All about Walt Whitman

2.5.4 Calamus: the political meaning

After this discussion about water, swimmers and relationships, let us again look at the reed, which is the result of the metamorphosis of Calamus after he dies. Although Whitman does not explicitly sing the myth of Calamus and Carpus, verses such as these, from the poem “Italian Music in Dakota” (“Autumn Rivulets”), show that this natural connection is possible in his poetry:

While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl’d realm,

Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses,

Acknowledging rapport however far remov’d,

(As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,)

Listens well pleas’d. (WHITMAN, 1996, p.523)

The “rapport” acknowledged by “Nature”, as “far removed” as it can be, and as a “root” is linked to its “fruit”, indicates the holism of Nature, in which no part is separated from the whole. In this case, the connection between a plant and a fruit in the unity of nature lies beyond any formulation. And this is what the poet is doing in his works: creating a link between everything, trying to encompass the whole in a volume, so that when a person follows his tracks they will see the whole. In particular, he uses the calamus plant as a symbol of this unity. He does not need to be direct, that is, to mention the myths openly in the poems for us to understand the messages he is conveying. Therefore, even if the use of Calamus as a symbol in the Leaves was not consciously based on the Greek myth of Calamus and Carpus, the context where it appears is complete enough to create the environment that suggests this type of association.

To expand our research on the reed a little further, we will see how it appears in the Bible[1] and how it connects to Leaves of Grass. In fact, the calamus plant appears three times in the Bible, but in different contexts. Although the other passages are as important as the passage quoted below from Exodus[2], we will only discuss this one. In Exodus, Chapter XXX: 22-33, the calamus plant is used as a spice, yet its meaning is wider than that. It is important to observe the significance of calamus in this passage because it shows traces of what Whitman said about the meaning of this plant, that is, the “sweet-flag” as a token of “manly attachment”:

The holy anoynting oyle

22 Moreover the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,
23 Take thou also unto thee principall spices, of pure myrrhe five hundred shekels [ancient unit of weight equal to about a half ounce; around 15 grams], and of sweet cinnamon halfe so much, even two hundred and fifty shekels, and of sweet calamus two hundred and fifty shekels,
24 And of Cassia [a tree or shrub] five hundred shekels, after the shekel of the sanctuary, and of oyle olive an Hin [about 5 liters].
25 And thou shalt make it an oyle of holy oyntment, an oyntment compound after the arte of the Apothecarie: it shallbe an holy anointing oyle.
26 And thou shalt anoint the Tabernacle of the Congregation therewith, and the Arke of the Testimonie,
27 And the Table and all his vessels, and the Candlesticke and his vessels, and the Altar of incense:
28 And the Altar of burnt offering with all his vessels, and the Laver [basin] and his foot.
29 And thou shalt sanctifie them, that they may bee most holy: whatsoever toucheth them shall be holy,

30 And thou shalt anoint Aaron and his sonnes, and consecrate them, that they may minister unto mee in the priests office.

31 And thou shalt speake unto the children of Israel, saying, This shall bee an holy anointing oile unto mee, throughout your generations.

32 Upon mans flesh shall it not bee powred, neither shall ye make any other like it, after the composition of it: it is holy, and it shall be holy unto you.

33 Whosoever compoundeth any like it, or whosoever putteth any of it upon a stranger, shall even be cut off from his people.

As we can see in the passage above, the calamus, together with other spices, is used to make a holy ointment that will be used to sanctify the place of worship so much that only by touching them “whatsoever […] shall be holy”. As a reader of the Bible himself, the poet did know about these passages, which he naturally adapted to his own purpose, as is the case in this verse from section 24 of “Song of Myself”: “Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from;”. However, Whitman respected what the Lord advised Moses to do: that the oil should be used strictly as recommended. For this reason, the poet inserts the calamus root in the Leaves as a sacred symbol of attachment, but the religious rule is maintained: he does not use it as a source of ointment. His ability to merge information retained from varied sources into his poetry is described by him in the poem “There was a Child Went Forth” (from “Autumn Rivulets”), in which he describes what happens to a child who became everything he saw, including what he read or heard, for example, “The family usages, the language […]” (WHITMAN, 1996, p.492). He absorbed everything to use later in his poetry[3]. Naturally, he did that with the Bible too, the basic reading of the Americans in the nineteenth century, which was necessarily his own textbook as a youth. Again Canby writes about the poet, on how Whitman acquired his biblical diction (the influence of the Bible on Whitman also appears in poetical features, such as catalogues, enumerations and figures of speech, which are discussed in chapter 3, section 3.4):

Walt, in truth, was very much like the Quakers of his youth, who had a definite diction and a style (bad singsong usually) when they were moved by inner voice, which was utterly different from their usual speech. These rhythms in both poetic prose and in poetry, these rhythms of passion, mysticism, exaltation, of deep emotion whether religious or not, were, in their ultimate source, the rhythms of the English Bible. This was natural in a country where simple people, like his family, usually had only one book, and all the people were nourished upon, or at least were familiar with, the sound of that book. I do not say that Whitman’s poetical style is imitated from Job or Isaiah. […] The point to be emphasized is that free rhythms, in no tight pattern, yet able to lift and discharge imagination (which is the function of poetry), were natural, inescapable for the American masses. Free verse of the Biblical kind was their emotionalized speech.

(CANBY, 1943, p.309)

These memories from childhood and youth were re-worked to fit into his poetry, as well as his memories from books read, and the “free rhythms […] to lift and discharge imagination” (discussed in chapter 3). The ideas remained in his mind and later reappeared in a different form, in the poet’s own personal style and diction. Therefore, the calamus of the Bible, which served to sanctify the “children of Israel”, as is shown in the passage above, for generations to come, is now, in a different context, chosen to be the token of “fervent […] comradeship”, of personal affection, which will be the basis for a national union of America, as he expresses in the “Calamus” cluster. Here is his poetic genius at work: he takes an element from a reliable source which is common to all, regardless of social, economic or political groups, and applies it to a new context, while maintaining features of its previous context, especially its sacred characteristics. He uses something which is already in the hearts and minds of the people as a device to create a new reality, in which it becomes a common tie between them by renewing the meaning of an existing element and bringing it into circulation, as he does in the poems of “Calamus”.

The question then is about his specific use of the calamus plant in his poetry, his intention with it. The answer comes from his own words quoted below, a passage from his notes to the “Preface 1876—Leaves of Grass and Two Rivulets”, where he presented what he intended with his Leaves and particularly with “Calamus”:

Something more may be added—for, while I am about it, I would make a full confession. I also sent out LEAVES OF GRASS to arouse and set flowing in men’s and women’s hearts, young and old, (my present and future readers,) endless streams of living, pulsating love and friendship, directly from them to myself, now and ever. […] I say, the subtlest, sweetest, surest tie between me and Him or Her, who, in the pages of Calamus and other pieces realizes me—though we never see each other, or though ages and ages hence—must, in this way, be personal affection. […]

Besides, important as they are in my purpose as emotional expressions for humanity, the special meaning of the Calamus cluster of LEAVES OF GRASS […] mainly resides in its Political significance. In my opinion, it is by a fervent, accepted development of Comradeship, the beautiful and sane affection of man for man, latent in all the young fellows, North and South, East and West—it is by this, I say, and by what goes directly and indirectly along with it, that the United States of the future, (I cannot too often repeat,) are to be most effectually welded together, intercalated, anneal’d into a living union.

Then, for enclosing clue of all, it is imperatively and ever to be borne in mind that LEAVES OF GRASS entire is not to be construed as an intellectual or scholastic effort or Poem mainly, but more as a radical utterance out of the abysms of the Soul […], the Emotions and the Physique—an utterance adjusted to, perhaps born of, Democracy and Modern Science […], and in its very nature regardless of the old conventions, and, under the great Laws, following only its own impulses.

(WHITMAN, 2002, p.657)

Whitman had seen the failure of the American political system, in which he had been previously involved, both as a journalist and supporter.[4] In fact, he was disappointed in the political system as a provider of concrete solutions to real problems, especially slavery, a canker that had infected the life of the nation and was bringing it to a state of moral decay.  He was a personal witness to this, for he had belonged to political parties; he had been a “successful professional writer of competent journalism” as well as a “Democrat” (CANBY, 1943, pp.72; 88), and he knew the politicians of his time and their affairs. Although he was against slavery, he was also against dividing the country and its people, and he respected the Constitution[5]. This is why he is sometimes criticized for not being a radical abolitionist. He deprecated slavery, but he felt that a nation divided would be much worse than that. Allen helps us with a brief comment on this attitude of the poet:

To Whitman the Constitution was sacred and every section must be observed “in spirit and in letter.” He regarded slavery as wrong, but until abolished by the action or consent of the states, the Constitution must not be violated even to combat slavery. (1955, p.198)

He had then this terrible dilemma tearing his mind and heart apart. So, he decided to abandon professional politics in favor of a greater purpose: to create a work that would do what politics could not, namely, to unite the country, to make a nation, which could not be achieved by materialistic ideas and actions only. He totally believed that there must be something beyond the materialistic view of the world that dominated the American scene that could be used for this greater purpose, and that was love from person to person, affection, equality, comradeship, amativeness, adhesiveness[6], the themes that he chanted in the Leaves. As he stated in the 1876 Preface, there is a political significance in his poetry, and the reed, calamus or sweet-flag, is the symbol that represents the political meaning of the “fervent comradeship”, the element that links the personal affection to its political application. It is the transformation of something that is individual into something that is collective. Thus, Whitman abandoned professional politics, but not a political attitude as we will see in the following passage from Walt Whitman, An American, which gives an accurate description of his thoughts and feelings in the period previous to the publication of Leaves of Grass:

[…] In September of 1849, he resigned with a bitter farewell to his enemies, and ‘old Hunkers generally,’ by which he meant conservative Democrats ready to sacrifice free soil in order to keep the party in power.

This – and I feel sure that Walt realized it – was the end of his career as political editor. Walt was not only a Free-Soiler like his friend Bryant, he was a ‘Barnburner’, willing to sacrifice patronage and power to principles, and ready to split the party if necessary. And like many leading members of this faction, he later deserted the Democrats entirely and went over to the new Republican Party, where, however, he never functioned as a politician or editor. His journalistic career had many years to go; he was, as we shall see, to hold another editorship, though not a political one; but, from this crucial year of 1849, he becomes more and more distrustful of American politics, more and more resolved to speak for himself. (CANBY, 1943, p.79)

Free-Soilers were members of the Free Soil Party, a political party in the United States which acted in the 1848 and 1852 presidential elections, and in some state elections. It was a breakaway section of the Democratic Party and was later integrated into the Republican Party in 1854. Its principal aim was to oppose the establishment of slavery in the new territories, and they defended the idea that free men working on free soil was a morally and economically superior system to slavery. Basically, they wanted to keep the new states created in the west free of slaves, although they were not against slavery itself in the states where it already existed. Whitman was put in charge of their newspaper, The Freeman, in 1848, but the newspaper was burned out in a fire after one number and only resumed activities two months later. However, Whitman was “determined to keep slavery out of the new lands west of the Mississippi, though he was still in no sense an Abolitionist. He was certainly becoming more radical, too radical for The Freeman” (CANBY, 1943, p.78-9). Consequently, in 1849, he gave up the job.

Thus, it is quite plausible that a total political disillusionment is a strong enough motivation to make someone with artistic urge to shift from politics to literature, especially because this literary gift had been present already throughout his career as a journalist, while reviewing books and meeting writers personally, such as Edgar Alan Poe[7] and William Cullent Bryant[8] (American poet, critic, and editor, 1794-1878). In “Song of Myself”, section 24, there is a verse with the word “afflatus” (Whitman enjoyed using the word “afflatus” to describe a strong creative impulse or divine inspiration): “Through me the afflatus surging and surging […]”. It is interesting to note that the verb “to surge”, to explain his “afflatus”, his divine inspiration, means to rise and move in a billowing or swelling manner,  to roll or be tossed about on waves, as a boat and also to move like advancing waves. That means that not only he poured forth his ocean of love,“[…] the measureless ocean of love within him […]”, as he did in “Recorders Ages Hence”, from “Calamus”, but also his creative impulse, which practically took control of him, and he had to surrender to its  “large imperious waves” (“In Cabin’d Ships at Sea”, from “INSCRIPTIONS”). Politics was not an appropriate means of conveying this “ocean of love” to the public. Thus, at the time of the harsh ideological crisis faced by him in the late 1840’s, when he saw corruption taking over all the three spheres of political government (municipal, state and federal), all he wanted was to flee from professional politics. As Canby describes his mood in those days:

His first reaction to political disillusion was into violent distaste for the whole business of party politics. Like many another idealist who has been disappointed in the machinery by which life in society is carried on, he wanted to smash all machines. […] Whitman is fed up with practical politics. The time has come for men to count, not parties. Party machines are run by office-seekers and creatures of the President. […] Walt […] has lost faith, for a while, in the democratic system, though not in democracy. His political-editorial days are over […], his interest in getting out of the vote has been swallowed up by his interest in giving ideals to his country. (1943, pp.131-2)

Then, there was no salvation for him or for the nation in politics. How could the nation’s unity be maintained by a corrupt State? How could a corrupt government keep free work and slavery in peace in a country if it was this very corrupt government that traded personal interests to maintain this same state of affairs? Surely any honest citizen would agree that it is not necessary to be inspired to perceive that there is no solution in dishonest politicians who try to convince the population that slavery is good for slaves (to make them accept it and not fight for freedom) and also good for free workers, who are losing jobs because there are slaves available to do work for free.

Some critics suggest that Whitman’s change of mind in this period was due to some kind of illumination, which would have driven him towards poetry. As no one seems to accept that a “creative genius” might begin work at an older age, as the poet himself sings in “Song of Myself”, section 1: “I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, / Hoping to cease not till death.”, Canby says that “The Whitman legend takes charge of Walt’s biography in these years. Says that Walt dropped from the journalistic world. Says that he had mystical experiences” (1943, p.82). Simply because no one can explain how “[…] from the pen of a political editor and literary dilettante, appeared the first radical, revolutionary, egotistic, powerful poems of the ‘Leaves of Grass’” (1943, p.82).

Therefore, instead of thinking of an illumination[9] which could never be proved, although we can never deny Whitman’s lucidity and brilliancy, we had better think of a man, a person, who indeed loved his fellow citizens with all his heart, who loved them so much that he would give up his journalistic career to do what his heart commanded him to do: sing his people, his nation, a unity which could be achieved by the all-embracing, “all-inclusive”[10] heart of a poet. A poet who wanted to spread his love around as much as the sea would do with its water, a poet “who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love within him—and freely pour’d it forth” for the sake of his dear comrades, the true friends who would build a nation together. And this poet found the calamus, the reed, to be the symbol that could represent this unifying energy connecting person to person, or more specifically, man to man.

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[1] We are using The Holy Bible: King James Version, a reprint of the edition of 1611, Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2005, as the source of our quotations.

[2] The other two passages are: 1) in the “Song of Solomon”, Chapter IV:14, it is used to describe the spouse of the singer, that is, to describe how good she smells, because she is like a garden containing fruits and all spices: “Spikenard and Saffron; Calamus and Cynamom, with all trees of Frankincense, Mirrhe and Aloes, with all the chiefe spices.”; and 2) in Ezekiel, Chapter XXVII:19, it is used to describe the “rich supply of Tyrus”, because there are merchants trading calamus there,: “Dan also and Iauan going to and fro, occupyed in thy faires: bright yron, Cassia and Calamus were in thy market.”.

[3] Canby remarks on Whitman (1943, p.15): “His whole life, with the exception of his activities as printer, carpenter, political worker, and hospital visitor, may be summed up in two functions: absorption and communication. […] Whitman’s own reminiscences of his childhood are records of absorption […]”

[4] In “Origins of Attempted Secession”, added as an annex to this work, the poet gives a description of his political activities as a “close observer” and “voter” for around twenty years (1840-1860).

[5] As we are discussing about Whitman’s belief in the integrity of the nation, through his faithfulness to the Constitution, it seems appropriate to mention that Hölderlin, on commenting on Sophocles’ representation of the State in Oedipus Rex and Antigone, says that the “patriotic forms” of the poets are “preferable”, for these forms are able to grasp the “the spirit of the times”, in order for it to be understood, since poets have this ability to apprehend it (ROSENFIELD, 2000, p.408).

[6] Whitman’s interest in phrenology, the science of mind that states that mental faculties are indicated by the conformation of the skull and thus can be analyzed and improved, made him visit the office of the Fowler brothers for an examination. Ed Folsom and Kenneth M. Price give an account of this visit in their biography of Whitman on their “The Walt Whitman Archive” website: “On July 16, 1849, the publisher, health guru, and social reformer Lorenzo Fowler confirmed Whitman’s growing sense of personal capacity when his phrenological analysis of the poet’s head led to a flattering—and in some ways quite accurate—description of his character. In addition to bolstering Whitman’s confidence, the reading of the “bumps” on his skull gave him some key vocabulary (like “amativeness” and “adhesiveness,” phrenological terms delineating affections between and among the sexes) for Leaves of Grass. Whitman’s association with Lorenzo Fowler and his brother Orson would prove to be of continuing importance well into the 1850s. The Fowler brothers distributed the first edition of Leaves of Grass, published the second anonymously, and provided a venue in their firm’s magazine for one of Whitman’s self-reviews.”

Available at http://www.whitmanarchive.org/biography/biographymainindex.html. Accessed on July 21, 2007.

[7] Canby (1943, p.61) quotes a passage from Whitman where he describes his meeting Poe and other writers: “[…] I knew and frequented Broadway […] Here I saw, during those times, … [William Cullent] Bryant, [...] I also remember seeing Edgar A. Poe, and having a short interview with him, […] in his office. […] Poe was very cordial, in a quiet way, appear’d well in person, dress, etc. I have a distinct and pleasing remembrance of his looks, voice, manner and matter; very kindly and human, but subdued, perhaps a little jaded ….”

[8] Canby (1943, p.65) describes why this friend left Whitman: “They rambled together for miles in the Brooklyn countryside where Bryant joined him, talking about Europe, and doubtless, also about New York politics. And it was only the violent unrestraint of the “Leaves” when it was published which caused them to drift apart.”

[9] Canby again helps us in this matter (1943, p.86): “The legend describes some mystical illumination of the consciousness, or sudden outrush of genius in the 1850’s, to account for the unexpected birth of a savage masterpiece in the thirty-sixth year of Whitman’s age. Great conceptions, novel methods, original poetry do not happen that way.” Richard Maurice Bucke, referred to in section 2.4 for his biography of Whitman and his book Cosmic Consciousness (1991), is one of the authors who helped to build Whitman’s reputation as a mystical and enlightened being. Whitman himself helped to write and revise his biography in an attempt to present the readers a more human and less messianic view of himself.

[10] Bloom speaks of this “all-inclusive” personality of Whitman in The Western Canon (1995, p.259), faithfully quoted here: “In his old age, nursing his memories of his mentor, Whitman reported a consoling remark made to him by Emerson, that in the end the world would come round to the poet of Leaves of Grass because it would have to, because it was indebted to him.  Whatever the later misunderstandings  between Emerson and Whitman – and they were many – we remember that accurate prophecy, even as we remember Whitman’s remark at Emerson’s grave: “A just man, poised on himself, all-loving, all-inclusive, and sane and clear as the sun.” What links Whitman and Emerson is far more vital than what divides them, and Whitman caught it in that “all-inclusive,” the image of the sun as a self-sufficient orb.”

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