Walt Whitman, Yesterday & Today

In Short

This book serves as a historical survey of the reception of Leaves of Grass, documenting the transition of its author from a social pariah to a celebrated literary figure. It examines the fierce contemporary backlash against Whitman’s bold, unconventional verse, the later support of intellectual allies, and the eventual solidification of his reputation. By blending critical analysis, biographical context, and a rich collection of commemorative tributes, the work provides a comprehensive, balanced view of the poet’s life and the shifting tides of public opinion that defined his career.

The Story

The story begins in 1855, when an anonymous, self-published volume titled Leaves of Grass appeared in the literary landscape. It was a thin, crudely printed quarto that defied the standards of the day. Without traditional structure or poetic artifice, the book was met with a chorus of condemnation. Critics branded the work as "bestial," "obscene," and a "slop-bucket of filth," reacting with particular horror to the author’s frank exploration of the body and natural propensities. Amidst this "Anthology of Anathema," one significant voice stood out: Ralph Waldo Emerson, who greeted the unknown poet with a letter of genuine fellowship, recognizing a "free and brave thought" that signaled the start of a major career.

As the years progressed, Whitman continued his life’s work—a task he began on ferry-boats and in open fields, scribbling lines on scraps of paper and envelope backs. He viewed his poetry as an evolving autobiography, a "cumulative expression of personality" that expanded through numerous editions. The book follows this chronological growth, noting how the twelve poems of 1855 ballooned into the hundreds by the 1880s. This creative persistence was tested in 1865 when Secretary of the Interior James Harlan dismissed Whitman from a government clerkship upon discovering his authorship of the "indecent" Leaves of Grass. This act of censorship ignited a fierce defense from figures like William Douglas O'Connor, whose pamphlet The Good Gray Poet framed Whitman’s dismissal as an assault on free expression, comparing his work to the "voluptuous" and "coarse" passages found in Dante, Job, and Isaiah.

The narrative shifts as the late 19th century brings an international turn in Whitman’s favor. Critics in England and Germany began to praise his vigor, and influential thinkers like John Burroughs helped reshape the public perception of the poet. By the time of his death in 1892, and the subsequent publication of his definitive editions, the vitriol of the 1850s had largely faded, replaced by a complex, often reverent appreciation. The book concludes with a collection of commemorative poems and tributes from later admirers. These verses reflect a shift in perspective, casting the "Good Gray Poet" no longer as a scandal to be contained, but as a "Titan soul" and a pioneering voice for American democracy. The final pages leave the reader with the impression of a man who, as he once charged, cannot be fully expounded by others—a poet whose work remains as vast, contradictory, and enduring as the nation he set out to sing.

How It Unfolds

The arrival of the scandal The book opens with the 1855 debut of Leaves of Grass, detailing the immediate, vitriolic reaction from the press. It provides a striking inventory of the insults hurled at the author, capturing the shock of a society unaccustomed to his raw, "barbarous" style.

The anatomy of a career A detailed timeline illustrates the growth of the poet’s work, from the original twelve poems to the massive, definitive editions. This section transforms the book into a biography of the poet’s persistent, decades-long writing process.

The defense of the poet The narrative moves to the 1865 firing of the author from his clerkship, focusing on the pamphlet The Good Gray Poet. It argues that Whitman’s work must be measured against the historical precedent of the world's great, often "coarse," literature.

The shift in global perception As the 19th century nears its end, the book charts the international rise of the poet’s fame. It balances praise from supporters like Burroughs with the lingering, nuanced skepticism of critics like Robert Louis Stevenson.

The final tribute The concluding section gathers an array of poetic homages written after the author's death. These works reflect the solidified status of the poet, honoring his role as a "pioneer" who moved past the narrow, conventional paths of his day.

The People

The central figure is, of course, the poet himself: an autodidact and observer of common life who sought to capture the "body electric" and the spirit of an expanding nation. He is portrayed as a man of contrarieties—both egoist and humble, coarse and tender—whose primary desire was to forge an authentic, democratic American voice. Standing in his way is the "conventional literary world," represented by a chorus of indignant critics and, most notably, James Harlan. Harlan, the Secretary of the Interior, acts as the personification of moral rigidity; his summary dismissal of the poet serves as a catalyst for the ensuing battle over the freedom of artistic expression.

Supporting the poet is William Douglas O'Connor, the fiery, eloquent champion who provides the philosophical muscle needed to defend the work against the charge of indecency. John Burroughs, another key figure, offers a more tempered, insightful analysis, helping to bridge the gap between the poet’s "barbaric yawp" and the emerging literary establishment. Together, these figures represent the clashing forces of the era: the desire to protect traditional, "polite" society versus the drive toward a new, uninhibited form of creative truth. By the book’s end, these men are defined by their roles in this historical struggle, with the poet emerging as a "Good Gray" figure whose legacy, though initially scarred by controversy, eventually finds a place among the stars.

In Its Own Voice

The slop-bucket of Walt Whitman.

These words are selected from an "Anthology of Anathema," representing the harsh, visceral reaction of the 1856 press toward the poet's debut work.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The author uses this line from his own writing to characterize the bold, unrefined nature of his early poetic ambitions.

I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies as I myself do.

The author concludes his career by encouraging readers to look past interpreters and engage with his work directly, including its controversial elements.

What It's Really About

The book is fundamentally an argument for the necessity of "free letters." It asks whether an artist should be judged by the conventional morality of his day or by the inherent "ethic intention" of his work. The text posits that a poet who aims to "tally the universe" cannot be expected to remain within the bounds of "drawing-room" decency. At its core, the work explores the tension between the "prudent, moral" past and a "turbulent, democratic" future. It is a defense of the idea that true greatness, like nature itself, is often found in the raw, the unkempt, and the "barbarous," and that a poet’s work must be taken as a whole, rather than filtered through the sensibilities of those who would pick and choose what is fit to be read.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy literary history and the study of how reputations are constructed will find this a fascinating document. It provides a visceral experience of the past, as the excerpts from 19th-century critics are often as colorful and extreme as the poetry they attack. The book is not a light, modern biography; it is a serious, scholarly, yet warm compilation that demands the reader navigate the prejudices of the Victorian era.

You will encounter the long, sometimes dense, arguments of contemporary defenders and the flowery, reverent tributes of those who followed. It is a rewarding experience for those interested in the "foreground" of American literature. The difficulty lies in the archaic, sometimes cloying language of the late-19th-century critics and poets, which requires a bit of patience to parse. However, what stays with you is the sheer, indomitable energy of the poet himself. His voice cuts through the layers of commentary, leaving a portrait of a man who was, above all, a "comrade" to his readers. For anyone who has ever felt that the established rules of art were too small to hold the scope of human experience, this book acts as both a map of the struggle and a testament to the ultimate, inevitable victory of an original voice.