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.