Comment 3 of 3, added on February 10th, 2012 at 6:56 PM.
wPrHJp I serched through the internet and got here. What a wonderful
invention of the mankind. With the help of the network you communicate,
learn, read !... That helped us to get acquainted!....
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Comment 2 of 3, added on December 2nd, 2009 at 1:23 PM.
hearing allen ginsberg recite it
Years ago, I was in the habit of returning to visit the Fulton Fish Market
area where I had spent an amazing summer in a building full of paintings
and sculptures that Mark DiSuvero had rented. The area had not changed much
yet and on one of those afternoons I was passing the pier at South St., saw
a crowd of folks gathered out on the broad old cement walkway and went to
check it out. It was Allen Ginsberg reading from Crossing Brooklyn Ferry by
Whitman to about a hundred or so hardy souls. He bellowed into the strong
wind and even though there was no mic you could catch every image. A very
special encounter since after it was over and people were milling around I
approached him and when I mentioned that I had traveled in India he took me
by the hand to chat with Peter Orlovsky about our mutual journeys. There
was something magical about it all, just coming on it all, then hearing the
poem with its cosmic sensibility on the very spot where the ferry used to
come into Manhattan, and then meeting them both. A cherished bit of what
Manhattan used to offer.
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Comment 1 of 3, added on November 18th, 2008 at 10:23 PM.
"Great or small-you furnish your parts towards the soul"
Whitman is oddly whispering over your shoulder as you read this poem--what
he promised without mentioning it, have you not accepted it??--that we are
our surroundings, our experiences, and since we are all witnesses to the
same woof of the world, we are all connected, disintegrated into it yet
wholly ourselves. (Clear and sweet is my soul, clear and sweet is all that
is not my soul: there is no difference between the two.) Whitman gives us
linguistically the details of the world that comprises his experience, and
we re-construct them while reading the poem,and we simultaneously
re-construct Whitman as lovingly and fully as he tucked himself into his
poem. ("as long lives this, and this gives life to me"--and you, and you,
and you, etc)
I will close by adding that this poem produces one of the eeriest
sensations of "presence" I have ever read in a poem. I constantly feel the
urge to look around me when I read it--"I stop somewhere wainting for