Friday, July 1, 2016

Walt Whitman

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A Woman Waits for Me

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of
   the right man were lacking.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls, 
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the
   seminal milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
   beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the
   earth,
These are contain’d in sex as parts of itself and justifications
   of itself.
   
Without shame the man I like knows and avows the
   deliciousness of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women, 
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those
   women that are warm-blooded sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust
   husband of those women.
   
They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing 
   winds, 
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, 
   strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear,
   well-possess’d of themselves.
   
I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good, 
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own
   sake, but for others’ sakes,
Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me. 

It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these
   States, I press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long 
   accumulated within me. 
   
Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself, 
In you I wrap a thousand onward years, 
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and
   America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic
   girls, new artists, musicians, and singers, 
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-
   spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and
   you interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as
   I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
   immortality, I plant so lovingly now.
 





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1 comment:

lina warren said...

This is a much better title than the original one he started with, "Poem of Procreation".

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