SONG OF MYSELF. The poem in which the American author, Walt Whitman, chose to give an account of himself and his theory of poeti. art. The substance of the poem forms, in a remarkable way, Whitman's apologia, and to it everyone must go who wishes to formulate anything like a correct estimate of the man and of his literary aims. It was first published in 1855, without a title; in 1856 as 'Walt Whit man, an American' ; as 'Walt Whitman' in 1860, and until 1881, when the present title was adopted.
In its final form— for like everything of the author's it was carefully revised—the 'Song of Myself> consists of some 52 divisions of unequal length, and of no close or formal connection between parts, the unity of the work resulting from the fact that every part reveals some point of view, some half-realized emo tion, some reflection or some vision of the writer. One is tempted to say of it by way of criticism that it is Walt Whitmanish through and through. It reveals to some degree every one of Whitman's characteristics. The poem shifts at irregular intervals and in surprising ways from the cheapest slang to passages of rare poetic beauty. °I celebrate myself," says the poet at the outset; "I loaf and invite my soul; I lean and loaf at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass." The contemplation of the grass awakens Whitman's wonder, and forthwith he sets out on a contemplative jour ney that takes in the whole round of creation, every part and feature of which he pronounces good: "rich, apple-blossom'd earth," he exult ingly cries, "Smile, for your lover comes.° He tells us that as a poet he is only a mouthpiece; his thoughts "are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands — they are not original." "If," he continues, "they are not yours as much as mine, they are nothing or next to nothing." In consequence, he feels that through him there speak "many long dumb voices," "many forbid den voices," "voices veiled," "voices indecent."
At this point we begin to realize what Whit man was actually trying to do; and in the light of this apologia we come to understand that he is far more than the merely "indecent° poet that so many people would have us believe him to be. It takes a great poet to be the mouthpiece of all. Whitman may not have been great enough to compass the task fully, but his efforts arc not to be made light of. Whatever else we may do, we must reckon with him. We shall not reckon with him aright until we have first got thoroughly at the heart of this 'Song of Myself.' To he sure there may be in it much that is self-contradictory; we must remember that Whitman is "afoot with his vision." Now and then, from his moun tain heights, he strikes out such a great psalm as that "Immense have been the preparations for me," which comes to his lips when he turns on the "apex of the apices of the stairs" and looks past the phantoms which "rise after rise" bow behind him until he sees "afar down the huge first Nothing" from which he took his origin.
There is just one thing to do with the 'Song of Myself,' and that is to read it. It cannot be summarized; it cannot be paraphrased. It must be taken as it is. When we have said that it breathes in every line "the wild joys of living," the songs of a man who has looked upon life in all its phases and has found it good, the spirit of a man who has faith in the Power behind the universe, we have said all that we can. °I am not a bit tamed,'" writes the poet in conclusion; °I am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric gawp over the roofs of the world . . I stop somewhere, waiting for you." Those who are going to read Whit man for the first should begin with this poem.