All the Living Cities of the Globe

This is the apocalyptic, visionary Whitman, the Whitman who is akin to Rimbaud’s Illuminations. Here, in a single stanza he goes from a vision of ice to a vision of an unearthly city, utterly destroyed. This was before the civil war. He seems to have ascended to a Hurqulayan Interzone. Or else he fell asleep in the crows nest, entranced by the ice. 

 

 

Leaves of Grass, 1855 edition

 

Part 33, lines 806-812

 

I ascend to the foretruck….I take my place late at night in the crow’s nest….we sail

through the arctic sea….it is plenty light enough,

Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty,

The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them….the scenery is plain in all

directions,

The white-topped mountains point up in the distance….I fling out my fancies toward

them;

We are about approaching some great battlefield in which we are soon to be engaged,

We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment….we pass with still feet and caution;

Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruined city….the blocks and fallen

architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.