When I have seen that the suggested word for today’s freewrite was ‘born’ the first thing that has come to mind are the verses of grass leaves (1855) of Walt Whitman referred to birth.
For almost everyone to have been born is a transcendental event in our lives, even more so when we associate that fact with a series of unions that because they happened we have been able to be. As the conjunction of our grandparents and then that of our parents, so as not to go far in that chain of causes and consequences from which we derive.
In the verses that begin with the book we see that celebration of life, that kind of festive energy that floods this great book from beginning to end:
‘I celebrate and I sing,
And everything is mine is also yours,
Because there is no atom of my body that does not belong to you.
Indolent and idle converted to my soul,
I let myself be and look at a summer grass stem.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, made with this land, with this air,
Born here, from parents whose parents were born here, the same as their parents,
I now, at thirty -seven years of my age and with perfect health, beginning,
And I hope not to cease until my death.’
Jorge Luis Borges makes the wonderful translation of the English that I transcribe here, and in these verses we see that he sungs to life, to the ancestors, but it is also highlighted that apart from the birth of our mother’s belly, there are other births or rebirths that They have to do with fundamental changes or transformations of our being, like that of which the poetic subject speaks when he says he begins at 37 and hopes not to cease until his death.
Poem 7 questions the luck that is to be born, since it is pointed out that it should also be considered a lucky to die:
‘Has someone who is lucky to be born?
I hurry to inform you that it is not less fortunate to die, and I know what I say.
I die with those who die and Nazco with the newborn who just washed,
And my hat and my shoes are not my limits, ’
Within our life of the unique individual, the essence of the species beats, for which in addition to being each one, we are also part of all who have been, and our body, our shoes and our hat cannot be considered then our limits, because our limits as a species are much broader and more vast. And in other verses of poem 20 he will insist on this idea:
‘I know I’m immortal,
I know that my orbit cannot be measured by the compass of the carpenter,
I know that I will not miss as the spiral that a child draws in the dark with a stick on.’
I love that image that we will not lose ourselves in the dark as that light drawn by a child with a stick on, with which it is stated that our footprint on the planet is more lasting and strong than that brief light. In poem 44 of the book we reach a critical point of it, a poetic and meaning top:
‘The time has come to explain to me, let’s stand up.
I dispossess the known,
I release all men and all women to the unknown.
The clock indicates the moment-but what indicates eternity?
We have already exhausted trillion winters and you,
Trillones are ahead and trillions after.
The births brought us wealth and variety,
And other births will bring us wealth and variety.
I don’t say that one is more and another less,
What fills your time and place is no less than anyone.’
It is as if the poet told us, make a stop on your way, and dare to throw yourself towards what you do not know, although the watches mark the time of hours, minutes and seconds, eternity is something much broader where it is housed That trimmed time of our watches, and if our history already as humanity has traveled innumerable stations, in which births of great wealth and variety have been generated, the future also announces many more, but nothing or anyone is worth more than another, and all At our time, we fill our time and our place, and that is our duty, to live our land in the best possible way.
But the moment before birth is narrated in this great book as a preparation in which the entire universe conspires for our arrival on Earth, so other verses of poem 44 tell us:
‘I was always waiting, invisible, sleeping in the lethargic mist,
And I didn’t hurry and I didn’t harm my carbon fetid.
A long time the shadow sheltered me – very time.
Immense was the preparation of my being,
Faithful and affectionate the arms that sustained me.
The cycles transported my crib rowing and paddling as cheerful barqueros,
For me to pass the stars they fulfilled their orbits,
And they sent their influence to take care of what I would finally receive me.
Before I was born from my mother, the generations guided me,
My embryo never slept, nothing could oppress it.’
I find it extraordinarily beautiful that image of a being that has been cradled before the birth of him by the shadows, by the cycles, and the one that is combined so that this embryo that we were each of us could have achieved life. That is why I wanted to write this post about having been born in the company of some Whitman verses and I would like to conclude with a recent photograph that I made of a dawn, one of those magical and everyday moments when the night dies so that the day can be born the day.
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Poem Comment Grass Leaves
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Poem comment Grass leaves
When I have seen that the suggested word for today’s freewrite was ‘born’ the first thing that has come to mind are the verses of grass leaves (1855) of Walt Whitman referred to birth.
For almost everyone to have been born is a transcendental event in our lives, even more so when we associate that fact with a series of unions that because they happened we have been able to be. As the conjunction of our grandparents and then that of our parents, so as not to go far in that chain of causes and consequences from which we derive.
In the verses that begin with the book we see that celebration of life, that kind of festive energy that floods this great book from beginning to end:
‘I celebrate and I sing,
And everything is mine is also yours,
Because there is no atom of my body that does not belong to you.
Indolent and idle converted to my soul,
I let myself be and look at a summer grass stem.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, made with this land, with this air,
Born here, from parents whose parents were born here, the same as their parents,
I now, at thirty -seven years of my age and with perfect health, beginning,
And I hope not to cease until my death.’
Jorge Luis Borges makes the wonderful translation of the English that I transcribe here, and in these verses we see that he sungs to life, to the ancestors, but it is also highlighted that apart from the birth of our mother’s belly, there are other births or rebirths that They have to do with fundamental changes or transformations of our being, like that of which the poetic subject speaks when he says he begins at 37 and hopes not to cease until his death.
Poem 7 questions the luck that is to be born, since it is pointed out that it should also be considered a lucky to die:
‘Has someone who is lucky to be born?
I hurry to inform you that it is not less fortunate to die, and I know what I say.
I die with those who die and Nazco with the newborn who just washed,
And my hat and my shoes are not my limits, ’
Within our life of the unique individual, the essence of the species beats, for which in addition to being each one, we are also part of all who have been, and our body, our shoes and our hat cannot be considered then our limits, because our limits as a species are much broader and more vast. And in other verses of poem 20 he will insist on this idea:
‘I know I’m immortal,
I know that my orbit cannot be measured by the compass of the carpenter,
I know that I will not miss as the spiral that a child draws in the dark with a stick on.’
I love that image that we will not lose ourselves in the dark as that light drawn by a child with a stick on, with which it is stated that our footprint on the planet is more lasting and strong than that brief light. In poem 44 of the book we reach a critical point of it, a poetic and meaning top:
‘The time has come to explain to me, let’s stand up.
I dispossess the known,
I release all men and all women to the unknown.
The clock indicates the moment-but what indicates eternity?
We have already exhausted trillion winters and you,
Trillones are ahead and trillions after.
The births brought us wealth and variety,
And other births will bring us wealth and variety.
I don’t say that one is more and another less,
What fills your time and place is no less than anyone.’
It is as if the poet told us, make a stop on your way, and dare to throw yourself towards what you do not know, although the watches mark the time of hours, minutes and seconds, eternity is something much broader where it is housed That trimmed time of our watches, and if our history already as humanity has traveled innumerable stations, in which births of great wealth and variety have been generated, the future also announces many more, but nothing or anyone is worth more than another, and all At our time, we fill our time and our place, and that is our duty, to live our land in the best possible way.
But the moment before birth is narrated in this great book as a preparation in which the entire universe conspires for our arrival on Earth, so other verses of poem 44 tell us:
‘I was always waiting, invisible, sleeping in the lethargic mist,
And I didn’t hurry and I didn’t harm my carbon fetid.
A long time the shadow sheltered me – very time.
Immense was the preparation of my being,
Faithful and affectionate the arms that sustained me.
The cycles transported my crib rowing and paddling as cheerful barqueros,
For me to pass the stars they fulfilled their orbits,
And they sent their influence to take care of what I would finally receive me.
Before I was born from my mother, the generations guided me,
My embryo never slept, nothing could oppress it.’
I find it extraordinarily beautiful that image of a being that has been cradled before the birth of him by the shadows, by the cycles, and the one that is combined so that this embryo that we were each of us could have achieved life. That is why I wanted to write this post about having been born in the company of some Whitman verses and I would like to conclude with a recent photograph that I made of a dawn, one of those magical and everyday moments when the night dies so that the day can be born the day.
Free Poem Comment Grass Leaves Essay Sample
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