Song of Myself (Part 8) - Walt Whitman
City Scenes, Hidden Emotions, and the Unspoken Ties of Life
The little one sleeps in its cradle;
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.
The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,
It is so….I witnessed the corpse….there the pistol had fallen.
The blab of the pave….tires of carts….sluff of boot-soles….talk of the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus….the driver with his interrogating thumb….the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs….clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls;
The hurrahs for popular favorites….the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter….the sick man inside, borne to the hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly, who hurry home and give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here….what howls restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the resonance of them….I come again and again.
In this segment of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” the poet plunges us into a bustling panorama of urban scenes that range from the gentle image of a sleeping child to the heartbreaking sight of a suicide’s aftermath. By contrasting innocence with tragedy, Whitman underscores the remarkable breadth of human experience that coexists all at once.
He invites us to see more than just the literal happenings. The brush of a hand to keep flies away, the ominous hush surrounding a newly discovered corpse, and the roar of city streets all create a vivid tableau. As we shift quickly from one scene to another—passersby in conversation, crowds breaking into chaos, and the primal dramas of birth and death—Whitman suggests life’s constant pulse of renewal and dissolution.
A central idea here is the interconnectedness of these varied events. Whitman listens to “what living and buried speech is always vibrating here,” indicating that every cry or whisper contributes to a broader, shared human narrative. In this swirling urban environment, each moment—violent or tender—becomes an essential thread in the larger tapestry.
By immersing readers in the sensory chaos of city life, Whitman challenges any narrow perspective of what it means to exist. Joy and sorrow, the mundane and the extraordinary, lie side by side. This juxtaposition highlights his commitment to embracing the full spectrum of existence: from the hush around a cradle to the uproar of the streets. The repetitive note “I come again and again” signals his desire to bear witness continually, affirming that every fragment of life, however fleeting, holds its own profound significance.
Ultimately, Part 8 reminds us that each individual story intersects in the grand flow of humanity. Rather than distancing ourselves from the intensity of these images, Whitman encourages us to acknowledge the complete reality, replete with unspoken emotions and hidden yearnings, as integral to our collective human experience.
Key points
• Life’s ordinary and extreme moments coexist simultaneously.
• Each scene—from a sleeping child to a disturbing death—contributes to the larger human tapestry.
• The city’s clamor reflects a shared energy and ongoing narrative.
• Whitman’s repeated return implies our constant reengagement with life’s varied forms.
• Recognizing all layers of experience fosters empathy and unity among us.
