 | Leaves of grass. |  |
WALT WHITMAN
FROM time to time echoes reach this country, from across the Atlantic, of controversies regarding the literary and worldly well-being of the American poet, Walt Whitman. For instance, Mr. Joaquin Miller delivers a lecture to an American audience, telling them that Whitman is disgracefully treated by his countrymen; and forthwith some one writes from the United States to a London review to say that Mr. Miller is all in the wrong, and the American public well affected, and even affectionately disposed, towards Whitman. Lately the West Jersey Press (26th January) has published an article named "Walt Whitman's Actual American Position." It comes to us authenticated by Whitman's own words:—"My theory is that the plain truth of the situation here is best stated; it is even worse than described in the article." It may, therefore, interest some of our readers if we reproduce the principal passages:—
The real truth is that with the exception of a very few readers (women equally with men), Whitman's poems in their public reception have fallen still-born in this country. They have been met, and are met to-day, with the determined denial, disgust, and scorn of orthodox American authors, publishers, and editors, and, in a pecuniary and worldly sense, have certainly wrecked the life of their author.
"From 1845 to 1855 Whitman, then in Brooklyn and New York cities, bade fair to be a good business man, and to make his mark and fortune in the usual way—owned several houses, was worth some money, and 'doing well.' But, about the latter date, he suddenly abandoned all, and commenced writing poems, got possessed by the notion that he must make epics or lyrics, 'fit for the New World.' . . . . Little or no impression (at least ostensibly) seems to have been made. Still he stands alone. No established publishing house will yet publish his books. Most of the stores will not even sell them. In fact, his works have never been really published at all. Worse still; for the last three years he left them in charge of book agents in New York city, who, taking advantage of the author's illness and helplessness, have, three of them, one after another, successively thievishly embezzled every dollar of the proceeds!
"Repeated attempts to secure a small income by writing for the magazines during his illness have been utter failures. The Atlantic will not touch him. His offerings to Scribner are returned with insulting notes; the Galaxy the same. Harper's did print a couple of his pieces two years ago, but imperative orders from head-quarters have stopped anything further. All the established American poets studiously ignore Whitman. . . . . But the poet himself is more resolute and persevering than ever. 'Old, poor, and paralyzed,' he has, for a twelve-month past, been occupying himself by preparing, largely with his own handiwork, here in Camden, a small edition of his complete works in two volumes, which he himself now sells, partly 'to keep the wolf from the door' in old age, and partly to give, before he dies, as absolute an expression as may be to his ideas. 'Leaves of Grass' is mainly the same volume previously issued, but has some small new pieces, and gives two characteristic portraits. Of 'Two Rivulets' he has printed the newer parts here in Camden."
| Leaves of grass. | |