Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking BY WALT WHITMAN detailed summary and critical analysis

 

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
BY WALT WHITMAN

Walt Whitman 1819-1892

Ò American poet, essayist and journalist

Ò He was a part of transition between transcendentalism and realism

Ò His poetry collection The Leaves of Grass was described as obscene for its overt sensuality

Ò Two of his very famous poems are “O Captain! My Captain” and “When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

Poetic theory

Ò Whitman wrote the preface to the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass “the proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it”

Ò He believed that there was a vital symbiotic relationship between the poet and society. This connection was emphasized in “Song of myself "by using an all powerful  first person narration

Works

Ò Franklin Evans 1842

Ò The Half Breed- A Tale of the Western Frontier

Ò Life and adventure of Jack Eagle

Ò Drum Taps

Ò Democratic Vistas

Ò Leaves of Grass

Ò 1855: twelve untitled poems and a preface

Ò 1856: 32 poems, a letter from Emerson and a long open letter by Whitman

The leaves of grass (1855, 1891-92)

Ò He celebrated democracy, nature, love, friendship.

Ò This monumental work chanced praises to the body as well as to the soul and found beauty and reassurance even in death

Ò Emerson “the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed”

POEM

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,

Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,

Down from the shower’d halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,

From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,

From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,

Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,

Down from the shower’d halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,

From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,

From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,

From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,

From the myriad thence-arous’d words,

From the word stronger and more delicious than any,

From such as now they start the scene revisiting,

As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,

Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,

A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,

Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,

I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,

Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,

A reminiscence sing.

Once Paumanok,

When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass was growing,

Up this seashore in some briers,

Two feather’d guests from Alabama, two together,

And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown,

And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand,

And every day the she-bird crouch’d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes,

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them,

Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

Shine! shine! shine!

Pour down your warmth, great sun!

While we bask, we two together.

 

Two together!

Winds blow south, or winds blow north,

Day come white, or night come black,

Home, or rivers and mountains from home,

Singing all time, minding no time,

While we two keep together.

Yes, when the stars glisten’d,

All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake,

Down almost amid the slapping waves,

Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.

 

He call’d on his mate,

He pour’d forth the meanings which I of all men know.

 

Yes my brother I know,

The rest might not, but I have treasur’d every note,

For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding,

Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows,

Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts,

The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,

I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,

Listen’d long and long.

 

Listen’d to keep, to sing, now translating the notes,

Following you my brother.

Soothe! soothe! soothe!

Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,

And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close,

But my love soothes not me, not me.

 

Low hangs the moon, it rose late,

It is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

 

O madly the sea pushes upon the land,

With love, with love.

 

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?

What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud!

Loud I call to you, my love!

 

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,

Surely you must know who is here, is here,

You must know who I am, my love.

 

Low-hanging moon!

What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?

O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!

O moon do not keep her from me any longer.

 

Land! land! O land!

Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would,

For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.

 

O rising stars!

Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.

 

O throat! O trembling throat!

Sound clearer through the atmosphere!

Pierce the woods, the earth,

Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want.

Shake out carols!

Solitary here, the night’s carols!

Carols of lonesome love! death’s carols!

Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!

O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!

O reckless despairing carols.

 

But soft! sink low!

Soft! let me just murmur,

And do you wait a moment you husky-nois’d sea,

For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me,

So faint, I must be still, be still to listen,

But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.

 

Hither my love!

Here I am! here!

With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you,

This gentle call is for you my love, for you.

Do not be decoy’d elsewhere,

That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice,

That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray,

Those are the shadows of leaves.

 

O darkness! O in vain!

O I am very sick and sorrowful.

 

O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!

O troubled reflection in the sea!

O throat! O throbbing heart!

And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.

 

O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!

In the air, in the woods, over fields,

Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!

But my mate no more, no more with me!

We two together no more.

The aria sinking,

All else continuing, the stars shining,

The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing,

With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,

On the sands of Paumanok’s shore gray and rustling,

The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching,

The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying,

The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting,

The aria’s meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing,

The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,

The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering,

The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying,

To the boy’s soul’s questions sullenly timing, some drown’d secret hissing,

To the outsetting bard.

Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)

Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?

For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, now I have heard you,

Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake,

And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,

A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die.

 

O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,

O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you,

Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,

Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,

Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night,

By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon,

The messenger there arous’d, the fire, the sweet hell within,

The unknown want, the destiny of me.

O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,)

O if I am to have so much, let me have more!

 

A word then, (for I will conquer it,)

The word final, superior to all,

Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen;

Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?

Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

 

Whereto answering, the sea,

Delaying not, hurrying not,

Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break,

 

Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death,

And again death, death, death, death,

Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart,

But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,

Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,

Death, death, death, death, death.

 

Which I do not forget,

But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,

That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach,

With the thousand responsive songs at random,

My own songs awaked from that hour,

And with them the key, the word up from the waves,

The word of the sweetest song and all songs,

That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,

(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,)

The sea whisper’d me.

EXPLANATION

Ò Out of the endlessly rocking cradle of the sea waves, a memory comes back to the poet. He recalls that as a child, he left his bed and wandered alone bareheaded barefoot in search of the mystery of life and death. He is a man now “by these tears a little boy again” and he throws himself on the shore “confronting the waves”

Ò He is a chanter of pains and joys “uniter of here and hereafter” and he uses all his experiences but goes beyond them.

Ò The experience he now recalls is that on the Paumanok seashore one may, when lilacs were in bloom.

Ò He observed two mocking birds, “feathered guests from Alabama”

Ò The female crouched on her nest, silent and the male went “to and fro near at hand.” the bird sang their love, the words two summed together summed up their existence.

Ò One day female disappeared “may be killed, unknown to her mate”. The male anxiously awaited her. He addressed the wind “I wait nd I wait till you blow my mate to me.”

Ò His song penetrated the heart of the curious boy who treasured every note for he curiously understood the meaning of the bird, whom he called his brother

Ò The bird’s lament or aria affected the boy deeply. Every shadow seemed to the bird the hoped for shape of his mate reappearing. He had loved, but now “we two are together no more”

Ò The notes of the bird were echoed by the moaning sea “ the fierce old mother. ”To the boy who became the poet “to the out setting bard.”

Ò The sea hinted the secrets

Ò  the boy eagerly asked the sea to let him know the ultimate meaning “the world final superior to all.” Before daybreak the sea whispered to the poet the “delicious word death death death”

Ò In this experience the boy attempted to fuse the vision of the sea with that of the bird this knowledge marked the beginning of the poet in him.

Ò The bird, the solitary singer was a projection of the boy’s conscious. The sea, like the “old crane rocking the cradle” whispered the key words in his ears.

Ò This poem was first published under the title “A Child’s Reminisce (1859)” was later called “A word out of the sea” and the present highly symbolic title was given it in 1871. the present title suggests “a word from the sea” the word is death which is the second phase in the process of birth death rebirth

Ò The poem, an elegy is thought to be based on an intensely personal experience of the poet. The word “Death is delicious ” because it is a prerequisite for rebirth.

Ò It is Whitman’s complex and successfully integrated poems. One of the use of images like bird, boy and sea. The influence of music is seen in the form of opera form. Some critics have taken the poem to be an elegy mourning the death of someone near him

Ò Theme: relationship between suffering and art

Ò It shows how a boy mature into poet through the experience of love and death

Ò Art is a sublimation of frustrations and death is a release from the stress and strains caused by such frustrations

Ò The opening of the poem is a tour de force of poetic suspense- a single sentence, 22 lines of sustained anaphora and parallelism, of gliding prepositional phrases and arousing half allusions culminating in the simple bardic verb sing

Ò Dramatizes an archetypal experience of loss and reaches a familiar outcome verse

Ò This poetic psychodrama has led other scholars to interpret the love loss poem in psych biographical terms

Ò The birth of the poet a genre was of particular importance to Wordsworth whose massive prelude details his artistic coming of age in detail.