Poetry and Politics

I realized last week that I haven't done a Poetry Friday in many many weeks now. I've either been bad about posting and then trying to catch up, or I just haven't been in the poetry mood. But a poem that keeps popping up on TV has me thinking about Whitman. And a bit peeved.

I'm sure by now you've seen the black and white Levi's commercials which include a video montage of either young people or scenes from America. Over these images is a scratchy voice reciting poetry, in particular Pioneers, Oh Pioneers and America both by Walt Whitman. The ads are unique in using poetry to sell a product. The mood they create is young, patriotic, and excited. In that sense they are successful.

The first time I saw these ads I was shocked. Not only was I hearing snippets of poetry, but that Levi's was again touting their American-ness. Now I understand that is the bedrock of the company's brand. They are the American jeans company. And they are all about American values. The funny thing for me about that is that Levi Strauss shuttered the last of their American manufacturing plants back in 2003 (most though had closed in the late 80s, early 90s). They no longer have any Canadian manufacturing either. Those were also closed about the same time. The only thing American about the Levi Strauss company is the headquarters. So I guess they can say that their designs are American, just not their actual make-up. I'm curious that these ads are so overtly American values based considering how recently they shut their last plant.

But the real thing that fascinated me was the narrator. That scratchy voice that seemed so old and yet spoke of youth. And then just recently I listened to an NPR interview with Neil Gaiman on audio books. He was talking about early audio and he played a click of America. The same scratchy voice. The same inflections as the commercial. And I realized what I'm listening to. That's Walt Whitman. Supposedly Whitman recorded four lines of America on a wax cylinder for a phonograph (early phonographs used cylinders instead of records). Pioneers is done by an actor since Whitman never recorded that one. Here is the kicker though, this would have been recorded in 1890. There is still discussion of whether it is actually his voice but most scholars agree that it is. And I'm intrigued. This is history. I'm actually saddened that it took a commercial to point me to The Whitman Recording. And a little saddened that is being used to sell jeans. But I guess if it spreads the word about his poetry and the recording, they are doing some good.

And that is a long introduction to finally bring you the poem which is much smaller. This is the full text of America by Walt Whitman.

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.

To listen to the recording check out the Walt Whitman Archive or Poets.org.

Poetry Friday

I was working at the county hospital when the towers fell. I remember a patient coming up to our window with a story about a plane crashing into a building. And for a moment I thought it was a joke. After we flipped on the TV I wasn't laughing anymore.

I'm not normally sentimental when it comes to these type of tragedies although I can remember (incredibly vividly) where I was during the Challenger explosion or the bombing in Oklahoma City. And I remember where I was on 9/11. I won't go on about the attack. That for me is past. But instead I think about what made this country great. People working together, working with neighbors, working to create a better world. The quiet and proud work that is done without praise or applause but is done for the joy of doing. And the words of Walt Whitman (the quintessential American poet) comes to mind. I don't normally like Whitman. His style is something you have to grow used to. But his poem seems to sum up today for me.

I Hear America Singing.
by Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhandsinging on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.