Friday, April 1, 2011

Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass

"I doubt I'll pick it back up unless I run out of books to read, I'm too poor to buy any more books, all my friends turn on me and refuse to loan me anything else, and all the nearby libraries are set on fire simultaneously."

"he sounds like he's trying to say he's gay"

"I'm switching this book to the 'read' category since I have no intent of reading any more from it. However, I didn't really read it."

"He also uses wordy 'Poetic' language, that is hard to follow, even for experienced readers."

"I don't see the point of free verse poems ... The mystery to me is how in the world did this book become an American literary classic? It's just one of those mysteries."


"Total Rating: 0 of 10

Characters: 0 of 2
Themes/Symbols: 0 of 2
Plot: 0 of 2
Prose: 0 of 2
Wider Influence: 0 of 2"

"Walt, Walt... Didn't anyone ever tell you there's a fine line between intoxicated raving and art? The things we write when under the influence are sometimes better off if they never see the light of day. Leaves of Grass, in my opinion, should have been taken out behind the barn and quietly shot before it was allowed to afflict the literary world with its egocentric, esoteric, nightmarish images and pseudo-artistic themes.

But you know...whatever it takes to 'celebrate yourself.'"

"technically I didn't read this book."


"I really wanted some of whatever Whitman was smoking that made him so ecstatically, ebulliently enthusiastic about every molecule on the planet. Including his own b.o.

'The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer.'

Huh??? Was this guy sniffing glue along with those arm-pits?"

"Poetry. Nobody ever said this was. All. Poetry. I don't read poetry. I don't write poetry. I don't GET poetry. And you'd think with titles like; 'From Pent up Aching Rivers', 'Of Him I sing', and 'Oh Hymen, Oh Hymenee!'. That that's stuff I could figure out. Not so much. I did give this a good peruse, and read the author's prologue, but there's just no way I can sit around reading that stuff. All I could think about the whole time is; what kind of guy sits around writing poetry for 30 years?"

"Most of Leaves of Grass left me in doubt of whether I had actually picked up Smoke Some Grass by mistake."

"I didn't get much out of this other than that Whitman was a silly son of a B. Lalala people are good lalala I love everyone lalala... That's my summary."

"Writing poetry for the sake of 'expressing oneself' is kinda insipid ... But fugazi and minor threat fans the world over thank you."

"more like leaves of ass."

"Known as America's Poet, Whitman is not poetic
like most poetry today, the poems are so little different from prose, except in the presentation into lines. Very few poetic devises are used.

One may correctly criticize my critique as one who does not appreciate contemporary poetry. But, in comparison to rhyhming verse by Longfellow, Frost, Byron, Browning, or Shakespeare, current poetry appears meaningless."

"Although he may be as genius as he is, Walt Whitman is just random. His structure and development are atrocious, leaving us in a cloud of confusion. His lists, names, and metaphors can only be described as random thought. And don't even get me started on his comma use. That's how my little sister writes for crying out loud! I mean, don't you remember? You'd get lucky if you found an 'and' in there somewhere. Granted, he did revolutionize poetry and writing as we know it. However, certain selections for his ever famous Song of Myself show that he can sure describe those bodily actions that he seems to love so much. I can cut him some slack, probably because he's a romantic writer, but his random stringing of words, phrases, and lists do his poetry injustice."

"I know I'm supposed to love it, but I just don't. So there."

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