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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

Doubtless my poems
illustrate (one of novel thousands to come for a long period) those
conditions; but "democratic art" will have to wait long before it is
satisfactorily formulated and defined--if it ever is.
I will now for one indicative moment lock horns with what many Think
the greatest thing, the question of _art_, so-call'd. I have not seen
without learning something therefrom, how, with hardly an exception,
the poets of this age devote themselves, always mainly, sometimes
altogether, to fine rhyme, spicy verbalism, the fabric and cut of the
garment, jewelry, _concetti_, style, art. To-day these adjuncts are
certainly the effort, beyond all else, yet the lesson of Nature
undoubtedly is, to proceed with single purpose toward the result
necessitated, and for which the time has arrived, utterly regardless
of the outputs of shape, appearance or criticism, which are always
left to settle themselves. I have not only not bother'd much about
style, form, art, etc., but confess to more or less apathy (I believe
I have sometimes caught myself in decided aversion) toward them
throughout, asking nothing of them but negative advantages--that they
should never impede me, and never under any circumstances, or for
their own purposes only, assume any mastery over me.
From the beginning I have watch'd the sharp and sometimes heavy and
deep-penetrating objections and reviews against my work, and I hope
entertain'd and audited them; (for I have probably had an advantage in
constructing from a central and unitary principle since the first, but
at long intervals and stages--sometimes lapses of five or six years,
or peace or war.


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