Book Board Chat

A Howling Good Poetry Reading

By Steve Heilig

Walt Whitman’s legendary epic poem Song of Myselfwas self-published in 1855 by the then-unknown journalist who was 37 years old. According to Robert Hass, former Poet Laureate of the United States, “it was an astonishment, perhaps the most unprecedented poem in the English language.”

Many students read Whitman in high school. Hundreds of people attending a mass reading of the poem last Sunday in West Marin, CA. Some said that was the first and last time they had looked at it. But I think it a fair guarantee that nobody present will forget it. As conceived and conducted by artist, author, Eric Karpeles, this was a literary event for the ages.

Hass himself introduced the poem and then without fanfare launched into the first section, beginning “I celebrate myself…”. Sitting in rows behind him, readers took their turns at two podiums. There were 52 sections of the poem to be read. Those reading were poets and writers, but also carpenters, dancers, naturalists, winemakers, philanthropists, scientists, doctors, lawyers, actors, artists, ranchers, scholars, surfers, farmers, and more.

Younger and older, each reader brought their own personality to the poem, ranging from quiet and meditative to booming and dramatic. The reading flowed seamlessly, for almost two hours. As each person ended, quiet murmurs of appreciation could be heard; some of the lines prompted laughter; sometimes the mood was somber. But the poem is built like a symphony; the power of it was really astonishing by the end, a celebration of life and love and nature and most everything, including death. The end neared; Karpeles rose to read the poem’s final section and read, quietly:

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flash in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fiber your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
-
At the poem’s final word the whole room erupted into loud applause and cheers. There was a sense of shared purpose and accomplishment. We all stood, cheering for one another, and for Whitman. We had “fetched” him. Walt himself was in the room, in one form or another, for as the very first stanza of his poem holds, “every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

I found myself wondering what Whitman might have thought of his beloved America now, the crowded, sprawling, noisy, full of electronic news and nonsense and political insanity. Who knows. He did experience the carnage of the Civil War firsthand so perhaps he would not be very impressed. But his perspective seemed to encompass both impermanence and what lasts, and on nature in all its guises. I think he would love West Marin surrounded by the natural splendor he celebrated. In fact, I bet he would live here. Maybe he does. He certainly did on Sunday afternoon.

People still talk of the legendary San Francisco “Six Gallery” reading that some say launched the Beat “movement” in 1955 with Allen Ginsberg’s reading of his Howl. I wonder if, over 50 years from now, this reading might join that one as a truly historic event. Again, who knows? Afterwards, I asked an elated-looking Hass if, in his long poetic career, he had seen and heard anything like it, and he replied “No. This was just amazing.” It was an astonishment.

The Greatest Poetry Reading Ever?