volume 2.1, 2001
David Hennessy - Pedagogy and the Good G(r)ay Poet: Teaching Sexuality in Whitman's Texts
Walt Whitman is entrenched in the American canon. Considering his interest in shaping a distinctive American poetic identity and his embodiment of a very nationalized individualism, Whitman is likely to remain central in the canon. Therefore, it is necessary that we consider the manner in which Whitman's works are taught. For long the focus has been on reifying Whitman as a shaper of a truly American identity, connecting his works to the individualism of the transcendentalists, and highlighting his reaction to the bloodshed of the Civil War. While all of these approaches are certainly valid and would largely have met with the poet's approval, the last few decades have brought a growing research interest into the issues of sexuality and the importance of the body in Whitman's work. With this, many Whitman scholars have come to recognize that issues of sexuality are central to Whitman's works. However, pedagogical approaches have not necessarily kept up. This poet has become so canonical that the traditional approaches to teaching Whitman have been difficult to alter. The result is that many teachers approach the issue of sexuality in Whitman's works as a foot-note or sub-plot, an interesting diversion from the main focus of the more conventionally comfortable themes. Few teachers have sought to reinvent their approaches to Whitman by recognizing the centrality of sexuality in Whitman's work, as in fact the axis around which most of the other themes in Whitman's work are connected.
In this project, I intend to discuss the necessity of reconsidering the traditional approach to teaching Whitman. In addition, I will posit specific suggestions for how Whitman may be approached in order to bring the issue of sexuality out of the margins of the text and the classroom.
Out From the Margins
The first and pivotal question to tackle is whether or not sexuality should be a primary focus of pedagogy when teaching Whitman. Clearly, I believe that this should be central to the teaching of Whitman because Leaves of Grass, no matter which edition you peruse, is simply drenched in sexual images, language, and metaphor. While some might suggest that the celebration of sexuality (of all sorts) is done in this text as an attempt to create a language through which to truly understand spiritual ecstasy, that hardly seems the primary aim. In fact, M. Jimmie Killingsworth suggests that this metaphor may run both ways: "Sexual themes are so pervasive and the emphasis on physicality so strong that it becomes nearly impossible to say whether sexual language enhances religious themes or religious language is used to exalt sexuality" (41). At the very least, Killingsworth indicates that aims of spirituality should not be privileged over physicality in our reading of the text. Another critic, William Shurr, believes that Whitman's consistent dialogue with the reader is the poet's attempt at a very explicitly sexual "reader seduction" intent on physically arousing the reader and thus creating an intimate relationship (99).(1)
Having briefly touched on a few of the arguments that sexuality is central to Whitman's work, let me further state that such a focus is not the primary line of inquiry of this essay. Dozens of important critics have already tackled this area and there are very few scholars in Whitman Studies who would deny an important role of sexuality in Whitman's work. So instead of tackling an already familiar subject, the focus of this discussion turns to whether sexuality need be a central focus of a pedagogical approach to Whitman, and if so, how to actually do it in a productive and relevant manner.
Therefore, the question beckons, "Why should we make sexuality central in our pedagogy?" This question is intriguing because it reveals the power of the teacher. We, as thinking educators, ultimately choose what we will focus on by the way we teach a work. In a way, our power overwhelms that of the writer to focus the reader's eye. Left to his/her own devices, most young readers take specific note of sexual images and suggestions on their first read of Whitman. Oddly though, high school and university teachers tend to focus the analysis of the work on a variety of other themes. Beyond the common discomfort with discussing sexuality in the classroom or the ivory-tower unwillingness to "pander" to the libidinous tastes of hormonally-charged teenagers, there seem to be two underlying objections to discussing sexuality in the English classroom: the first is based on the impression that talking about sexuality--specifically the recurring images/discussion of homosexuality--furthers a liberal or gay agenda, therefore politicizing and polarizing the classroom, adding a social agenda to what many like to believe is a "neutral" teaching approach. The second, seemingly more legitimate reasoning for not focusing on sexuality is that it can appear to be a fruitless path--a belief based on the assumption that expressions of sexuality are merely personal utterances of fleeting, often base emotions and therefore contain none of the juicy social critique that we as teachers and critics love to glean from a literary work.
Those who hold these objections toward the teaching of sexuality in Whitman are in error. The second objection is easiest to quell. Very simply, I contend that through sexuality Whitman is seeking to create a dialogue with both society and himself--a dialogue rife with critique and negotiations, conflict and visions of conciliation. Whitman is not simply engaging in descriptions of sex-for-sex's-sake or sex-for-spirituality's-sake (as some critics might contend), but intertwined with both of these aims is an important social critique, at the heart of which is Whitman's attempt to name, positively affirm, and carve out a socio-political space for what we would today call a gay identity.
The first objection to teaching sexuality as central to Whitman's work is based on the belief that in doing so, we are further a liberal (gay) agenda. Of course, this accusation is based on the pervasive bias that furthering the "agenda" of a minority group is somehow a bad thing. While we might expect these code-words to be tossed about in the political arena, it is surprising to see these arguments still accepted within the academy which has already generally (if not wholly) embraced multiculturalism. This may be because the very existence of a gay identity is still "politicized" by the conservative right whereas few would argue against the existence of another minority group's identity, even while it might be a socially constructed identity. However, through the academic reticence to be pulled into what may be potentially hazardous political grounds, we do take sides. Silence equals consent. Knowingly or not, we all teach with an agenda, whether it is for social change or the maintenance of the status quo. Henry Giroux further explains: "The notion that curriculum presents knowledge that is objective, value free, and beneficial to all students is challenged forcefully as it becomes clear that those who benefit [. . .] are generally white, middle-class, [straight] students whose histories, experiences, language, and knowledge largely conform to dominant cultural codes and practices" (Insurgent Multiculturalism 337). The defining choice to be made is what agenda we will further. I would suggest it is the role of the responsible educator to seek social justice and to participate in recognizing those living in the margins of society and the classroom.
A Pedagogy Of and For Difference
As a guide to creating a truly inclusive, multicultural approach to teaching, we must recognize that the current ways of doing things need to be questioned, particularly those elements that have become enshrined and all but cemented into the canon. In "The Pocohantas Paradigm, or Will the Subaltern Please Shut Up?," Maia Ettinger elucidates the dangers of rigidity and tradition in our approach to canonical figures by reminding us that "the dominant discourse has never been home to people of color, queers, or those who combine racial or sexual otherness" (53). Ettinger's comments not only highlight the need to create an academic discourse that seeks to include those in the margins, but also asks us to look closely at those "lost histories" or those whose histories were drowned in the majority discourse. At first glance, it may seem comical to argue that Whitman's "barbaric yawp" has been drowned out, but if, in fact, our pedagogical approaches contribute to ignoring Whitman's attempt to grapple with a gay identity, we are complicit in the erasure of a minority history.
The lure for such mistaken action is the simplicity of creating an uncomplicated American narrative. Such a narrative allows the teaching of literature to inscribe and perpetually reinscribe one idea of Americanness, dominated by images of the white, the male, and the heterosexual. In this simple narrative, room for minority experience is allowed only when filling the role of Other. Of course, one must remember that Whitman's writings have been central to the creation of a unique Americanness--he is the cultural embodiment of a pre-John Wayne rugged individualism. In keeping with this overly simple narrative of Americanness, to recognize Whitman as a gay man would require a disorienting Othering of a central American figure. Unlike an Allen Ginsberg or Gertrude Stein, whose poems are readily viewed through the lens of gay/lesbian identity, Whitman has remained stuck in a familiar academic niche despite his potentially momentous role in the beginning of socio-political-personal discussion of gay life and identity. In a truly multicultural pedagogy, we must move beyond an all too simplistic narrative of "us" vs. "them," of Othering. A model for this is provided in the work of Henry Giroux.
In "Schooling as Cultural Politics," Giroux argues for a pedagogy of difference in which teachers and students come to examine the manner in which difference is constructed "through various representations and practices that name, legitimate, marginalize, and exclude the cultural capital and voices of various groups in American society" (142). In other words, we are challenged to interrogate the means of social marginalization. Yet understanding these means is only half the task. In tandem with this, Giroux advocates a pedagogy for difference, which is characterized by efforts to create new discourses, to re-write cultural narratives, and to recognize those in the margins (142). Simply put, we must not only acknowledge that groups were thrust into the shadowy margins in the past, but we must actively seek to let the light in so that we may bring these past figures out of the margins. In doing so, we are not simply vindicating the past. The dead are dead and there's no use shedding our tears or sweat for them, but the margins they existed in did not die with them. Their margins influence systems of cultural domination today. Theirs is not a separate story from ours--the past is merely prologue.
Thus, in constructing a pedagogical approach to teaching Whitman's texts, the individual teacher must engage in the struggle over "what forms of political authority, orders of representation, forms of moral regulation, and versions of past and future should be legitimated, passed on, and debated" (Giroux Teachers as Intellectuals 134). In choosing which texts to feature, we cannot simply rely on the textual choices made by our pedagogical predecessors, otherwise we will be thoughtlessly repeating the socio-political privileging that influenced their choices. In the context of a growing realization of our students'(and our society's) diversity, we must not defer to the textual choices made decades ago that canonized certain Whitman texts and silenced others. Instead we must look anew at the whole of Whitman's work (including works which Whitman himself silenced) and make these very relevant choices with issues of power, cultural critique, and social justice in mind.
Therefore, in the process of making these choices it is necessary to recognize Whitman as a gay man, an anachronistic term but--as my analysis of Whitman's work will suggest--not an anachronistic identity. In recognizing Whitman as a gay man and allowing for this to be more than simply a footnote in his biography, we will see that in his texts Whitman dealt directly with the issues of being gay in a society where this was misunderstood and marginalized.
With this approach we not only recognize Whitman in a more complete and relevant manner, but we also can begin a discussion that will seek to recognize and include those "in the margins" of our own classrooms.
Whose Song is It Anyway?
Clearly, and for many good reasons, Whitman's most taught work is Song of Myself. It is central to the canon of American literature and is featured in nearly every American Literature survey course. Ironically, that part of Leaves of Grass known as The best and most descriptive episode of sexual desire in Song of Myself is in the "Twenty-Eight Young Men" section.(3) In it, a woman hiding in a window observes 28 young men cavorting in the water and she fantasizes about swimming amongst them. Robert K. Martin offers a provocative reading of this passage-that in her fantasy the woman is actually imagining performing sex acts on these men (21).
This is simply one example of the sexuality in Song of Myself. Is it valid to suggest, as some critics have, that Whitman takes on a female personae in this instance in order to express his own homoerotic fantasy? This point can be (and has been) argued ad naseum, but it seems more important to ask what purpose such an analysis serves in the classroom. At best, an analysis can be fashioned that suggests the poet is seeking to express his own homosexual desire in this passage but must couch it in female fantasy due to social prohibitions against expressions of same-sex desire. Such analysis is not bad, per se, but just not very productive. It does little to really address the issue of how marginalization is produced and the full effect it has on the marginalized. It really only provides a cloudy, superficial glimpse at some of these concerns. However, given that this reading of the twenty-ninth bather is highly contentious, most classroom discussion of it is likely to devolve into argument over whether same-sex desire is expressed at all. Such discussion does little to probe the more important issues of power and of self relating to gay identity.
Moreover, a convincing argument can be made that in Song of Myself, Whitman does seem to step outside of himself and not simply for the purposes of disguising his own desire. With this in mind, it would seem legitimate to present the sexuality in Song of Myself as "fluid," constantly changing in focus and adapting to the next persona taken. The danger of teaching from this approach is the generalization that this is what Whitman is doing with sexuality throughout his works. Such an approach allows for an interpretive ungendering of sexuality throughout Whitman's works, clearly distorting the very gendered erotics in many of his texts.
I would not advocate ignoring Song of Myself, but featuring it solely as the only primary Whitman work to teach ignores the important contribution that can be made by teaching a Whitman text that directly (and relatively undisputedly) addresses issues of gay life. While the mind might immediately jump to Calamus, I would suggest the originary text for Calamus: the twelve-poem unpublished manuscript known as Live Oak, with Moss. This manuscript was written in 1859 and many of its poems were included in the 1860 Calamus, but only after revision and a complete reordering of their sequence.(4)
Of course, a large majority of Whitman scholars would advocate Calamus as the primary Whitman text to address gay themes. Therefore before getting into an approach to Live Oak, with Moss, it is necessary to address these voices. While Calamus can be taught to highlight the gay themes and issues discussed in it, such a pedagogical approach requires hopping around very selectively throughout the work. This is because in writing Calamus, Whitman appears to have attempted to blend a desire for affirming a national unity with a desire for affirming the love between men. While one might then eagerly approach this text through an analysis that suggests Whitman as seeking to incorporate gay men into the socio-political landscape not as outsiders but as the epitome of this idealized national unity, such an analysis becomes problematic when looking at the actual text and even more problematic when the numerous revisions between 1860 and the Deathbed Edition are scrutinized.
I have suggested a radical reading of the 1860 Calamus in which I propose that at numerous points throughout the poem, Whitman is engaging in a direct dialogue with the "like-minded" (gay) reader.(5) Ultimately, however, there are problems with trying to teach Calamus from this perspective. The first problem is that even in the 1860 version, such a dialogue is somewhat veiled--Whitman always left room so that he could not be easily pinned down as what society termed a "deviant" or (later in his life) a "sexual invert." Furthermore, Whitman rarely is successful in blending gay themes and national themes in the same poem. Instead, he generally alternates--in one poem he will talk about "the grandeur of the States" and in the next he will discuss "manly attachment." While one could see this alternating scheme as an attempt to bring together these topics, it can also be seen as a manner of indirection: just when a reader might begin to recognize Calamus as dealing with themes of same-sex desire, Whitman completely "change[s] the strain."(6) As a result of these indirections, critics such as David Reynolds have concluded that Whitman was driven to write Calamus out of a belief that "the comradeship he saw everywhere among the working classes might, he hoped, save the Union" (401). One might argue (as I would) that this is a popular misinterpretation of Calamus, yet, at the very least, it is hard to deny the simple result that in the 1860 Calamus, sexuality is hidden behind democratic and nationalistic ideals.
After the 1860 Calamus, Whitman actively excised the vast majority of gay themes from these poems by removing, revising, and reordering large portions of the text. It is hardly coincidental that these revisions followed suggestions by critics that Whitman was a homosexual. Indeed, in the Deathbed Edition, the revisions reveal a Whitman so concerned with his legacy as a poet uniquely tied to American identity that he felt it necessary to remove homosexual suggestion as much as possible to ensure a lasting legacy.
Teaching Calamus from a gay perspective, beginning with the 1860 version and comparing it with the revisions in the Deathbed Edition, can be extremely productive and very much in keeping with a pedagogy of and for difference. Even the revisions themselves can serve to illuminate the nature of marginalization and the ensuing effect it has on the perception of self. However, such an approach is extremely difficult because of the conscious indirections that Whitman placed throughout the 1860 text. In addition, the objection will be raised by students (as it has been by more traditional critics) that Whitman is merely seeking to praise "brotherly love," not a gay identity. The discussion could get stuck in this morass and little worthwhile analysis would be done. Lastly, the simple time constraints of an undergraduate survey course likely do not allow for a full analysis of the 1860 Calamus and subsequent revisions.
Live Oak, with Moss, as a narrative sequence of twelve poems, is a more suitable and productive text to address these themes.(7) Whitman wrote these twelve poems in early 1859 and in their original state they formed a straightforward story of his love for a young man, the joy in being with him, and the heartache brought on by their separation. In this sequence, there is little to distract the reader from the primary theme of same-sex love and the pain of losing this love. Inextricably interwoven with this are important discussions of the poet's feelings about his sexuality. These interwoven strands are critical to an understanding of this manuscript because they add a complexity that make these poems not simply applicable to any situation involving love, desire, and loss, but they reveal the inner-most thoughts of a person coming to the realization that these things will cause him to be viewed as "different." Live Oak, with Moss is fraught with moments of self-doubt, self-contempt, and overall confusion. In an a pedagogical attempt to grant equality, we must be careful not to teach these poems with the implied underlying tone of "See! All love is the same." As seductive as this message may appear, the experience of the marginalized is different and needs to be recognized as such--this is the crux of a pedagogy of and for difference. If minority experience is to be truly represented and valued, we cannot simply achieve this by confusing equality and homogeny.
In exploring Live Oak, with Moss, it is useful to look at this manuscript in its original sequence as a narrative, not simply a collection of thematic poetry. As a narrative, Live Oak, with Moss tells the story of Whitman's love, heartache, and attempt to love again, intertwined with a progressive struggle to identify and come to terms with his sexual identity.
The first two poems of Live Oak, with Moss, "Not the Heat Flames Up" and "I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak," are a general introduction to the themes of this sequence. They serve to make it clear that the "manly love" that he speaks of is not placid, spiritual, Platonic love but instead full of bodily desire as well as earthly sentimentality: "The flames of me, consuming, burning for his love whom I love" ( 4). Yet the images are double-edged. The "flames" in the above line are both purifying and destructive. A similar duality is discussed in the second poem, in which Whitman seems to recognize with some sadness the dependence on others that such a love entails.
An important dialogue with society begins in the third poem. Here Whitman opens with a recognition that he has become a figure of the community, a name to become synonymous with the idea of America: "When I heard at the close of day how I had been praised in the Capitol, still it was not a happy night that followed" (16). Interestingly, Whitman finds being at the center of the community's attention to be unfulfilling. This would seem to begin Whitman's recognition that he is more of an outsider than the community knows. He continues in the next few lines to talk about doing chores and carousing about town, yet these are not fulfilling either. It is only outside of the community that he feels comfortable: "When I wandered alone over the beach [. . .] / And when I thought how my friend, my lover, was coming, then O I was happy" (20-21). While this poem begins to show Whitman's recognition of himself as one in the margins, the next poem of the sequence is a crucial next step because in it Whitman begins a call for socio-political gay solidarity:
This moment as I sit alone, yearning and pensive, it seems to me there are
other men, in other lands, yearning and pensive
Yet amidst this recognition of gay identity beyond the isolated self, an important interwoven theme is begun in this poem, quite the opposite of the positive idea of solidarity that is foregrounded. This theme consists of insistent questioning and confusion over the nature of this newfound identity. Note that the poem begins with the poet wondering if there are other men who are not simply "yearning" with the same desires as he, but also "pensive," indicating some self-doubt or confusion about the identity that he and these other men are discovering. In addition, this doubt can be seen in the written manuscript, where Whitman crossed out the words "know" in line 32 and replaced them with the less certain "think."(8)
Nonetheless, this poem does mark a point where Whitman not only recognizes himself as "different," but also recognizes himself as part of a larger group of people bound by the common tie of whom they are inclined to love. In this work, Whitman is beginning to develop a vocabulary to speak of homosexuality as an identity, not simply a behavior, and thus the resultant understanding that "same sex friendship could form the basis for political action" (Killingsworth 97). He even seems to "have known that later readers would come closer to understanding the sexual identity he sets forth" (Killingsworth 97). Thus, this moment can be viewed as the first literary recognition of what we would today call a gay identity. With this recognition, Whitman immediately feels that he must affirm this difference, even if it distances himself from his vision of the majority. He does so in the next poem by renouncing his role as the singer of America:
But now take notice, Land of the prairies [. . .]
When actively trying to fashion a true pedagogy of difference, we may foreground discussion centered around this moment in Whitman's life and poetry as crucial. Here is the point where difference is recognized and the poet withdraws to the margins. A worthwhile discussion can be had at this point about the nature of marginalization and whose agency is prime in these matters--the "oppressor" majority or the percievingly "oppressed" minority. One could argue that Whitman is the agent of his own marginalization because he chooses to separate himself from society. This analysis would require us to assume that stereotypes and misperceptions about gay men did not exist at this time, thus not exerting social pressure on the poet, since this identity was not widely recognized. However, there is evidence that such stereotypes did already exist. Killingsworth remarks on a popular satire of Song of Myself, written by an anonymous acquaintance of Whitman's, which takes the viewpoint of "a counter-jumper," a derogatory term used to imply effeminacy and perversion (101). Killingsworth notes this connotation, "Certainly the 'counter-jumper' is a step toward recognition of the stereotypical, effeminate gay man" (101). The fact that Whitman is being ridiculed in this manner even before the release of Calamus indicates a correlation (among the readers) of Whitman and a yet-unnamed gay identity. In addition, much of Calamus's focus is on asserting the rugged, masculine nature of manly love, even when portrayed as conventionally sentimentalized romantic love. This is likely in direct response to the stereotypes of effeminacy associated with those men who primarily only loved other men. Thus, in our classroom, a discussion of this sort will help reveal the subtleties of how marginalization works.
A primary result of these stereotypes and the overall effect of social and religious ridicule or condemnation of a gay identity is the development of self-loathing, shame, and loneliness. Reading Live Oak, with Moss as a narrative sequence, we can see Whitman working through these feelings. In the sixth and seventh poems of this sequence, the poet evidences a great deal of confidence about himself and his new calling. In the sixth poem ("What think you I have taken my pen to record?"), he makes it clear that his mission in Live Oak, with Moss is to reveal and affirm "the love that dare not speak its name."(9) In the seventh poem ("You bards of ages hence"), he goes even further, by telling future readers and critics that he hopes to be remembered not as a poet who "prophesied of The States and led them the way of their glories" (52) but as the "tenderest lover" (54) who proudly affirms his gay identity. In this poem, he even seems to wear the badge of difference proudly as one "Whose happiest days were those, far away through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another, wandering hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men" (60). In this moment, Whitman appears to relish his separation from society. Yet in the poem that follows, he seems to undergo a massive mood swing. Once again, he has returned to being pensive. Part of this may be attributed to the fact that as a sequence detailing love and loss, some kind of heartbreak has occurred at this point. Yet this heartache brings other doubts to the surface:
For he, the one I cannot content myself without--soon I saw him content himself without me,
This loss of love seems to sap Whitman of all his confidence and instead, he feels weakened by love. Suddenly he breaks forth in a crucial parenthetical aside beginning with "I am ashamed." While some self-acceptance is shown--"I am what I am"--it is no longer a proud self-acceptance, but a resigned one. This is further reflected in his musing whether there is even "one other like me," whereas in poem IV ("This moment as I sit alone") he had seemed fairly certain that there were other "brethren" like him. This self-doubt progresses through the poem. Sadly, it is not overcome in the resolution. Instead, in the eleventh poem of the sequence, Whitman speaks of these feelings of same-sex desire and love as "something fierce and terrible in me, I dare not tell it in words--not even in these songs" (84-85).
In teaching from a pedagogy of and for difference, addressing these issues of minority self-perception are crucial. They are inextricably tied to the structures of marginalization on which prejudice and discrimination rely for their power. Furthermore, these issues are timely and relevant in our classroom--in teaching from a pedagogy for difference. Given that numerous studies have shown that gay and lesbian teenagers are far more prone to depression and suicidal feelings, it is important that we help bring them and their concerns out of the shadows and into the center of our academic conversations. A discussion of Walt Whitman's attempts to grapple with these same feelings of confusion and self-loathing can be extremely productive both for gay/lesbian students who are working through these issues themselves and for heterosexual students who have little understanding of the complex inner lives of the marginalized people around them.
Ultimately, I believe that to accurately teach the theme of sexuality in Whitman's works, it is essential to include Live Oak, with Moss. In a course where time permitted, a worthwhile next step would be to look at how the poet's discussion of these issues changed when included in the original Calamus and its subsequent revisions. Yet even on its own, Live Oak, with Moss as a textual choice can do a great deal to recover a "lost history" and open avenues to truly explore the nature of difference in relation to social power. By doing so, a valuable discussion can be had about Whitman seeking to define a positive perception of self that embraced a gay identity and his life-long struggle with these issues. By approaching a revered figure in our canon in this more accurate manner, we bring more relevance to his ideas because his experiences parallel those of gay/lesbian people today in their search for a positive self-conception and self-acceptance. Furthermore, it is an opportunity to present these issues to students who themselves are not "in the margins," providing a real opportunity for cross-cultural understanding. Equally important is the role such a pedagogy can play in creating an understanding as to how marginalization works so as to impede and eventually eradicate its effects.
University of Miami, FL
1. One of the best examples of this "reader seduction" can be seen in the third poem of the 1860 Calamus ("Whoever You Are Now Holding Me in Hand"): "Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, / With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss or the new husband's kiss, / For I am the new husband and I am the comrade. / Or if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing, / Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip, / Carry me when you go forth over land or sea; / For thus merely touching you is enough, is best, / And thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried eternally" (19-26). Whitman's address to the reader encourages a palpable interaction between himself (through the literal body of the text) and the reader's body.
2. Line references are from the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass, in which the poem later known as Song of Myself was simply entitled Walt Whitman.
3. This section can be found in lines 193-210 of the 1860 edition.
4. It is important to note that Live Oak, with Moss was not published in its original sequence until 1953, by Frederick Bowers, and was not widely available until its inclusion in the 4th edition of The Norton Anthology of American Literature in 1994 (Parker 149).
5. While a thorough explanation of this reading is not appropriate in this paper, a brief explanation will be offered: in poem 12 ("Are you the new person") and poem 16 ("Who are you now holding me in hand?") of the 1860 Calamus, Whitman is speaking directly to the gay reader-discussing his confusion, self-loathing, and warning the reader to not make of him a gay "hero." While the tone is negative, it is important that he is speaking to others he believes to be like him. In later editions, Whitman significantly revised or excised these poems, effectively removing this crucial conversation.
6. Whitman employs this phrase in line 2 of the 13th poem of the 1860 Calamus. He suggests that he must consciously prevent his poem from becoming "pensive leaves" (2) but rather "leaves of joy" (2). While this sentiment seems to be more positively affirming the embrace of a gay identity, Whitman's placement of patriotic poems peppered amidst poems about intimate same-sex love indicate a form of indirection so as to allow (if not fully encourage) the brotherly love discussed to be characterized as purely asexual. Of the many examples of this indirection that can be mentioned, the most recognizable occurs over the first five poems of the 1860 Calamus. In the first three poems, Whitman reveals the nature of the same-sex love that is his primary focus. In the fourth poem, he warns the reader of the dangerous and sexual nature of this love through both explicit dialogue and "reader seduction." Yet in the fifth poem ("States"), Whitman allows this love to be de-sexualized and read solely as part of the hardy bonds of manly friendship that act to maintain the democratic social fabric.
7. While in my opinion Live Oak, with Moss is a sequence of twelve poems that should be recognized as separate from each other, Hershel Parker, editor of the Whitman section in the Norton Anthology, has chosen to number the lines of these poems as if it were one poem. He has done so likely to encourage that these poems be read as a connected narrative. In the interest of simplicity, my references to line numbers will follow this example.
8. Photographic reproductions of the original written manuscript of Live Oak, with Moss are available through the University of Virginia's Walt Whitman Hypertext Archive. It can be accessed on the Internet at http://jefferson.village.virginia.edu/whitman/manuscripts/moss/oak.html.
9. A phrase coined by Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas in his poem "Two Loves." Douglas is best known for his controversial intimate relationship with Oscar Wilde. This phrase was infamously quoted at Wilde's trial on homosexual charges.
Ettinger, Maia. "The Pocohantas Paradigm, or Will the Subaltern Please Shut Up?"
Tilting the Tower. New York: Routledge, 1994. 51-55.
Giroux, Henry A. "Insurgent Multiculturalism and the Promise of Pedagogy."
Multiculturalism: A Critical Reader. Ed. David Theo Goldberg. Cambridge: Blackwell, 1994. 325-343.
Giroux, Henry A. "Schooling as a Form of Cultural Politics: Towards a Pedagogy of
and for Difference." Critical Pedagogy, the State, and Cultural Studies. Eds. Henry Giroux and Peter McLaren. New York: SUNY, 1989. 125-151.
Giroux, Henry A. Teachers as Intellectuals: Toward a Critical Pedagogy of Learning. Granby, MA: Bergin & Garvey, 1988.
Killingsworth, M. Jimmie. Whitman's Poetry of the Body: Sexuality Politics and the Text. Chapel Hill, NC: U of North Carolina Press, 1989.
Parker, Hershel. "The Real Live Oak, with Moss: Straight Talk about Whitman's Gay
Manifesto." Nineteenth Century Literature 51 (1996): 145-60.
Reynolds, David. Walt Whitman's America. New York: Knopf, 1995.
Shurr, William H. "Leaves of Grass as a Sexual Manifesto: A Reader-Response
Approach." Approaches to Teaching Whitman's Leaves of Grass. Ed. Donald
Kummings. New York: MLA, 1990. 99-104.
Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass (1860 edition). Boston: Thayer & Eldridge, 1860.
Whitman, Walt. "Live Oak, with Moss." The Norton Anthology of American Literature
Volume II. Shorter 5th Ed. Ed. Nina Baym, et al. New York: Norton, 1999. 1026-30.
A Taste of Calamus
A New Approach
[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful, benevolent, as any in my own lands;
O I think we should be brethren--I think I should be happy with them. (28, 31-32)
[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
[. . .] That you all find some one else that he be your singer of songs,
For I can be your singer of songs no longer--I have ceased to enjoy them.
I have found him who loves me, as I him, in perfect love. (37, 39-41)
[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
Sullen and suffering hours--(I am ashamed--but it is useless--I am what I
am;)
Hours of torment--I wonder if other men ever have the like, out of the like feelings?
Is there even one other like me-- [. . .]
[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless? (65, 67-69, 72)
© David Hennessey, 2001
Notes
Works Cited