplendent and mass, of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them, of the shining sun by them, of the inherent light greater than the rest, of the envelopment of all by them, and the effusion of all from them, mediums, they shall arise in the states, they shall report nature, laws, physiology, and happiness, they shall illustrate democracy and cosmos, they shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive, they shall be complete women and men, their pose brawny and supple, their drink water, their blood clean and clear, they shall fully enjoy materialism and the sight of products, they shall enjoy the sight of the beef, lumber, breadstuffs, of Chicago the great city, they shall train themselves to go in public to become orators and oratresses, strong and sweet shall their tongues be, poems and materials of poems shall come from their lives, they shall be makers and finders, of them and of their works shall emerge divine conveyors to convey gospels, characters, events, retrospections shall be conveyed in gospels, trees, animals, waters shall be conveyed, death, the future, the invisible faith shall all be conveyed, weave in my hardy life, weave in, weave in my hardy life, weave yet a soldier strong and full for a great campaigns to come, weave in red blood, weave sinews in like ropes, the senses, sight, weave in, weave lasting sure, weave day and night, the wet, the warp, incessant weave, tire not, we know not what to use, o life, nor know the aim, the end, nor really ought we know, but know the work, the need goes on and shall go on, the death enveloped march of peace, as well as war goes on, for great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave, we know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave, Spain 1873 to 74, out of the murk of heaviest clouds, out of the feudal wrecks and heaped up skeletons of kings, out of that old entire European debris, the shattered memories, ruined cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests, low freedoms features, fresh undimmed, look forth, the same immortal face looks forth, glimpse as of thy mother's face, Columbia, a flash significant as of a sword beaming towards thee, nor think we forget thee, maternal, lag'd thou so long, shall the clouds close again upon thee? Ah, but thou hast thyself now appeared to us, we know thee, thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself, thou waitest there as everywhere thy time, by broad Potomac shore, by broad Potomac shore, again old tongue, still uttering, still ejaculating, can't never seize this babble, again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush spring returning, again the freshness and the odours, again Virginia's summer sky, pollucid blue and silver, again the forenoon purple of the hills, again the deathless grass so noiseless, soft and green, again the blood-red roses blooming, perfume this book of mine, O blood-red roses, lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac, give me of you, O spring, before I close, to put between its pages, O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close of you, O deathless grass of you, from far Dakota's canyons, June 25, 1876, from far Dakota's canyons, lands of the wild ravine, the dusky sea, the lonesome stretch, the silence, happily today a mournful wail, happily a trumpet note for heroes, the battle bulletin, the indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment, the cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism, in the midst of their little circle with their slaughtered horses for breastworks, the fall of Custer and all his officers and men, continues yet the old, old legend of our race, the loftiest of life upheld by death, the ancient banner perfectly maintained, O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee, a sitting in dark days, lone, sulky, through the time's thick merc, looking in vain for light, for hope, from unsuspected parts of fears and momentary proof, the sun there at the center, though concealed, electric life, forever at the center, breaks forth a lightning flash, thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle, I air while soul with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a bright sword in thy hand, now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds, I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet, desperate and glorious, I in defeat most desperate, most glorious, after thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color, leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers, thou yieldest up thyself, old war dreams, in midnight's sleep of many a face of anguish, of the look at first of the mortally wounded, of that indescribable look, of the dent on their backs with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream, of scenes of nature, fields and mountains, of skies so beautyous after a storm, and at night the moon so unearthly bright, shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps, I dream, I dream, I dream. Long have they passed, faces and trenches and fields, where through the carnage I moved with the callous composure, or away from the fallen, onward I sped at the time, but now of their forms at night, I dream, I dream, I dream, thick sprinkled bunting, thick sprinkled bunting, flag of stars, long yet your road faithful flag, long yet your road and lined with bloody death, for the prize I see at issue at last is the world, all its ships and shores I see interwoven with your threads greedy banner, dreamed again the flags of kings, highest born to flaunt unrivaled. O hasten flag of man, O with sure and steady step, passing highest flags of kings, walk supreme to the heavens mighty symbol, run up above them all, flag of stars, thick sprinkled bunting, what best I see in thee, to USG return from his world's tour. What best I see in thee, is not that where thou moved down history's great highways, ever undimmed by time shoots war like victory's dazzle, or that thou sat'st where Washington sat, ruling the land in peace, or thou the man whom feudal Europe feated, venerable Asia swarmed upon, who walked with kings with even pace, the round world's promenade, but that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings, those prairie sorens of the west, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Ohio's, Indiana's millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front, invisibly with thee walking with kings, with even pace, the round world's promenade, were also justified, spirit that formed this scene, written in Platt Canyon, Colorado, spirit that formed this scene, these tumbled rock piles grim and red, these reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, these gorgeous, turbulent clear streams, this naked freshness, these formless wild arrays for reasons of their own, I know thee, savage spirit, we have communed together, mine too, such wild arrays for reasons of their own, was charged against my chance, they had forgotten art, to fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatess, the lyrics measured beat, the wrought-out temple's grace, column and polished arch forgot, but thou that revelest here, spirit that formed this scene, they have remembered thee, as I walk these broad majestic days, as I walk these broad majestic days of peace, for the war, the struggle of blood finished, wherein, oh terrific ideal, against vast odds ere while having gloriously won, now thou stridest on, yet perhaps in time toward denser wars, perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers, longer campaigns and crises, labours beyond all others, around me I hear that ecla of the world, politics, produce, the announcements of recognised things, of science, the approved growth of cities, and the spread of inventions, I see the ships, they will last a few years, the vast factories with their foremen and workmen, and hear the endorsement of all, and do not object to it, but I too announce solid things, science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing, like a grand procession to music of distant bugles pouring, triumphantly moving, and grander heaving in sight, they stand for realities, all is as it should be. Then my realities, what else is so real as mine? Libertad and a divine average, freedom to every slave on the face of the earth, their rapt promises and lumine of seers, the spiritual world, these centuries-lasting songs, and our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements of any, a clear midnight. This is thy hour, O soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death, and the stars. End of book 32, recording by phone. Book 33, of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. This liberal book's recording is in the public domain, recording by phone. Book 33, Songs of Parting. 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 a while, but I cannot tell wither or how long. Perhaps soon, some day or night, while I am singing, my voice will suddenly cease. Oh book, oh chance, 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 appeared. That is enough. Years of the modern. Years of the modern. Years of the unperformed. Your horizon rises. I see it parting away for more august dramas. I see not America only, not only Liberty's nation, but other nations preparing. I see tremendous entrances and exits, new combinations, the solidarity of races. I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world stage. Have the old forces, the old wars played their parts? Are the acts suitable to them closed? I see freedom, completely armed and victorious and very haughty, with law on one side and peace on the other. A stupendous trio, all issuing forth against the idea of caste. What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach? I see men marching and counter- marching by swift millions. I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken. I see the landmarks of European kings removed. I see this day the people beginning their landmarks, all others give way. Never were such sharp questions asked as this day. Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a god. Low, how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest. His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere. He colonizes the Pacific, the archipelagos, with the steamship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the wholesale engines of war. With these and the world-spreading factories, he interlinks all geography, all lands. What whispers are these, oh lands, burning ahead of you, passing under the seas? Are all nations communing? Is there going to be but one heart to the glow? Is humanity forming unmasse? For low tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim. The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war.  Such portents fill the days and nights, years prophetical.  I know not whether I sleep or wake. The performed America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me. The unperformed, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me, ashes of soldiers. Ashes of soldiers south or north, as I muse for a prospective murmuring, a chant in thought. The war resumes again to my sense your shapes, and again the advance of the armies. Noiseless as mists and vapours, from their graves in the trenches ascending, from cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, from every point of the compass out of the countless graves, in wafted clouds, in myriad's large, or squants of twos or threes, or single ones they come, and silently gather round me. Now sound no note, oh trumpeters, not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, with sabers drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs. Ah, my brave horsemen, my handsome tan-faced horsemen, what life, what joy and pride with all the perils were yours. Nor you drummers, neither at Revelli at dawn, nor the long row alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial. Nothing from you this time, oh drummers, bearing my warlike drums. But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded permanent, admitting around me comrades close and seen by the rest and voiceless, the slain, elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead soldiers. Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet, draw close, but speak not. Phantoms of countless lost, invisible to the rest henceforth become my companions. Follow me ever, desert me not while I live.  Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone, but love is not over, and what love, oh comrades, perfume from battlefields rising, up from the feet are arising. Perfume, therefore, my chant, oh love, immortal love, give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, shroud them and bomb them, cover them all over with tender pride. Perfume all, make all wholesome, make these ashes to nourish and blossom. Oh love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. Give me exhaustless, make me effountain, that I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew, for the ashes of all dead soldiers, south or north, thoughts. One of these years I sing, how they pass and have passed through convulsed pains as through parturitions, how America illustrates birth, muscular youth, the promise, the sure fulfillment, the absolute success, despite of people, illustrates evil as well as good, the vehement struggle so fierce for unity in oneself, how many hold despairingly yet to the model's departant, caste, myths, obedience, compulsion, and to infidelity, how few see the arrived models, the athletes, the western states, or see freedom or spirituality, or hold any faith in results, but I see the athletes and I see the results of the war glorious and inevitable and day again leading to other results, how the great cities appear, how the democratic masses, turbulent, willful as I love them, how the world, the contest, the wrestle of evil with good, the sounding and resounding, keep on and on, how society waits unformed and is for a while between things ended and things begun, how America is the continent of glories and of the triumph of freedom and of the democracies and of the fruits of society and of all that is begun, and how the states are complete in themselves and how all triumphs and glories are complete in themselves to lead onward, and how these of mine and of the states will in their turn be convulsed and serve other perturations and transitions, and how all people, sites, combinations, the democratic masses too serve, and how every fact and war itself with all its horrors serves, and how now or at any time each serves the exquisite transition of death, two of seeds dropping into the ground of births of the steady concentration of America, inland upward to impregnable and swarming places of what Indiana, Kentucky, Arkansas and the rest are to be, of what a few years will show there in Nebraska, Colorado, Nevada and the rest, or afar mounting the northern Pacific to Sitka or Aliaska, of what the village of America is the preparation for and of what all sites north, south, east and west are of this union welded in blood of the solemn price paid of the unnamed lost ever present in my mind of the temporary use of materials for identity's sake of the present passing departing of the growth of completer men than any yet of all sloping down there where the fresh free giver, the mother, the Mississippi flows of mighty inland cities yet unsurveyed and unsuspected of the new and good names of the modern developments of inalienable homesteads of a free and original life there of simple diet and clean and sweet blood of lightness majestic faces clear eyes and perfect physique there of immense spiritual results future years far west each side of the anaheux of these songs well understood there being made for that area of the native scorn of grossness and gain there oh it lurks in me night and day what is gain after all to savageness and freedom song at sunset splendor of ended day floating and filling me our prophetic our resuming the past inflating my throat you divine average you earth and life till the last ray gleams i sing open mouth of my soul uttering gladness eyes of my soul seeing perfection natural life of me faithfully praising things corroborating forever the triumph of things illustrious everyone illustrious what we name space sphere of unnumbered spirits illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings even the tiniest insect illustrious the attribute of speech the senses the body illustrious the passing light illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky illustrious whatever i see or hear or touch to the last good in all in the satisfaction and the plume of animals in the annual return of the seasons in the hilarity of youth in the strength and flush of manhood in the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age in the superb vistas of death wonderful to depart wonderful to be here the heart to jet the all alike and innocent blood to breathe the air how delicious to speak to walk to see something by the hand to prepare for sleep for bed to look on my rose colored flesh to be conscious of my body so satisfied so large to be this incredible god i am to have gone forth among other gods these men and women i love wonderful how i celebrate you and myself how my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around how the clouds pass silently overhead how the earth darts on and on and how the sun moon stars dart on and on how the water sports and sings surely it is alive how the trees rise and stand up with strong trunks with branches and leaves surely there is something more in each of the trees some living soul oh amazement of things even the least particle oh spirituality of things oh strained musical flowing through ages and continents now reaching me and america i take your strong cords interspersed them and cheerfully passed them forward i too carol the sun ushered or at noon or as now setting i too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the growths of the earth i too have felt the resistance call of myself as i steamed down the mississippi as i wondered over the prairies as i have lived as i have looked through my windows my eyes as i went forth in the morning as i beheld the light breaking in the east as i based on the beach of the eastern sea and again on the beach of the western sea as i roamed the streets of inland chicago whatever streets i have roamed or cities or silent woods or even amid the sights of war wherever i have been i have charged myself with contentment and triumph i sing to the last the equalities modern or old i sing the endless finales of things i say nature continues glory continues i praise with electric voice for i do not see one imperfection in the universe and i do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe oh setting sun though the time has come i still warble under you if none else does unmitigated adoration as at thy portals also death as at thy portals also death entering thy sovereign dim illimitable grounds to memories of my mother to the divine blending maternity to her buried and gone yet buried not gone not from me i see again the calm the nignant face fresh and beautiful still i sit by the form in the coffin i kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips the cheeks the closed eyes in the coffin to her the ideal woman practical spiritual of all the earth life love to me the best i grave a monumental line before i go amid these songs and set a tombstone here my legacy the businessman the acquirer vast after a serious years surveying results preparing for departure devises houses and lands to his children bequeats stocks goods funds for a school or hospital leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens souvenirs of gems and gold but i my life surveying closing with nothing to show to device from its idle years nor houses nor lands nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends yet certain remembrances of the war for you and after you and little souvenirs of camps and soldiers with my love i bind together and bequeath in this bundle of songs pensive on her dead gazing pensive on her dead gazing i heard the mother of all desperate on the torn bodies on the forms covering the battlefields gazing as the last gun ceased but the scent of the power smoke lingered as she called to her earth with mournful voice while she stopped absorb them well oh my earth she cried i charge you lose not my sons lose not an atom and you streams absorb them well taking their dear blood and you local spots and you heirs that swim above lightly impalpable and all you essences of soil and growth and you my river steps and you mountain sides and the woods where my dear children's blood trickling reddened and you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees my dead absorb or south or north my young men's bodies absorb and their precious precious blood which holding in trust for me faithfully back again give me many a year hence in unseen essence and odor of surface and grass centuries hence in blowing airs from the fields back again give me my darlings give my immortal heroes exhale me them centuries hence breathe me their breath let not an atom be lost oh years and graves oh air and soil oh my dent and aroma sweet exhale them perennial sweet death years centuries hence camps of green nor alone those camps of white old comrades of the wars when as ordered forward after a long march foot sore and weary soon as the life lessons we halt for the night some of us so fatigued carrying the gun and dapsack dropping asleep in our tracks others pitching the little tents and the fires lit up begin to sparkle outposts of pickets posted surrounding alert through the dark and a word provided for countersign careful for safety till to the coal of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the drums we rise up refreshed the night and sleep passed over and resume our journey or proceed to battle low the camps of detents of green which the days of peace keep filling and the days of war keep filling with a mystic army is it too ordered forward is it too only halting a while till night and sleep pass over now in those camps of green in their tents dotting the world in the parents children husband wives in them in the old and young sleeping under the sunlight sleeping under the moonlight content and silent there at last behold the mighty bivouac field and waiting camp of all of the core and generals all and the president over the core and generals all and of each of us oh soldiers and of each and all in the ranks we fought there without hatred we all all meet for presently oh soldiers we too camp in our place in the bivouac camps of green but we need not provide for outposts nor word for the countersign nor drummer to beat the morning drum the sobbing of the bells midnight september 19 to 20 1881 the sobbing of the bells the sudden death news everywhere the slumberers rouse the report of the people full well they know that message in the darkness full well return respond within their breasts their brains the sad reverberations the passionate toll and clang city to city joining sounding passing those heartbeats of a nation in the night as they draw to a close as they draw to a close of what underlies the precedent songs of my aims in them of the seed I have sought to plant in them of joy sweet joy through many a year in them for them for them have I lived in them my work is done of many an aspiration formed of many a dream and plan 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 to sing to compact you ye parted diverse lives to put report the mountains and rocks and streams and the winds of the north and the forests of oak and pine with you oh soul joy shipmate joy joy shipmate joy please to my soul at death I cry our life is closed our life begins the long long anchorage we leave the ship is clear at last she leaps she swiftly courses from the shore joy shipmate joy the untold want the untold want my life and land near-granted now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find portals what are those of the known but to ascend and enter the unknown and what are and what are those of life but for death these carols these carols sound to cheer my passage through the world I see for completion I dedicate to the invisible world now finale to the shore now finale to the shore now land and life finale and farewell now voyage your depart much much for thee is yet in store often enough has thou adventured or deceives cautiously cruising studying the charts duly again to port and hauser's tie returning but now obey thy cherished secret wish embrace thy friends leave all in order to port and hauser's tie no more returning depart upon thy endless cruise old sailor so long to conclude I announce what comes after me I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all I would raise my voice jockened and strong with reference to consummations when America does what was promised when through these states walk a hundred millions of superb persons when the rest part away for superb persons and contribute to them when breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America then to me and mine our due fruition I have pressed through in my own right I have sung the body and the soul more and peace have I sung and the songs of life and death and the songs of birth and shown that there are many births I have offered my style to everyone I have journeyed with confidence step while my pleasure is yet at the full I whisper so long and take the young woman's hand and the young man's hand for the last time I announce natural persons to arise I announce justice triumphant I announce uncompromising liberty and equality I announce the justification of candor and the justification of pride I announce that the identity of these states is a single identity only I announce the union more and more compact in this soluble I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth insignificant I announce adhesiveness I say it shall be limitless unloosened I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for I announce a man or woman coming perhaps you are the one so long I announce the great individual fluid as nature chased affectionate compassionate fully armed I announce a life that shall be copious vehement spiritual bold I announce an end that shall likely and joyfully meet its translation I announce myriads of youths beautiful gigantic sweet blooded I announce a race of splendid and savage old men oh thicker and faster so long oh crowding too close upon me I foresee too much it means more than I thought it appears to me I am dying hasten throat and sound you're lost salute me salute today's once more peel the old cry once more screaming electric the atmosphere using at random glancing each as I notice absorbing swiftly on but a little while alighting curious enveloped messages delivering sparkles hot seed ethereal down in the dirt dropping myself unknowing my commission obeying to question it never daring to ages and ages yet the growth of the seed leaving to troops out of the war arising they the tasks I have set promulging to women certain whispers of myself bequeathing their affection me more clearly explaining to young men my problems offering no dallyer I I the muscle of their brains trying so I pass a little time vocal visible contrary afterward a melodious echo passionately bent for death making me really undying the best of me then when no longer visible for toward that I have been incessantly preparing what is there more that I lag and pause and crouch extended with unshut mouth is there a single final farewell my songs cease I abandon them from behind the screen where I hint I advance personally solely to you camarado this is no book who touches this touches a man is it night are we here together alone it is I you hold and who holds you I spring from the pages into your arms the seas calls me forth oh how your fingers drows me your breath falls around me like do your pulse lulls the tempons of my ears I feel emerged from head to foot delicious enough enough oh deed impromptu and secret enough oh gliding present enough oh summed up past their friend whoever you are take this kiss I give it especially to you do not forget me I feel like one who has done work for the day to retire a while I received now again of my many translations from my avatars ascending while others doubtless await me an unknown sphere more real than I dreamed more direct darts awakening rays about me so long remember my words I may again return I love you I depart from materials I am as one disembodied triumphant dead end of book 33 recording by phone