Because everyone loves a good story
“I Hear America Singing” by Walt Whitman
Happy Independence Day, America! If you’re reading this on July 4th, you’ve probably got a busy day planned with cookouts, boat rides, and time with family—all topped off by fireworks.
These are a great way to spend any summer day, and I plan to do all of them today. But if you have three minutes to enjoy a classic poem from Walt Whitman, one of America’s most innovative poets, then read on!
“I Hear America Singing”
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
Healthy and Happy
Is this poem deep, enigmatic, and subtle? Not really. But it’s joyful, frank, and hearty. I think it captures the early American spirit—the feeling of excitement and hope during westward expansion. While no one in the poem is doing anything too terribly exciting, they’re all fulfilling their unique purpose with joy. It’s a picture of a happy town and a healthy nation.
That fact may feel trite and optimistic, considering that it was published just a few years before the Civil War broke out. Whitman continued to edit and expand this collection of poems during and after the War, and, like other transcendentalists of his day, he chose to largely ignore the turmoil around him and focus instead on hope. It’s an ostrich-style approach, but this positive outlook yielded some lovely poems.
A New America
We don’t live in the America of this poem anymore. We don’t have nearly as many shoemakers, hatters, or ploughboys, and we’ve traded robust, friendly singing for stress and angst. But from time to time you’ll still find places and people who “sing” in the work they do. They stand out brightly against the backdrop of modernism, just like the workers in this poem contrasted with the rumblings of the Civil War. When you’re fulfilling your calling, even if it’s not momentous, you can choose joy and find satisfaction.
So today while you’re cooking burgers and enjoying fireworks, take a minute to look around at all the Americans doing their thing: the neighbor watering his lawn, Uncle Pete setting off bottle rockets for the kids, and Grandpa napping in the shade. Next time you go to work or drive past a farm or look in at a factory, see the melting pot of people who are making America happen, and be thankful that God made each person for a specific task—including you.
One Comment on ““I Hear America Singing” by Walt Whitman”
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It reminds me of my father who loved to sing as he went about his activities. Mother, on the other hand, would whistle a song sometimes.