Ode For Walt Whitman Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCDEF GDHI JKLDMN AHOP AQKA ARSAO HOTUOV AWOXYKOHPAZWHOOOOKA2 B2AC2OOOD2O OOWOOO ONAE2OD DAWDDNAO F2KOOOOA DAG2O HOWOAOHOOOAOO OHOH2H2WOWAWOOOHROAI 2J2NH2 HHNKK2ONAGAA| lt I gt A Translation for Steve Jonas lt i gt | A |
| - | |
| Along East River and the Bronx | B |
| The kids were singing showing off their bodies | C |
| At the wheel at oil the rawhide and the hammer | D |
| Ninety thousand miners were drawing silver out of boulders | E |
| While children made perspective drawings of stairways | F |
| - | |
| But no one went to sleep | G |
| No one wanted to be a river | D |
| No one loved the big leaves no one | H |
| The blue tongue of the coastline | I |
| - | |
| Along East River into Queens | J |
| The kids were wrestling with industry | K |
| The Jews sold circumcision s rose | L |
| To the faun of the river | D |
| The sky flowed through the bridges and rooftops | M |
| Herds of buffalo the wind was pushing | N |
| - | |
| But none of them would stay | A |
| No one wanted to be cloud No one | H |
| Looked for the ferns | O |
| Or the yellow wheel of the drum | P |
| - | |
| But if the moon comes out | A |
| The pulleys will slide around to disturb the sky | Q |
| A limit of needles will fence in your memory | K |
| And there will be coffins to carry out your unemployed | A |
| - | |
| New York of mud | A |
| New York of wire fences and death | R |
| What angel do you carry hidden in your cheek | S |
| What perfect voice will tell you the truth about wheat | A |
| Or the terrible sleep of your wet dreamed anemones | O |
| - | |
| Not for one moment beautiful old Walt Whitman | H |
| Have I stopped seeing your beard full of butterflies | O |
| Or your shoulders of corduroy worn thin by the moon | T |
| Or your muscles of a virgin Apollo | U |
| Or your voice like a column of ashes | O |
| Ancient and beautiful as the fog | V |
| - | |
| You gave a cry like a bird | A |
| With his prick pierced through by a needle | W |
| Enemy of satyrs | O |
| Enemy of the grape | X |
| And lover of bodies under rough cloth | Y |
| Not for one moment tight cocked beauty | K |
| Who in mountains of coal advertisements and railroads | O |
| Had dreamed of being a river and of sleeping like one | H |
| With a particular comrade one who could put in your bosom | P |
| The young pain of an ignorant leopard | A |
| Not for one moment blood Adam male | Z |
| Man alone in the sea beautiful | W |
| Old Walt Whitman | H |
| Because on the rooftops | O |
| Bunched together in bars | O |
| Pouring out in clusters from toilets | O |
| Trembling between the legs of taxi drivers | O |
| Or spinning upon platforms of whiskey | K |
| The cocksuckers Walt Whitman were counting on you | A2 |
| - | |
| That one also also And they throw themselves down on | B2 |
| Your burning virgin beard | A |
| Blonds of the North negroes from the seashore | C2 |
| Crowds of shouts and gestures | O |
| Like cats or snakes | O |
| The cocksuckers Walt Whitman the cocksuckers | O |
| Muddy with tears meat for the whip | D2 |
| Tooth or boot of the cowboys | O |
| - | |
| That one also also Painted fingers | O |
| Sprout out along the beach of your dreams | O |
| And you give a friend an apple | W |
| Which tastes faintly of gas fumes | O |
| And the sun sings a song for the bellybuttons | O |
| Of the little boys who play games below bridges | O |
| - | |
| But you weren t looking for the scratched eyes | O |
| Or the blackswamp country where children are sinking | N |
| Or the frozen spit | A |
| Or the wounded curves like a toad s paunch | E2 |
| Which cocksuckers wear in bars and night clubs | O |
| While the moon beats them along the corners of terror | D |
| - | |
| You were looking for a naked man who would be like a river | D |
| Bull and dream a connection between the wheel and the seaweed | A |
| Be father for your agony your death s camellia | W |
| And moan in the flames of your hidden equator | D |
| For it is just that a man not look for his pleasure | D |
| In the forest of blood of the following morning | N |
| The sky has coastlines where life can be avoided | A |
| And some bodies must not repeat themselves at sunrise | O |
| - | |
| Agony agony dream leaven and dream | F2 |
| That is the world my friend agony agony | K |
| The dead decompose themselves under the clock of the cities | O |
| War enters weeping with a million gray rats | O |
| The rich give to their girlfriends | O |
| Tiny illuminated dyings | O |
| And life is not noble or good or sacred | A |
| - | |
| A man is able if he wishes to lead his desire | D |
| Through vein of coral or the celestial naked | A |
| Tomorrow his loves will be rock and Time | G2 |
| A breeze that comes sleeping through their clusters | O |
| - | |
| That is why I do not cry out old Walt Whitman | H |
| Against the little boy who writes | O |
| A girl s name on his pillow | W |
| Or the kid who puts on a wedding dress | O |
| In the darkness of a closet | A |
| Or the lonely men in bars | O |
| Who drink with sickness the waters of prostitution | H |
| Or the men with green eyelids | O |
| Who love men and scald their lips in silence | O |
| But against the rest of you cocksuckers of cities | O |
| Hard up and dirty brained | A |
| Mothers of mud harpies dreamless enemies | O |
| Of the Love that distributes crowns of gladness | O |
| - | |
| Against the rest of you always who give the kids | O |
| Drippings of sucked off death with sour poison | H |
| Against the rest of you always | O |
| Fairies of North America | H2 |
| Pajaros of Havana | H2 |
| Jotos of Mexico | W |
| Sarasas of Cadiz | O |
| Apios of Seville | W |
| Cancos of Madrid | A |
| Adelaidas of Portugal | W |
| Cocksuckers of all the world assassins of doves | O |
| Slaves of women lapdogs of their dressing tables | O |
| Opening their flys in parks with a fever of fans | O |
| Or ambushed in the rigid landscapes of poison | H |
| Let there be no mercy Death | R |
| Trickles from all of your eyes groups | O |
| Itself like gray flowers on beaches of mud | A |
| Let there be no mercy Watch out for them | I2 |
| Let the bewildered the pure | J2 |
| The classical the appointed the praying | N |
| Lock the gates of this Bacchanalia | H2 |
| - | |
| And you beautiful Walt Whitman sleep on the banks of the Hudson | H |
| With your beard toward the pole and your palms open | H |
| Soft clay or snow your tongue is invoking | N |
| Comrades to keep vigil over your gazelle without body | K |
| Sleep there is nothing left here | K2 |
| A dance of walls shakes across the prairies | O |
| And America drowns itself with machines and weeping | N |
| Let the hard air of midnight | A |
| Sweep away all the flowers and letters from the arch in which you sleep | G |
| And a little black boy announce to the white men of gold | A |
| The arrival of the reign of the ear of wheat | A |
Jack Spicer
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