A word out of the sea

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A WORD OUT OF THE SEA.

Out of the rocked cradle,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the boy’s mother’s womb, and from the nipples
of her breasts,
Out of the Ninth Month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where
the child, leaving his bed, wandered alone, bare-headed,
barefoot,
Down from the showered halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and
twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful
risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and
swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love,
there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to
cease,

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From the myriad thence-aroused words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping
beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.

REMINISCENCE.

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1

OUT of the rock’d cradle,

Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where

        the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare–

        headed, barefoot,

Down from the shower’d halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and

        twisting as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful

        risings and fallings I heard,

From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and

        swollen as if with tears,

From those beginning notes of sickness and love,

        there in the transparent mist,

From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,

From the myriad thence-arous’d words,

From the word stronger and more delicious than any,

From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,

As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,

Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,

A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,

Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,

I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,

Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping

        beyond them,

A reminiscence sing.

2

Once, Paumanok,

When the snows had melted, and the Fifth-month

        grass was growing,

Up this sea-shore, in some briers,

Two guests from Alabama—two together,

And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with

        brown,

And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,

And every day the she-bird, crouch’d on her nest,

        silent, with bright eyes,

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never

        disturbing them,

Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

3

Shine! shine! shine!

Pour down your warmth, great Sun!

While we bask—we two together .

4

Two together!

Winds blow South, or winds blow North,

Day come white, or night come black,

Home, or rivers and mountains from home,

Singing all time, minding no time,

If we two but keep together .

5

 

Till of a sudden,

May-be kill’d, unknown to her mate,

One forenoon the she-bird crouch’d not on the nest,

Nor return’d that afternoon, nor the next,

Nor ever appear’d again.

6

 

And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the

        sea,

And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer

        weather,

Over the hoarse surging of the sea,

Or flitting from brier to brier by day,

I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the

        he-bird,

The solitary guest from Alabama.

7

 

Blow! blow! blow!

Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok’s shore!

I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me .

8

 

Yes, when the stars glisten’d,

All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake,

Down, almost amid the slapping waves,

Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.

9

 

He call’d on his mate;

He pour’d forth the meanings which I, of all men,

        know.

10

 

Yes, my brother, I know;

The rest might not—but I have treasur’d every

        note;

For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the

        beach gliding,

Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with

        the shadows,

Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the

        sounds and sights after their sorts,

The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,

I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,

Listen’d long and long.

11

 

Listen’d, to keep, to sing—now translating the

        notes,

Following you, my brother.

12

 

Soothe! soothe! soothe!

Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,

And again another behind, embracing and lapping,

         every one close,

But my love soothes not me, not me .

13

 

Low hangs the moon—it rose late;

O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love,

         with love .

14

 

O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land .

With love—with love .

15

 

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there

         among the breakers?

What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

16

 

Loud! loud! loud!

Loud I call to you, my love!

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves;

Surely you must know who is here, is here;

You must know who I am, my love .

17

 

Low-hanging moon!

What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?

O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!

O moon, do not keep her from me any longer .

18

 

Land! land! O land!

Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me

         my mate back again, if you only would;

For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way

         I look .

19

 

O rising stars!

Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise

         with some of you .

Sound clearer through the atmosphere!

Pierce the woods, the earth;

Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I

         want .

21

 

Shake out, carols!

Solitary here—the night’s carols!

Carols of lonesome love! Death’s carols!

Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!

O, under that moon, where she droops almost down

         into the sea!

O reckless, despairing carols .

22

 

But soft! sink low;

Soft! let me just murmur;

And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea;

For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding

         to me,

So faint—I must be still, be still to listen;

But not altogether still, for then she might not come

         immediately tome .

23

 

Hither, my love!

Here I am! Here!

With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to

         you;

This gentle call is for you, my love, for you .

24

 

Do not be decoy’d elsewhere!

That is the whistle of the wind—it is not my voice;

That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray;

Those are the shadows of leaves .

25

 

O darkness! O in vain!

O I am very sick and sorrowful .

26

 

O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping

         upon the sea!

O troubled reflection in the sea!

O throat! O throbbing heart!

O all—and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night .

27

 

Yet I murmur, murmur on!

O murmurs—you yourselves make me continue to sing,

         I know not why .

28

 

O past! O life! O songs of joy!

In the air—in the woods—over fields;

Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!

But my love no more, no more with me!

We two together no more .

29

 

The aria sinking;

All else continuing—the stars shining,

The winds blowing—the notes of the bird continuous

        echoing,

With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly

        moaning,

On the sands of Paumanok’s shore, gray and rustling;

The yellow half—moon enlarged, sagging down, droop—

        ing, the face of the sea almost touching;

The boy extatic—with his bare feet the waves, with

        his hair the atmosphere dallying,

The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last

        tumultuously bursting,

The aria’s meaning, the ears, the Soul, swiftly deposit–

        ing,

The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,

The colloquy there—the trio—each uttering,

The undertone—the savage old mother, incessantly

        crying,

To the boy’s Soul’s questions sullenly timing—some

        drown’d secret hissing,

To the outsetting bard of love.

30

 

Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)

Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it

        mostly to me?

For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping,

Now I have heard you,

Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake,

And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs,

        clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,

A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within

        me,

Never to die.

31

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—project–

        ing me;

O solitary me, listening—never more shall I cease per–

        petuating you;

Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera–

        tions,

Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent

        from me,

Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was

        before what there, in the night,

By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,

The messenger there aroused—the fire, the sweet hell

        within,

The unknown want, the destiny of me.

32

 

O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here

        somewhere;)

O if I am to have so much, let me have more!

O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is

        henceforth chaos;)

O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes, and

        all shapes, spring as from graves around me!

O phantoms! you cover all the land and all the sea!

O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or

        frown upon me;

O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved!

O you dear women’s and men’s phantoms!

33

 

A word then, (for I will conquer it,)

The word final, superior to all,

Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen;

Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you

        sea-waves?

Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

34

 

Whereto answering, the sea,

Delaying not, hurrying not,

Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly be–

        fore daybreak,

Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word DEATH;

And again Death—ever Death, Death, Death,

Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my

        arous’d child’s heart,

But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my

        feet,

Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me

        softly all over,

Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

35  

Which I do not forget,

But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,

That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s

        gray beach,

With the thousand responsive songs, at random,

My own songs, awaked from that hour;

And with them the key, the word up from the waves,

The word of the sweetest song, and all songs,

That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my

        feet,

The sea whisper’d me.

A Word out of the Sea: IV. Demon or Bird! информация

«Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking» by American poet Walt Whitman is one of his most complex and successfully integrated poems. Whitman used several new techniques in the poem. One is the use of images like bird, boy, sea. The influence of music is also seen in opera form. Some critics have taken the poem to be an elegy mourning the death of someone dear to him. The basic theme of the poem is the relationship between suffering and art. It shows how a boy matures into a poet through his experience of love and death. Art is a sublimation of frustrations and death is a release from the stress and strains caused by such frustrations. The language is similar to «There Was a Child Went Forth».

Overview

The poem features a young boy walking on the beach who finds two mockingbirds nesting and watches them. The female bird fails to appear one day, and the male bird cries out for her. The bird’s cries create an awakening in the boy who translates what the male is saying in the rest of the poem. As this happens, the boy recognizes the impact of nature on the human soul and his own burgeoning consciousness.

Publication history

Originally titled «A Child’s Reminiscence», the poem was first published in the Saturday Press on December 24, 1859. The newspaper included this introduction: «Our readers may, if they choose, consider as our Christmas or New Year’s present to them, the curious warble by Walt Whitman».

The poem was later included in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass under the title «A Word Out of the Sea» (and occasionally erroneously referred to, even by Whitman himself, as «A Voice Out of the Sea»). «Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking» is found in the title section, Sea-Drift. Several of Whitman’s individuals poems, including «Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking», focus on the seashore; his first was «A Sketch».

Analysis and response

Upon its first publication, a reviewer for the Cincinnati newspaper Daily Commercial called the poem «unmixed and hopeless drivel» and a disgrace to its publisher. Shortly after, on January 7, 1860, the Saturday Press published a response to that review titled «All About a Mocking-Bird», celebrating Whitman’s poem. This article may have been written by Whitman himself.