Gettysburg,Compost & Memorial Day
Walt Whitman's 1860's poem This Compost, Illustrated & Re-interpreted
This Compost1
1
Something startles me where I thought I was safest,
I withdraw from the still woods I loved,
I will not go now on the pastures to walk,
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea,
I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me.
O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken?
How can you be alive you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain?
Are [we] not continually putting distemper'd [garbage] within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour [waste]?
Where have you disposed of [our refuse]?
[We] drunkards and gluttons of so many generations?
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd,
I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through
the sod and turn it up underneath,
I am sure I shall expose some of the foul [waste].
2
Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of [our rejected waste] —yet behold!
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in the dooryards,
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour [refuse].
What chemistry!
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever,
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good,
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard and the orange-orchard, that
melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease,
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once [infectious poison].
Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,
It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseas'd [waste],
It distills such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor,
It renews with such unwitting looks its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops,
It gives such divine materials…, and accepts such leavings from [us all].2
May you and those you love bridge divides, find peace, and keep showing up for each other and the earth from which we came.
As always, thank you for sharing this space and your time with me.
With cheers and gratitude for you being you,
Lyn
And, as always, if you have reflections on what you’ve read here or think others might be interested, please share this post with others and/or write a comment below!
Remember, though, to use the comment link and not reply to this e-mail - - I’ll never see your glorious words if they are not in the comments section!
This Compost is one of many poems created by Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, his epic collection of poems he started in 1855 and continued creating until his death in 1892. This Compost was added to the collection after the American Civil War and is a celebration of the earth’s power to renew after the devastation of Civil War.
In this version, I changed the words to fit with our 21st century challenges of garbage and waste. That said, the message remains relevant on this day, Memorial Day, when we think about all those brave people who have died for our freedom and safety.
With all the wars in action and brewing around the planet, This Compost offers hope. The earth, and those of us still living, will find renewal, even during and after devastating conflict.
Two weeks ago I visited Gettysburg, a few days before my daughter’s graduation from Dickinson College in Carlisle, PA. It was the end of the day - the moon was rising, the sun was setting, and I heard not the words of our guide, but felt, instead, the spirit of Whitman’s words.
In 2019 I embroidered this final stanza onto a dress…it was so amazing to be with these words, one stitch, one letter at a time. My February 1, 2024 post, Re-Framing Whitman, A Good-bye Story, shares more about the relationship between me, this poem, and the dress.
What a stunning Memorial Day post. Perfect.