"--_An item from
last page of "Good-Bye."_
H. Heine's first principle of criticising a book was, What motive is
the author trying to carry out, or express or accomplish? and the
second, Has he achiev'd it?
The theory of my _Leaves of Grass_ as a composition of verses has been
from first to last, (if I am to give impromptu a hint of the spinal
marrow of the business, and sign it with my name,) to thoroughly
possess the mind, memory, cognizance of the author himself, with
everything beforehand--a full armory of concrete actualities,
observations, humanity, past poems, ballads, facts, technique, war and
peace, politics, North and South, East and West, nothing too large or
too small, the sciences as far as possible--and above all America and
the present--after and out of which the subject of the poem, long
or short, has been invariably turned over to his Emotionality, even
Personality, to be shaped thence; and emerges strictly therefrom, with
all its merits and demerits on its head. Every page of my poetic or
attempt at poetic utterance therefore smacks of the living physical
identity, date, environment, individuality, probably beyond anything
known, and in style often offensive to the conventions.
This new last cluster, _Good-By my Fancy_ follows suit, and yet with
a difference. The clef is here changed to its lowest, and the little
book is a lot of tremolos about old age, death, and faith. The
physical just lingers, but almost vanishes. The book is garrulous,
irascible (like old Lear) and has various breaks and even tricks to
avoid monotony.
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