“Plague take the Literati! My stuff’s not literature at all, more like a kind of fertilizer for future literature. Yes, I guess that’s what I am, boys, a kind of manure. I know what I’m talking about. I used to write little pieces for the papers, book reviews, tattle, editorials on politics, the usual run of shad, come-day go-day palaver. Then something happened. I remember one day I got kind of a desperation, I put down some lines in a notebook, ‘I am the poet of slaves and of the masters of slaves. I am the poet of the body and I am the poet of the soul.’ That was the beginning of the Leaves . . . Leaves of Grass is more of a person than a book.”
These words were spoken last week in Camden, N. J., by a man with a torrent of white beard, clad in loose-fitting, almost shabby clothing. The man was masquerading as Walt Whitman in Christopher Morley’s tart one-act play, Walt. Author Morley, smiling, robustious, pensive, was present as master of ceremonies.
The ceremonies celebrated the 108th anniversary of Walt Whitman’s birth at West Hills, L. I. The celebration culminated in an announcement by the Walt Whitman Foundation of its plan to establish “a liberal college of arts and sciences” in memory of the poet. One of the aims of the college will be to help modern U. S. poets obtain publication of their works. Camden was where Poet Whitman spent the twilight of his life.
Meanwhile, in many another city, honor was paid. In Chicago, for example, Dr. Morris Lychenheim, who has organized annual fellowship dinners since 1900 for all who wish to attend, said: “The Walt Whitman meeting is a town meeting.”
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