My favourite poet is Walt Whitman, the one who wrote the poem "O Captain, My Captain". His sexuality was not confirmed as it was discussed alongside his poetry. He had eight siblings, and his father, Walter Whitman Sr. named 3 of his 7 children after American leaders: Andrew Jackson, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. He stopped schooling at the young age of 11 to work as his family was financially weak. It is a wonder how someone with no high education could pen such amazing poems that reach out into our hearts. However, that was not all.
In early 1873, Walt became very depressed after suffering from a paralytic stroke and his mother passing on in May the same year. Walt was a proponent of the Shakespeare authorship question, which is an ongoing dabate as to whether the works attributed to Shakespeare were actually written by another writer.
Walt's poems really instils the feelings into the reader. Some of his poems are not very suitable for younger readers due to sexual content, but on the whole, his poems are easy to understand. Below are some of his poems:
O Me! O Life!
O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself,
(for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
I Hear America Singing
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
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.
Citations
Wikipedia: Walt Whitman
Poems courtesy of Poets.org
