Sexes

[Teratogen]

Sexes

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"Suddenly out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of slaves,
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLike lightning it le’pt forth half startled at itself,
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIts feet upon the ashes and the rags, its hands tight to the throats of kings.”
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--Walt Whitman, Europe, the 72nd and 73rd Years of These States

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOI

Love was coming home,
Striking deep and striking fierce the gallant hearts of warriors.
All that is fair, here, is unfair—for the gods enslav’d to purpose suffer their masters:
Masters men and masters women, masters boys and masters girls—
Masters you and me.

O Mars! take Venus to beget strange Cupid
(As love and war beget such romance),
O Venus! of envy beauteous plot terror upon Psyche
(As love plots terror to the soul),
O Cupid! from thy quiver of arrows fumble to injure thyself—anon she hath peer’d into thine eyes
(As romance doth certainly do unto us—as the eye of the butterfly soul doth certainly observe),
O Psyche! ‘tis a visitor wounded Cupid appeals to the shadows
To bend to the fragilities of his enchantment in thy beauty, his honor in thy presence, his approbation of
OOOOOOOOOOthy sleeping body,
And arousing his awe in the panoramas of desire he aims to slake his longing
(As wounded romance to the soul begets confliction of the heart and of the senses).

O monstrous creature! flee into the darkness of the world, the soul shall seek thee without end.
Yes, romance is a hard one to believe in when doubt whispers gentle a caution.
But hark! the westward winds of influence employ stillness,
And lo! doubt to bear they refuse—
To the soul the aid of mysteries assists; it soldiers thro’ hell, its journey to love on the mount of
OOOOOOOOOOdivinity, sip the river ambrosia,
Here the soul and romance unite!
O pleasure voluptuous! delight the sensate in graceful eudemonia and keep calm and serene the world.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOII

Among the brotherhood and among the sisterhood,
Among the patricians and plebeians, within the pageantry of peasantry and the patronage of peonage,
Among the nobility, serfdom, clergy, ‘twixt the country bumpkins and city slickers,
For clients and slaves alike, we invoke thee!
Invoke thee and call upon thee, gods of love immortal, gods of romance immortal, gods of the soul
OOOOOOOOOO immortal, for here is our war!
As warriors we join, as warriors we part, as warriors we fight, as warriors we die.
A republic of the people, a nation assembl’d with purpose—
Engineer’d by prospects of industry, cultivated from seeds of prominence,
Outsourcing and globalizing companionship, in opulence, pregnant with ambition—
Of our commonwealth, of our civilization, of ourselves,
Of you and of I we invoke thee, O gods,
Who have liv’d in truth or in myth,
Whose names have been designated to bibles, designated to laws,
Whose stories have been told manifold and in exorbitance by authors and biographers, scribes and
OOOOOOOOOO bards,
Poets, prophets, playwrights, artists, singers, musicians, dilettantes of the zeitgeist and alike the
OOOOOOOOOO romantics before us.
We uphold their constitution and cast our lots among them—they are the sworn catalysts of ev’ry
OOOOOOOOOO true believer, critic, immigrant, native, partisan, expatriate,
Teacher, preacher, dignitary, disenfranchis’d dreamer and dauntless rebel.

O Mother and Father, rear the stillborn impetus to sponsor campaigns against one another,
This Mars-and-Venus coalition knows the free-will credence for which we may well stake our lives to be
OOOOOOOOOO lost at any moment.
And yet a surprising conglomerate—anon appears a myriad, an army of men and women—at once
OOOOOOOOOO seeking that which they came for.
This large mass of romantics following the lead of those who believe not in romance,
A wave of ethereal lovers following the lead of the lovelorn.
Seducing the possibilities; the fears, the anxieties, the fantasies—employing ev’ry emotion at once,
OOOOOOOOOO using longing as a proof of feeling and lust as a badge of justice,
The battle commences.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIII

O how we mistake these exercises for passion.
In victory sought there be revelry,
In defeat undesirable there be consolation,
One seeking inebriation, one seeking sobriety—
Here one must give their self up to the crises; someone has got to pay for the way her body moves and
OOOOOOOOOO the way his mind disassembles her resolve.
A man goes thro’ ev’ry woman as she walks, breathes, advertises her womanhood,
One is bound to acquiesce;
A woman doubts ev’ry man as he sniffs, preys, winks his eye,
All have made attempts to acquire what is offer’d not;
Let suspicions be confirm’d or denied to these martyrs for their causes.

One may feel compell’d to take a side;
It is ev’ry man for himself and ev’ry woman for herself.
Crops here are burn’d, famine assumes its responsibility, sustenance is cultivated
From subterraqueous conceptions of man and woman, subconscious customs of man and woman,
OOOOOOOOOOsubjugated standards of man and woman,
Subdued in the sublime, taking enemies for companions.

What then is a hero?
Shall a hero be that man or woman who defends successfully himself or herself from the assault of his or
OOOOOOOOOO her admirer?
Shall a hero be that man or woman who fruitfully occupies the desires of his or her admirer?
Perhaps a hero shall be the one to conquer the will of his or her adversarial consort, bed many a
OOOOOOOOOO vulnerable objective;
From this banquet tempestuous, this buffet physiognomic the hero feasts.
Here, all that is fair is unfair, and heroes kill to protect the lives of pride, of lust, of avarice, of envy,
Solitude, servitude, companionship, power,
And in the name of love will kill indiscriminately.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIV

To the corpses of these young men and young women, these elderly, infants, children and adults,
I sing thee martial dirges; keeping vigil for fallen comrades, I walk with thee.
To the feudal bazaars of lovers I walk with thee.
To the black markets of lovers I walk with thee.
To the free-trade enterprise of lovers I walk with thee.
To the entrepreneurial domain of lovers I walk with thee.
To the kingdom of celestial lovers I walk with thee.
To the prostitutes, escorts, gigolos, I walk with thee.
To the libertines, hustlers, seducers, I walk with thee.
To the Don Juans, Casanovas, Romeos, I walk with thee.
To the Jezebels, Juliettes, Belilis, I walk with thee.
To the merchants, clerics, promoters, professors, relations, regulators, I walk with thee.
To the governments, families, media, religions, educations, I walk with thee.
To the broken, the burning, the exhausted, the torn, the maim’d, the martyr’d, I walk with thee.
To the bold, the brave, the strong, the energetic, the fearless, the fervent initiative entire, I walk with
OOOOOOOOOO thee.
The faithless dance on thou graves, but I sing for thee and I walk with thee;
In gait diplomatic steadfast we march.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOV

From visceral invocations,
Taking inventory of the emotions in our armories, collecting and supplying,
Choosing the weapons and shields;
Shall we be the terrorist or the infidel? the hero or the villain? the lover or the warrior?

In the names of the gods we draw the lines and we advance,
Ev’ry man for himself, ev’ry woman for herself,
Each seeking that which they came for.

In passion, in intimacy, in commitment we press on.
Should liking be love alone it shall press on.
Should infatuation be love alone it shall press on.
Should empty love be love alone it shall press on.
But insofar come romance, insofar come companionship, insofar come fatuousness
To consummate love immemorial!

From the earth, from the sea, from the firmament, guided into battle, into submission,
Waiting for the signal to strike or to kneel,
Eros, Ludus, Mania, Storge, Agape, Pragma, press on to enemy territories! press on to allied territories!
These architects and alchemists, building better chemicals—
The chemicals of proximity, the chemicals of similarity, the chemicals of reciprocity, of attraction,
Were self-love enough to offer inclusion of others, response from others, care for others,
Trust, affection, playfulness, genitality,
Then it would be enough to know love face-to-face in friendship and rejection.

Vengeance bequeath’d upon he who leaveth behind his legacy in pain and vengeance bequeath’d
OOOOOOOOOO upon she who leaveth behind her legacy in pain as well.
O pain, what of thee hast thou wrought from the hearts of these people? of thyself and thine own
OOOOOOOOOO heart?
The veteran—the greater experience of pain, the less a threat of death, the more authority on God and
OOOOOOOOOO Hell;
The novice—the less experience of pain, the less a notion of death, the more influence by God and Hell.
Tho’ we shall all be veterans and we shall all be novices,
Whatever rank one assumes we own the bureaucracy not, as it owns us.
Whatever knowledge one hath acquir’d in the trenches, the fields, the training camps, the board rooms
OOOOOOOOOO of the military strategists,
We are still fighting.
We are still advancing, still waging war, still defending our hearts and homelands,
And we shall be fighting forever.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VI

Each warrior constructing his or her own poem,
Unfolding on the pages of Time, with ink from the quills of Emotion,
Each word drawing blood, each word felling bodies, each word capitulating nations.

In the vast expanse of Death’s gaping maw lies the corpses ferried ‘cross the river,
In droves they sail, pack’d in excelsior, awaiting, awaiting, awaiting,
To count their deaths of perfection
Or arise and begin again.

The darkness constructs and reconstructs us all.
Into darkness inestimable we descend and from darkness uninhibited we arise.
But even darkness circumnavigates the heart to bequeath the significance of its own.
I tell the darkness, Do not be afraid;
Receive me in your bosom—
There will be one or there will be a few or there will be many
Who may seek me there.
But should there be no one to seek me there
I shall know where to find myself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVII

Of carnal sentiment, immolated in whisper, preserv’d in howl,
Masters of the gods we have enslav’d to our purpose,
Ev’ry goal be the same for ev’ry warrior in battle.
Aspiring for longing, aspiring to be long’d for,
Aspiring for love, aspiring to be lov’d,
Aspiring for embrace, aspiring to be embraced,
Aspiring for touch, aspiring to be touch’d,
Aspiring for kisses, aspiring to be kiss’d,
Aspiring for passion, intimacy, commitment the battle continues;
Ne’er it began in Time but in the hearts and minds of all mankind and womankind, and soon enough it
OOOOOOOOOO shall end.
Soon enough each of us shall end and for it the battle end in our hearts and in our minds.

Often the battle of the sexes rages for each of us,
Fuel’d by dissatisfaction,
Supported by a lack of self-worth,
Paid for by unhappiness,
Maintain’d by the fear of loneliness,
Endear’d to us by social order—
But the battle of the sexes often ends
In surrender.

[Teratogen]

I can't seem to figure out the BBCode well enough to correctly place lines and make indentations and align the Roman numerals in the center as well as the opening quote. If anyone could help me with this I'd be able to fix this the way it was intended to be read. Thank you.

[Teratogen]

Thank you to Cate and Alsiony for your help in fixing the indentations.

[Alsiony]

Love love love it! Infact - I feel like I want to eat it - so to speak

It is full to bursting, (but in a good way), and has been delivered with such a wonderful elegance and style, insight and imagination, and honesty.
I love the ideas, issues and subjects raised, the exploration and the imagery conjured, as well as the interconnection of themes on these different levels, very well pulled together - totally relevant to one another, ambitious, potent and beautifully written.
What an absolute pleasure to read.
Thanks for sharing this Jason.

A
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[Teratogen]

I always wondered how Walt Whitman felt it necessary to make edits and re-arrange some of his epic poems. I mean, reading through them is different from trying to write them. If you ever looked at some of the differences (additions, ommissions, rephrasing, changing punctuations, etc.) it's hard to understand why he felt those changes were necessary.

But I've spent time away from this poem since completing it, and then went back to read it again...

And I made notes...

And now I need to re-write it.

I won't discard this one though, it'll just be my Version 2. Hahahaha.

[Alsiony]

I've read bits from Leaves of Grass in the past, it's ongoing for me, and I believe - from briefly researching some of it along the way - that Whitman did that quite a lot.
I found this quote which probably sums it up quite well in the man's own words..

...after 33 y'rs of hackling at it, all times & moods of my life, fair weather & foul, all parts of the land, and peace & war, young & old.

How cool is that?

On a much lesser scale, I do this with some of my own bits that I have written, even from years back, though I keep the originals as they were - ideas and thoughts evolve.

I think many of those who like to write, regardless of talent or ability, probably likes to do this at some point with some of their pieces.
A
x

[Teratogen]

There have been quite a few editions of Leaves of Grass. I own a conglomerated copy that is subtitled as "First and 'Death-bed' Editions." Which means, it has the original version, which is only actually a handful of (very, very long) poems. Then there's the "death-bed" edition, which is ENORMOUS. So, suffice it to say, the book is like 900+ pages. I found it quite begrudging to attempt reading the entire thing without taking breaks of some sort. So, I'll read a few sections then put it down and go to something small, like Heart of Darkness, or The Favourite Game, or another smaller book of poetry, and then go back to pick it up again. Right now I'm reading Foucault in-between Whitman sessions. Hahahaha. I'm actually pretty close to finishing Leaves of Grass though.

As far as creating something I've called a finished work, I rarely ever go back to re-work it to make another version of it entirely. If I finish something and am not quite satisfied with it I'll just opt to write something completely new with whatever I may have left out of the first one. Or I'll just scrap it altogether. But works of this nature, where so much is said and the subject is so grand and so much room left to fill things in, as most of Whitman's poems are, I can see how easily one may wish to make those kinds of edits. I'll refrain from actually starting the editing process once I've gathered more thought into what else it is I wanted to re-work, but I'll just post it as a new version.