Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
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24

 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,
 Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding,
 No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them,
 No more modest than immodest.
 
 Unscrew the locks from the doors!
 Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
 
 Whoever degrades another degrades me,
 And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
 
 Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current
 and index.
 
 I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy,
 By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their
 counterpart of on the same terms.
 
 Through me many long dumb voices,
 Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
 Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
 Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
 And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the
 father-stuff,
 And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
 Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
 Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
 
 Through me forbidden voices,
 Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil,
 Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
 
 I do not press my fingers across my mouth,
 I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,
 Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
 
 I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
 Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me
 is a miracle.
 
 Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am
 touch'd from,
 The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
 This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
 
 If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of
 my own body, or any part of it,
 Translucent mould of me it shall be (...)
(......)