Since last night I have been meditating upon this Walt Whitman poem; its the 6th section of Song of myself where he first talks about "grass" in detail. This is important because he names his collection "Leaves of Grass."
Song of myself, 6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may
see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and chil- dren?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
My favorite lines/phrases:
I do not know what it is
I give them the same, I receive them the same.
Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death
to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
Phrase metaphors for grass
"handkerchief of the Lord"
"green stuff woven"
"beautiful uncut hair of graves"
"you are the mothers' laps"
Reminded me of:
1. Guru Nanak's Balhaari Kudrat Vaseya: "My love lives in nature."
2. Guru Arjan's Sobha Tere Lalan Ki: "This is the beauty of my love ... he turns anew always.
3. Walt Whitman's Song of Myself (31): "I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars"4. Joyce Sidman's Grass: I make my humble,/bladed bed./And where there’s level ground,/I spread.
5. Kabir on Death: The death that scares people actually gives my mind bliss
6. The Sun Shines on Everyone - Snatam Kaur
Notes:
So many beautiful metaphors of grass. Its like a carpet - someone has woven it. It is like a handkerchief that God has left with his insignia through which he can be traced. Grass is something that is transformational, bright in color, shows growth and life, shows how continuation of infinity in different forms and colors, how it tells a story of ages past, how it translates what it knows if someone can read, how it bears the insignia of the infinite Lord, how it is beautiful it is in its natural uncut form like long hair. How it is the mother's lap, a place for resting, recuperating, and growing. How it signifies that there is no death. How it is impartial and treats everyone the same in. It spreads everywhere without any bars.
Singing oneness!
