After Trying a Certain Book

In the section from Specimen Days entitled “After Trying a Certain Book”, Whitman speaks of ordering and then attempting to read a scholarly volume on the “theory of poetry” but quickly determines it to be rubbish and gives up on it. The idea of Whitman reading an academic publication on poetry is a little comical. It’s like Sid Vicious ordering a book on how to play bass guitar – his technical skills on the instrument were certainly subpar relative to the commonly accepted notion of a good bass player, but the genius of the music was his shunning (or possible ignorance of) the standard rules of a virtuoso and simply letting the raw energy of the music shine through. I often think of Whitman in terms like these. Anyway, after tossing the theory book aside, Whitman jots down a few notes to himself, some of which make little sense to me, but one of which I wanted to comment on. Whitman notes:

“Common teachers or critics are always asking "What does it mean?" Symphony of fine musician, or sunset, or sea-waves rolling up the beach -- what do they mean? Undoubtedly in the most subtle-elusive sense they mean something -- as love does, and religion does, and the best poem; -- but who shall fathom and define those meanings? (I do not intend this as a warrant for wildness and frantic escapades -- but to justify the soul's frequent joy in what cannot be defined to the intellectual part, or to calculation.)”

At a number of points in Song of Myself, Whitman speaks frankly regarding his lack of knowledge with respect to the meaning of life and other impossible philosophical queries. Most famously, when asked “What is the Grass?” by a young child, Whitman simply answers “I do not know.” Or later in the poem, he states “You sea!... I guess what you mean” indicating his interest in these questions but never coming to or offering his reader any conclusions. Whitman’s note above helps provide some additional clarity with respect to how he approaches these questions, both in his poetry as well as in his life. He does not dismiss these kinds of questions as a waste of time or chide those who spend their time attempting to answer them. He acknowledges an underlying meaning to all aspects of life, but he realizes that it is fruitless (at least for him) to attempt to define or specify these meanings. One may think that by not offering a point of view on these challenging questions, Whitman could open himself up for criticism or have his poetry be viewed as weak or lacking in philosophical vision, but the real outcome is anything but weak. Whitman’s stance actually enhances his reader’s confidence and trust in what he is trying to say. Whitman is in effect saying: I don’t know the answers to these questions, but let me tell you what I do know. I love the confidence of this approach.