Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering,
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering,
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting,
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting,
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending,
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting,
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering,
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting,
That savage trinity warily watching.
...Walt Whitman
After a stormy couple of days in New Jersey, we are reminded that it was ever thus. There have always been weird forms confronting the night here. Sometimes they are on over-rated MTV reality shows. Sometimes they are hiding their faces as they leave federal courthouses. They are even scooping up mounds of snow at the mall so that we can walk and spend aimlessly on a Sunday. They're out there, and they bear wary watching.
Visit the Walt Whitman House in Camden. Are you a scholar/teacher? Visit the Walt Whitman Archive or sing the Classroom Electric with this great resource for Whitman, Dickinson, and American culture.
Keep writing,
Maureen
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