If you don’t like poems, or sex, read no further.
A Woman Waits for Me
by Walt Whitman
A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of
the right man were lacking.
Sex contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the
seminal milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the
earth,
These are contain’d in sex as parts of itself and justifications
of itself.
Without shame the man I like knows and avows the
deliciousness of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.
Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those
women that are warm-blooded sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust
husband of those women.
They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing
winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run,
strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right–they are calm, clear,
well-possess’d of themselves.
I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own
sake, but for others’ sakes,
Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.
It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these
States, I press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long
accumulated within me.
Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and
America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic
girls, new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-
spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and
you interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as
I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now.
Wow, that is quite the poem, how did come across that work today, just wondering.
I guess, he told her!
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Pablo Neruda
Very sexually poetic and descriptive without being obscene. So I had to go and look up its author, Walt (1819-1892), to see what I could find out about him. He was self-taught and read a ton, even taught school at one point. His poems were controversial and he got fired from his clerk job at Department of the Interior, when the Secretary of the Interior, James Harlan, discovered that Whitman was the author of Leaves of Grass, which Harlan found offensive.
From my female perspective, this poem is very sexy and conjurs up various mental images, but from many a male perspective, I’m guessing this poem might be rather tedious and wastes too much time saying the inevitable, which I shall not post
Ann, this is the most beautiful poem you have shared with us yet(I lack all knowledge of poetry). I’ve been reeding your blog since August after I read your book and I really enjoy it, dogs, horses, bats (I laughed out loud about the bat on the pajamas) as I tend to react in the same way to similar situations. The poetry is wonderful, but I truely can relate to this one at this point in my life. Thank you so much for sharing who you are with so many strangers and please don’t change for the critics, you are a warm delightful woman.
Ann…this brought back so many memories! My stepmother raised He** with my high school when she found out that my senior-year English teacher had not only let us read “A Woman Waits…”, but had also allowed us to debate whether it depicted Whitman as a chauvinist, who thought of women as merely a ‘breeding ground’, or if he was celebrating their equality w/men (“they are not one jot less than I am….they are ultimate in their own right–they are calm, clear, well-possess’d of themselves”).
Before my step-mother’s rant, I felt so mature & worldly (as many HS Seniors do, lol!) and planned on exploring Whitman’s struggle with homosexuality, particularly in the Calamus poems, for my theme paper. Unfortunately, the HS didn’t think that was appropriate, either and I was threatened with suspension if I proceeded. I caved! Looking back I wish I’d staged a protest.
Thanks for the comments, all.
Candy, I was thinking about my sun-damaged skin and recalled this poem, I love the part where the narrator describes the type of woman he likes:
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing
winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run,
strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right–they are calm, clear,
well-possess’d of themselves.
I like to be tann’d in the face and my flesh has something old and divine going on, but I’m not sure that suppleness quite describes it. But I’m an old tom-boy at heart and do know how to do most of the things described above, and it’s nice to think that Mr. Whitman might have admired a woman like me – if he admired women at all.
Actually, looking back over that stanza, anybody that knows me would laugh aloud at the idea that I might think myself “calm, clear” or “well-possess’d”. I meant the other stuff about the rowing and riding and rasslin’.
Guadalupe, many thanks for the Neruda poem. SO beautiful. If only I could read Neruda in Spanish.
I really like that poem and like some of the others here, don’t know much about poetry. The only one I really knew was on your blog a few months ago. Stay Gold by Robert Frost, and I only know it from the movie, “The Outsiders”. It’s funny, Ann, that you mentioned the part about being tann’d in the face and blowing winds. I right away thought how I would love that right now. Then the part about rowing, swimming, etc. That’s me also! Sometimes I’m embarassed by being a tomboy, esp. those old pics we talked about! But, I guess I can still be a girl and enjoy those things too, right? Geez, I taught my husband about sports. That’s not so bad! Great poem. I really enjoyed that and will print it out. Thank you.
Janet, I didn’t need to teach Denis about sports but I did teach him to drive a stick-shift car.
Whew! Get me a cigarette!
Kate…LOL!! Very well put
My favorite part of this poem: “Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,” I find that passage to be very beautiful.
Thankyou Ann for posting “A Woman Waits for Me”. I’ve learned about an important writer today, rather than just hearing the name without ever having made any real connection.
Guadalupe, I so loved the Pablo Neruda poem, it is so moving, thanks for sharing. i would say that is favorite for me.
Thanks Jane for the info on the writer it helped to understand the poem itself much better,and after my smoke i read it and your info again…another smoke yes lol Kate best way to put it..
LMAO Ann!! Wow! I don’t think I could ever learn how to drive a stick shift!!! Congrats on teaching Denis. I think I would be divorced if my husband taught me that. You’re way ahead of me girl! LOL! I can’t stop laughing!
You’re welcome Cheryl. I find it so interesting to learn about one’s journey through life, especially when they’re fighting the odds…it can be so inspirational.