I am the unspoken heavens,
They who try to understand me know me not,
I am indescribable, unattainable, forever out of reach,
He who tries to capture me is left clinging to spirits.
I can follow the wind, breathe with the wind, flow with the wind,
I can breeze through the streets, caressing and tousling hair as I swish by,
I am sweet and wanted, untainted and pure,
and prefer sugar to spice.
I am a child of the summer, and the hot calming breeze washing over
the beachy sands turns eyes in my direction,
You’ll watch me, you must see, although you may not believe it.
For who would believe that I am a child of the wind
And would rather fly than swim?
I am waiting by the dock for you now, waiting
for you to come in with your fish.
Was the catch big? Or were you unable to tame the beasts
of the sea? I am waiting, patiently, for you to come to me.
I am in the city, over the country, in the small almost-frozen lakes
of the early winter season. I brush by leaves,
painting a picture of my beauty, impressing my soul into all that I have touched.
I gust into your mind, creep into your thoughts, and effuse your senses with my being.
Observation/Reflection: Walt Whitman’s prosaic style of poetry astounds me – how is it that he is able to narrate a story in such lyrical form? I envy his skill (and experience, of course – had I been writing poetry for as long as he had, I may have had a better grasp of his meter and rhyme), and feel that "Song of Myself" is a very masterful piece. There are beautiful lines all over the verses, and it truly is written in a reverential tone. When I tried to imitate this style, I think the hardest part was figuring out how to sound this reverent without sounding as though I was also trying to sound old-fashioned. I kept reading his poetry out loud and then reading mine, and finding huge discrepancies that I simply couldn’t get rid of initially…I hope that by refining it here and there, I’ve been able to properly imitate his style.