“I am afoot with my vision,” Whitman announces, in a wonderful phrase that insists on the necessity of the whole body-from eyes to toes-to take part in this interpenetration of the self and world. His “elbows rest in sea-gaps,” and his “palms cover continents”-as if he is performing a kind of phrenological examination of the earth, examining its contours just as a phrenologist ran his palms over a patient’s skull to determine that person’s character (Whitman was proud of the robust qualities that his own phrenological exam had revealed just before he wrote this poem). As his vision expands, he feels as if his body has become as vast as the distances that his imagination strides. In this section, we encounter pages of data entries that toward the end slow down when a narrative frame begins to take over again, but, throughout “Song of Myself,” we can always feel the unruly rhythms of this never-ending sensory catalog, incorporating the details of the world as they flow nonstop into the poet’s (and our) open and receptive senses.Īs he begins this catalog, Whitman portrays his imaginative journey as the flight of a hot-air balloon: “My ties and ballasts leave me.” He rises above the earth and sees vast vistas. “Song of Myself” keeps shifting from moments of narration to moments of what we might call data ingestion. These cascading lines hint at the massiveness of the database that would comprise all of our sights and hearings and touches, each of which could be entered as a separate line of the poem. As we read this catalog, we can see how it indicates and imitates an endless database, and how it suggests a process that could continue for a lifetime.
Clothes are falling hearts are d full#
In one of those early notebooks, he enjoins himself: “ Data, all-comprehensive and to be pursued as far into details and to as full information as any one will.” He was an early practitioner of a genre we are increasingly familiar with: the database itself. His early notebooks and notes are full of lists of particulars-sights and sounds and names and activities-that he dutifully enters into his personal record. In by far the longest section of “Song of Myself,” Whitman now reminds us of how, for him, the world was a kind of pre-electronic database. In Section 15, we experienced a seemingly endless “catalog” of images, but Section 33 makes that catalog seem modest by comparison.
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