It  Is  Time  To  Explain  Myself

Let  Us  Stand  Up

I celebrate myself, and sing myself

And what I assume you shall assume

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

I am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

This hour I tell things in confidence,

I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?

Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel’d with doctors and calculated close,

I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less,

And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.

I know I am solid and sound,

I know I am deathless,

I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter’s compass,

I know I shall not pass like a child’s carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

I know I am august,

I exist as I am, that is enough.

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,

The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,

The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man.

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.

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.

I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious,

Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy,

Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity,

When I give I give myself.

It is time to explain myself – let us stand up.

What is known I strip away,

I launch all men and women forward into the Unknown.

The clock indicates the moment – but what does eternity indicate?

All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,

I am the acme of things accomplish’d, and an encloser of things to be.

Long I was hugg’d close – long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,

Faithful and friendly the arms that have help’d me.

Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me.

All forces have been steadily employ’d to complete and delight me,

Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.

My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain,

The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,

The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.

I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.

I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)

My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,

No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,

I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,

I lead no man to the dinner-table, library, exchange,

But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,

My left hand hooking you round the waist,

My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road.

Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you,

You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know.

Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

You are asking me questions and I hear you,

I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

Long enough have you dream’d your contemptible dreams,

Now I wash the gum from your eyes,

You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.

I plead for my brothers and sisters.

Do you see O my brothers and sisters?

It is not chaos or death – it is form, union, plan – it is eternal life – it is Happiness.

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit untamed, I too am untranslatable.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,

It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,

It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,

I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,

Missing me one place search another.

I stop somewhere waiting for you.

Walt Whitman   from  Song of Myself