The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the day. Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd. fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; Receive the summer sky, you water! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!Play the old role, the role that is great or small, according as one makes it! Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt. Live, old life! Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry by Walt Whitman | Poetry Foundation Crossing Brooklyn Ferry is a famed poem by Walt Whitman, but it is also the name of a blowout music festival in Brooklyn, New York. On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, return-ing home, are more curious to me than you suppose, Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress. Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left the rest in strong shadow. how curious you are to me! Celebrating America's groundbreaking poet and his legacy. But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud! Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you; Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current; Fly on, sea-birds! be duly lower'd at sunset; Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! Live, old life! It received its present title in 1860, and Whitman revised the poem through the various editions. Who was to know what should come home to me? I too lived—Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine;I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters around it; I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me, In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me. Others the same—others who look back on me because I look’d forward to them, (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.). And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose. https://genius.com/Walt-whitman-crossing-brooklyn-ferry-annotated The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated yet part of the scheme. On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on each side by the barges—the hay-boat, the belated lighter. Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet. We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward. Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset. What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? Who was to know what should come home to me? Or as small as we like, or both great and small. 2. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, poem by Walt Whitman, published as “Sun-Down Poem” in the second edition of Crossing Brooklyn Ferry by Walt Whitman poem text and resources. What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? These and all else were to me the same as they are to you. The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars. Closer yet I approach you; What thought you have of me, I had as much of you—I laid in my stores in advance;I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born. The dark threw its patches down upon me also. Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward. 1Something startles me where I thought I was safest,I withdraw from the still woods I loved,I will not go now on the pastures to walk,I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea,I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me.O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken?How can you be alive you growths of spring?How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain?Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead?Where have you disposed of their carcasses?Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations?Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd,I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath,I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.2Behold this compost! Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul. In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me. Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest. You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not. Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies. I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow. Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd; Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh'd; Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried; Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd. Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you. Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! In Leaves of Grass (1855, 1891-2), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship. Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast-hemm'd Manhattan, My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide, The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter; Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach; Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face,Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you. The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants. What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted? What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted? The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses. Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution. From the general centre of all, and forming a part of all: Everything indicates—the smallest does, and the largest does; A necessary film envelopes all, and envelopes the Soul for a proper time. "CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY" "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" has long been regarded as one of Walt Whitman 's greatest poems. I loved well the stately and rapid river; The men and women I saw were all near to me; Others the same—others who look back on me, because I look'd forward to them; (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.). Who was to know what should come home to me? During Whitman's time, the ferry was the way most commuters traveled between Brooklyn and Manhattan. It is one of Walt Whitman's best-known and best-loved poems because it so astutely and insightfully argues for Whitman's idea that all humans are united in their common experience of life. Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face. Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat. It describes the ferry trip across the East River from Manhattan to Brooklyn at the exact location that was to become the Brooklyn Bridge. Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me? Flaunt away, flags of all nations! Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling back to the sea of the ebb-tide. Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves! We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also. cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses! The dark threw patches down upon me also; The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious; My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water, Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my head in the sun-lit water, Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward,Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops—saw the ships at anchor, The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars,The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses, The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening,The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite store-houses by the docks, On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on each side by the barges—the hay-boat, the belated lighter, On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night, Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets. Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant. I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine. Let’s take a ride of Whitman’s very famous 1856 poem “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” a ferry that had crossed the East River before the modern-day Brooklyn Bridge. throw out questions and answers! Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak. cast black shadows at nightfall! The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars. would not people laugh at me? Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor. Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting. The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them. Flaunt away, flags of all nations! The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter; Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach; Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face. Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are. What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide. Throb, baffled and curious brain! Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd; Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh'd;Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried; Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd. Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore; Others will watch the run of the flood-tide; Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east; 15: Others will see the islands large and small; It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil; I too knitted the old knot of contrariety. You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul. We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward; Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us; We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us; We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also; Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul. I watch you, face to face; Clouds of the west! Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” was published in 1856 as the “Sun-Down Poem” in the second edition of Leaves of Grass and had its present title in 1860. Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me. What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not? J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings, eds., Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia (New York: Garland Publishing, 1998), reproduced by permission. Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d. CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY. bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers; Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual; Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. https://crossingbrooklynferrywaltwhitman.weebly.com/themes.html We descend upon you and all things—we arrest you all; We realize the soul only by you, you faithful solids and fluids; Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality; Through you every proof, comparison, and all the suggestions and determinations of ourselves. 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