Uncle Walt

I was reading through some of the poems at random from the "Leaves of Grass" and wanted to capture them again , for getting inspired everytime I come back to my friend, my blog!!

LIFE AND DEATH:
The two old, simple problems ever intertwined,
Close home, elusive, present, baffled, grappled.
By each successive age insoluble, pass'd on,
To ours to-day- and we pass on the same.

THANKS IN OLD AGE:
Thanks, in old age- thanks ere I go,
For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air- for life, mere life,
For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my mother dear- you, father- you, brothers, sisters, friends,)
For all my days- not those of peace alone- the days of war the same,
For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands,
For shelter, wine and meat- for sweet appreciation,
(You distant, dim unknown- or young or old-countless, unspecified readers belov'd,
We never met, and ne'er shall meet- and yet our souls embrace, long, close and loving;)
For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books- for colors, forms,
For all the braver, stronger, more devoted men- (a special laurel ere I go, to life's war's chosen ones,
The cannoneers of song and thought- the great artillerists- the foremost leaders, captains of the soul:)
As soldier from an ended war return'd- As traveler out of myriads, to the long procession retrospective,
Thanks- joyful thanks!- a soldier's, traveler's thanks.

And of course, I read this for the first time yesterday, Walt wrote for Abe, the one quoted in the Dead Poet's Society:

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells,
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths- for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Siddartha Pamulaparty

June 06, '08.