By Walter Lowenfels
In 1863 Walt Whitman first proposed to the writer John Redpath a ebook approximately his Civil conflict reports. It used to be by no means released. yet in a draft prospectus Whitman defined ”a new e-book . . . with its framework jotted down at the battlefield, within the safeguard tent, through the wayside amid the rubble of passing artillery trains or the relocating cavalry within the streets of Washington . . . a publication filled with the blood and energy of the yankee people.” Walter Lowenfels has edited the e-book Whitman may well merely envision. From a mosaic of materials—newspaper dispatches, letters, notebooks, released and unpublished works—as good as thirty-six of Whitman’s nice warfare poems, Lowenfels has created an exhilarating and particular record. 16 pages of drawings by means of Winslow Homer, one other exclusive eyewitness, are reproduced the following from the artist’s box sketches. the result's a ebook that produces within the reader precisely what Whitman had was hoping, one who captures ”part of the particular distraction, warmth, smoke, and pleasure of these times.”
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Extra resources for Walt Whitman's Civil War (A Da Capo Paperback)
Example text
Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a pitch'd battle, But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle. We fought the fight in detachments, Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck was against us, Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back to the works on this hill, Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us. That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong, Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.
Poet Fresh and rosy red the sun is mounting high, On floats the sea in distant blue careering through its channels, On floats the wind over the breast of the sea setting in toward land, The great steady wind from west or west-by-south, Floating so buoyant with milk-white foam on the waters. But I am not the sea nor the red sun, I am not the wind with girlish laughter, Not the immense wind which strengthens, not the wind which lashes, Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death, But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings, Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land, Which the birds know in the woods mornings and evenings, And the shore-sands know and the hissing wave, and that banner and pennant, Aloft there flapping and flapping.
My Captain! Hush'd Be the Camps To-day This Dust Was Once the Man Drum-Taps First O Songs for a Prelude Eighteen Sixty-One Beat! Beat! Drums! From Paumanok Starting I Fly Like a Bird Song of the Banner at Daybreak Rise, O Days, from Your Fathomless Deeps Virginia--the West City of Ships The Centenarian's Story Cavalry Crossing a Ford Bivouac on a Mountain Side An Army Corps on the March By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame Come up from the Fields Father Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest, and the Road Unknown A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Grey and Dim As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods Not the Pilot Year That Trembled and Reel'd beneath Me The Wound-Dresser Long, too Long, America Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun Dirge for Two Veterans Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice I Saw Old General at Bay The Artilleryman's Vision Ethiopia Saluting the Colours Not Youth Pertains to Me Race of Veterans World Take Good Notice O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy Look Down Fair Moon Reconciliation How Solemn As One by One As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap, Camerado Delicate Cluster To a Certain Civilian Lo, Victress on the Peaks Spirit Whose Work is Done Adieu to a Soldier Turn O Libertad To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod Song of the Open Road Civil War Poems Memories of President Lincoln When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd 1 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.