Observations placeholder

Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass

Through me many long dumb voices
Voices of the interminable generations of slaves
Voices of prostitutes and of deformed persons
Voices of the diseased and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion
And of the threads that connect the stars – and of wombs and of the father stuff
And of the rights of them the others are down upon
Of the trivial and flat and foolish and despised
Of the fog in air and beetles rolling balls of dung
Through me forbidden voices
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veiled and I remove the veil
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigured
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I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself
And tighten her all night to my thighs and lips
My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the tail of the stairs
They fetch my man's body up dripping and drowned
All this I swallowed and it tastes good... I like it well and it becomes mine
I am the man … I suffered... I was there
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I live in the night air in my red shirt – the pervading hush is for my sake
Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy
White and beautiful are the faces around me – the heads are bared of their fire caps
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches
Distant and dead resuscitate
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me – and I am the clock itself