Walt Whitman, ‘Brooklyn Parks’
Posted here (Word document above):
Walt Whitman. “BROOKLYN PARKS”
Brooklyn Daily Times, April 17, 1858
What intrigues me is Whitman’s mention of “a Park on the heights, over Montague ferry!,” whereby he refers to the neighborhood of Brooklyn Heights, from which there is a splendid view of Manhattan.
— posted by Roger W. Smith
January 2023
Brooklyn Heights; photo by Roger W. Smith
Brooklyn Heights; photo by Roger W. Smith
A friend of mine from Europe said in a message that he hoped to visit New York sometime and would love to see “Broadway Avenue.” I wrote him back with some facts.
I am attaching an explanatory Word document (above) and photos I have taken in my walks.
My photos show Broadway near Wall Street and Broadway way uptown; it goes from the southernmost to the northernmost point (218th Street) of Manhattan.
— Roger W. Smith
January 2023
photos by Roger W. Smith
Broadway and Rector Street, Financial District
Times Square
Broadway and 156th Street, Upper Manhattan
Washington Heights
Inwood
Broadway and 218th Street
Posted here as a word document are words I have looked up during the past year in my reading
— Roger W. Smith
January 2023
Why did individual soldiers matter so much to Walt Whitman? The young men whom he provided care and comfort to as a volunteer in army hospitals during the Civil War.
As persons — not just “cases”; patients needing care and. above all, attention.
They certainly did. Witness the accounts — Whitman’s own — of his regular visits to hospitals in Washington during the Civil War.
For example:
Walt Whitman to Mr. and Mrs. S. B. Haskell, Breseport, County New York, August 10, 1863
And here is an excerpt from another letter showing how much people he encountered and got to know mattered to Whitman:
Walt Whitman to Hugo Fritsch, 1863
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Allow me to talk about myself.
I am at a point in my life where I don’t need compliments — although, naturally, I appreciate and welcome them, store them up in my “bank” of pleasant remembrances.
But I don’t worry much about what people think of me.
I am introspective, often find fault with myself. I also have some knowledge of good points of my own that I might have once overlooked.
For instance: I think I appreciate this about Whitman — what I spoke of above — because I can see it in myself and my own behavior. Individuals I encounter in all sorts of situations in daily life are rarely negligible to me. They are almost all unique — all, a priori, interesting and valuable to me for having met them. This includes people met in what might be thought of as perfunctory encounters.
Whitman regarded it as a privilege to meet young soldiers from various places and backgrounds. The same with me with the people I encounter.
A couple of examples — trivial, except that they make my point.
Fiona, the clerk from Queens whom I engaged in conversation at a FedEx center on Madison Avenue a few months ago. (I was sending something.) She said she loved talking with me. I haven’t forgotten her. We compared notes about living in New York.
An HP help desk technician from India who answered a call recently. I found him very interesting and congenial and learned much from him about India and especially a particular interest of his: languages, including Sanskrit. As the talk progressed (during which he was working on my computer remotely), it got more and more friendly and interesting. He sent me an email after the online session:
November 4, 2022
Hello Roger,
Greetings of the day!!
This e-mail is with reference to your case ID : _____. If you have any issues please call us directly.
It was really really nice talking to you.
Have a great day!
Regards,
Vivek
The workers at my favorite pub: Philomena, Amy, Jemina, Yasmin, Alexa, Anniika, Bianca, Noureen, Fiona (my first waitress friend; just left).
I owe these traits and proclivities of mine to my parents. I would say that it is a matter of showing an appreciation for and a keen interest in people.
— posted by Roger W. Smith
January 2023
Vivaldi, “Qui sedes ad dexteram Patrtis”
from his Gloria, RV 588
Sometimes I think that Vivaldi does not get as much credit as he deserves.
Which is to say that everyone knows The Four Seasons — one hears it in advertising — but many of the choral works, such as this one (the lesser known of three Glorias known to have been composed by Vivaldi in his lifetime), are not preformed or heard that often.
This performance is by the Budapest Madrigal Choir under the direction of Ferenc Szekeres.
— posted by Roger W. Smith
January 2023
Walt Whitman, ‘The Great Army of the Sick’ – NY Times 2-26-1863
Posted here:
Walt Whitman
“The Great Army of the Sick; Military Hospitals in Washington”
The New York Times
February 26, 1863
— Roger W. Smith
January 2023
Please see my post re Eugene Field (a favorite author of mine from childhood) and Theodore Dreiser at the following URL
— Roger W. Smith
Walt Whitman
Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night
VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return’d with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach’d up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev’d to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade—not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear’d,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop’d well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten’d,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
— from Walt Whitman, Drum-Taps (1865)
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The absolute simplicity and avoidance of anything “literary,” giving the poem great expressive power.
The Biblical parallelism: “Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,”
— posted by Roger W. Smith
January 2023
