WHOEVER you are, holding me now in hand, | |
Without one thing, all will be useless, | |
I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, | |
I am not what you supposed, but far different. | |
Who is he that would become my follower? | |
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections? | |
The way is suspicious—the result uncertain, perhaps destructive; | |
You would have to give up all else—I alone would expect to be your God, sole and exclusive, | |
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting, | |
The whole past theory of your life, and all conformity to the lives around you, would have to be abandon’d; | |
Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself any further—Let go your hand from my shoulders, | |
Put me down, and depart on your way. | |
Or else, by stealth, in some wood, for trial, | |
Or back of a rock, in the open air, | |
(For in any roof’d room of a house I emerge not—nor in company, | |
And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,) | |
But just possibly with you on a high hill—first watching lest any person, for miles around, approach unawares, | |
Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea, or some quiet island, | |
Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, | |
With the comrade’s long-dwelling kiss, or the new husband’s kiss, | |
For I am the new husband, and I am the comrade. | |
Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing, | |
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest upon your hip, | |
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea; | |
For thus, merely touching you, is enough—is best, | |
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be carried eternally. | |
But these leaves conning, you con at peril, | |
For these leaves, and me, you will not understand, | |
They will elude you at first, and still more afterward—I will certainly elude you, | |
Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold! | |
Already you see I have escaped from you. | |
For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, | |
Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it, | |
Nor do those know me best who admire me, and vauntingly praise me, | |
Nor will the candidates for my love, (unless at most a very few,) prove victorious, | |
Nor will my poems do good only—they will do just as much evil, perhaps more; | |
For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times and not hit—that which I hinted at; | |
Therefore release me, and depart on your way. – Walt Whitman (1819–1892)Leaves of Grass1900 Whitman… Whitman… gracias, Whitman, desde siempre. |
domingo, mayo 12, 2013
Whoever You are, Holding Me now in Hand
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