Now we quote the initial stanza from “Starting from Paumanok” that shows a typical whitmanian construction, that is, a long series of sentences with the subject appearing only in the last line of the passage. This is a type of poetic piece that must be enjoyed as a whole, to see how the poet creates his spiral construction towards the final climactic action performed by the “I”. This poem, as it appears in a foot-note in chapter 4, was the opening poem of Leaves of Grass in 1860, and its title then was “Proto-Leaf”; it contains the poet’s main themes, such as Love, Democracy, Religion (see part 10), as well as comradeship, catalogues of the nation and the soul.
WHITMAN:
Starting from Paumanok
1
Starting from fish-shape Paumanok where I was born,
Well-begotten, and rais’d by a perfect mother,
After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements,
Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas,
Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner in California,
Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring,
Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,
Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy,
Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of mighty Niagara,
Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and strong- breasted bull,
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers experienced, stars, rain, snow, my amaze,
Having studied the mocking-bird’s tones and the flight of the mountain-hawk,
And heard at dawn the unrivall’d one, the hermit thrush from the swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.
OUR RECREATION:
1
Partindo da pisciforme Paumanok onde nasci,
Bem-gerado e criado por uma mãe perfeita,
Após percorrer muitas terras, amante de calçadas movimentadas,
Habitante em Mannahatta minha cidade, ou em savanas sulinas,
Ou um soldado acampado ou levando minha mochila e arma, ou um mineiro na Califórnia,
Ou rude em meu lar nos bosques de Dakota, nutrido de carne, bebendo da fonte,
Ou retirado para cismar e meditar em algum recanto profundo,
Longe do clangor das aglomerações intervalos passando encantados e contentes,
Atento ao fluido Missouri doce disposto doador, atento ao vasto Niágara,
Atento aos rebanhos de búfalos pastando nas planícies, ao touro hirsuto e robusto,
À terra, pedras, perito em flores de Maio, estrelas, chuva, neve, meu assombro,
Tendo estudado os tons do tordo e o vôo do falcão montês,
E ouvido de manhã o inigualável, o tordo ermitão nos cedros do pântano,
Solitário, cantando no Ocidente, lanço meu canto para um Mundo Novo.
***
