Last night I read a beautiful book about Walt Whitman illustrated by the wonderful artist Brian Selznick. I picked it up a few years ago when my college library was downsizing their children’s section and was letting the education majors have as many free books as they could haul out.
I have always had a curiosity about Whitman knowing him to be considered one of the quintessential queer poets in American literature and read bits and pieces of Leaves of Grass throughout the years. This book gave some great insight into the poet, geared towards young audiences it is at its heart a picture book (though a supremely gorgeous one). I learned some basic biographical facts about Whitman that I didn’t know before but what really caught my attention was the section of the book that covered the Civil War. I of course know the poem “O Captain, My Captain” and the impetus of Whitman writing the famous poem being the assassination of Lincoln. What I didn’t know about was how Walt Whitman decided, after his brother was injured in the war, served as a volunteer nurse in Union Army hospitals. One of the most touching pages in this book was Whitman’s letter to a family who’s son Whitman had taken care of in his last days.
I have been mulling over researching a few queer voices to introduce into my ancestral practices and Walt Whitman is certainly high up on this list. I borrow this a bit from the Unnamed Path* and it’s attention to the ancestors of men who love men and including them in ancestral practices.
Another on this list is the ever witty, yet unjustly prosecuted Oscar Wilde (who will certainly get his own post later). But before closing out this post about Whitman. Turns out. Oscar Wilde met Whitman while he was visiting America. Many speculate they had quite the eventful evening of conversation, a bit of wine, and maybe even some under the covers action. Wilde told a friend some time later. “The kiss of Walt Whitman is still on my lips”. There you have it. Two of the ancestors of men who love men and two stalwarts of literature got it on one night and I just happened to be drawn to both independently of each other.
In closing here is a snippet of one of Whitman’s racier poems “When I Heard at the Close of Day”
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me whispering to congratulate me, For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast— and that night I was happy
- Walt Whitman
*The Unnamed Path is an earth based spiritual practice for men who love men. You can learn more about it from both the original Unnamed Path podcast and the companion podcast Walking the Unnamed Path.
