Often one believes that they must follow the path of all those who came before and that their fate is already chosen.  But, one can create their own path if one wants to take on the challenge.  In changing the book, Christopher Robin Leads an Expotition (Expedition), I created my altered book entitled “Choose Your Own Adventure.”  The title comes from a series of children’s books.  However, the title has several meanings which correspond to the definitions of “adventure”.  In old French, “adventure” was a synonym of “fate”.  In modern French, it means a type of voyage or embarkment, like that of Perceval.  I want this book to inspire the reader to embark on an adventure to change their destiny, to break the mold.

My own inspiration was the story of Perceval who defies the destiny of his lineage in becoming one of the greatest knights.  His mother warns him that his entire family died as knights, including his father and his brothers.  However, Perceval is not afraid and continues his quest.  Several pages include examples of other people who have defied their destiny.  The “Fille de Kung-Fu”, for example, defies the traditional role of a girl in China by undertaking a mission to become a Kung-Fu world champion.  She changed her adventure (in the old French meaning) and chose another that pleased her more.

Another concentration of my project is the definitions of the word “adventure”.  Throughout the book, Christopher Robin Leads an Expotition, all of the characters have their own definition of this “expedition”.  According to Christopher Robin, it’s a parade of everyone.

According to Eeyore, it’s only “confused noise”, and for Piglet it’s a surprise.  I include a poem of Baudelaire in which he expresses his desire to explore the body of a giant because there is the theme of exploration, and eroticism, which is a type of adventure.  I add other meanings of the central word, including that of an undertaking, and that of fate.  In this way, the reader chooses the definition of adventure that pleases them the most, they chooses their own adventure.

This book is an exploration of the word “adventure” that begins with the modern meaning, and continues with that of old French.  I invite the reader to reflect on the future and to ask themselves “Where do I go from here?”  This page is a moment of deep reflection.  I give the example of Perceval who decides to leave for “the king who makes knights.”* The page emphasizes the risks of following this new path with phrases such as “Dangerous Place”, “Fear”, and “lot de défis” (many challenges).  Although there are risks, one can profit from it in becoming “A Renaissance Woman.”  At the end of the book, I invite the reader to begin their own adventure, or story, in providing a blank page.

Chrétien de Troyes left Perceval unfinished, but many artists wrote possible endings.  At the end of my book, I put these endings so that the reader can choose the next adventure of Perceval.  The series “Choose Your Own Adventure” is the model for this ending and for this last meaning of the title.

Perceval, Winnie the Pooh, and Christopher Robin are examples throughout the altered book of people who discover during their expeditions.  Perceval discovers his name, Christopher Robin and Pooh discover the North Pole, and I hope that these examples encourage the reader to discover themself.  This is the reason why I wrote at the beginning, “Perceval and Christopher Robin lead an expedition on how to choose your own adventure.”

*Chrétien de Troyes, Perceval, ou le roman du Graal, trad. Jean-Pierre Foucher et André Ortais (Genève : Editions Gallimard Jeunesse, 1997), 33.  All citations of Perceval are from this edition.

For my First-year literature seminar creative project, I altered an Everyman’s library reproduction of the 1831 edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Or, The Modern Prometheus.  All of the alterations made to the presentation of the original text were designed to emphasize the often-subtle references Shelley makes to political events, her life, and the works of her contemporaries within her gothic novel. In my research paper, I contend that, “although not entirely designed to serve this purpose, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Or, the Modern Prometheus contains elements that suggest that it is a critique of the socio-political climate of the 1800s. Shelley’s masterful use of diction, characterization, and plot development reinforces the presence of an anti-imperialist sentiment in Frankenstein: Or, the Modern Prometheus.”

I chose the medium of an altered book because I thought that literally juxtaposing the text of Frankenstein to other documents would form a particularly compelling visual that supported my claim.  Initially, the scope of the project was limited to nineteenth-century news articles that corresponded to events in the plot of Frankenstein; however, as a began my research I found numerous allusions to the work of Shelley’s contemporaries as well as to her travels. Thus, the altered book transformed into a compilation of Shelley’s letters, works of her contemporaries, news articles, and journals.  In terms of continuity, I stylistically used printed material and newspaper throughout the piece.  For example, on page 43, the interlaced newspaper is symbolic of the integral role Shelley’s political environment had on her writing. The product of two politically active parents, Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin, Shelley would have been aware of the numerous political ideologies competing for influence during the 1800s. Born at the height of the French Revolution, Shelley observed both the tremendous influence and the destructive power of the mob. Most importantly, during the time period in which she wrote her novel England adopted imperialism as the prevailing political ideology. The period in which Frankenstein was published coincides with the time period, 1815-1919, commonly referred to as Britain’s imperial century. By juxtaposing newspaper articles that predate the publishing of Frankenstein, the reader is able to observe the parallel Euro-centric diction and similarities in the topics. For example, according to her letters, Shelley was particularly concerned with the Greek Revolution because of her friend Lord Bryon’s involvement. Therefore, in the book I included nineteenth-century publications that were written about the revolution.

Shelley incorporated many of her own life experiences in to her gothic novel; therefore, it is logically consistent to conclude that she would have incorporated elements of her own political position into her novel as well.  For example, the settings in her novel were places that she and her husband Percy had visited together. Shelley wrote the first draft of Frankenstein while on a trip to lake Geneva in Switzerland; Victor Frankenstein is said to be from Geneva, Switzerland. The descriptions of the settings and the descriptions of her travels in A History of A Six Weeks Tour are almost verbatim.

Ultimately, I hope that the altered book visually articulates the concept that underpins my theory of incidental imperialism, that all writers, whether it be intentional or subconscious, tend to write about what they know best – the world in which they live.

Since the beginning of time, humans have worked hard to improve their overall quality of life. In every area and in every field, ambition has driven many people to explore, to think, and to discover; it has led to remarkable inventions, cures, and ideas that have transformed the way that we live. Without ambition, there would be no achievement. Sometimes, however, when a person becomes obsessed over a particular aspiration, ambition can be rather detrimental. By focusing exclusively on one thing, a person often sacrifices something perhaps much greater. 

Looking at ambition as “going somewhere,” I decided to portray my message by embedding Han Christian Andersen’s “The Red Shoes” in an old book entitled Think Small, which is filled with imagery and phrases relating to travel. Andersen’s “The Red Shoes,” a story about a young girl named Karen whose fixation over a pair of red shoes leads to disastrous consequences, helped me to extend this travel theme. When Karen puts on the red shoes, she begins dancing and cannot stop. She travels all around town, finding no rest from her dancing feet. It is from this story that I obtain the title of my altered book: “Shall We Dance?” The purpose of the book is to consider when it is appropriate to follow your ambitions and “put on your shoes to dance,” and when it is better to “sit back and enjoy the show.”

The altered book is divided into three parts. The first section contains the actual text of “The Red Shoes” and introduces the theme of ardent desires. From the very moment she first sees the red shoes, Karen can think of nothing else. Because of her obsession over the red shoes, Karen ultimately misses out on important events, such as her confirmation and her mother’s death and funeral. The price that Karen really pays for wearing the shoes is life – not only her literal life, but also the significant moments that define life.

Two images that repeatedly show up in the altered book are shoes and footprints, both of which can be associated with movement. These illustrations are meant to represent ambition, or the movement towards a particular goal.   For example, at the end of the first section, there is a collage of different shoes splattered in red. The shoes, varying in size, shape, and color, represent the diversity of goals that one may possess. Though different, the shoes are all covered in red, signifying that regardless of the aspiration, if taken too far, the goal can become “splattered” or tainted as sacrifices must be made.

The final two sections take on a more general approach as ambition is analyzed as both a blessing and a curse. Ambition is first viewed in a positive manner in the section entitled “Oh the Places You May Go.”  This part of the altered book begins with an excerpt of the children’s story, “Oh the Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss. In this excerpt, Dr. Seuss wisely exclaims, “Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose” (Seuss 1-2). This passage emphasizes the power of ambition and what can be accomplished when we set our minds to something.

To further illustrate this, the second section continues with a description of the harsh life of Sir Isaac Newton, arguably the most influential theorist in the history of science. Born prematurely, fatherless, and abandoned by his mother, Newton had a less than perfect life and encountered many hardships as he struggled to obtain a college degree and a career.   Newton persevered, however, and against all odds, he ultimately made several remarkable contributions to science and mathematics. By letting nothing stand in the way of his ambitious endeavors, Newton achieved not only his original goals but much more.

The final section of the altered book, however, entitled “Oh the Places You May Miss,” examines what can happen when an ambition is taken too far and becomes an obsession. This section also includes an excerpt from Seuss’s “Oh the Places You’ll Go,” which says, “You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace, and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place” (Seuss 23). In this passage, Seuss warns readers that sometimes when working towards a goal, we can find ourselves stuck in an unwanted position or place. The section stresses that just as Karen misses significant events while dancing in “The Red Shoes,” we must be careful not to become so enraptured by our goals or so “stuck” on an idea that we miss the defining moments of life.

The final page in the book contains a picture of a mirror. This mirror is a reminder that people must continually evaluate themselves and their reflections. People need to have ambition, but they should never let their aspirations control their lives. We must all ask ourselves what we are willing to sacrifice to achieve our goals, and when we know this, we can also answer the question, “Shall We Dance?”

 Works Cited

Dr. Seuss. Oh, The Places You’ll Go!. New York: Random House, 1990.

Dans les sociétés musulmanes décrites dans La Transe des insoumis par Malika Mokeddem, La Muette par Chahdortt Djavann, et Partir par Tahar Ben Jelloun, les adultes exhortent les jeunes filles à se soumettre aux normes sociales et aux hommes au lieu de poursuivre leurs ambitions. Pour Malika[1] dans La Transe des insoumis et pour Fatemeh dans La Muette, les rapports familiaux deviennent oppressifs, surtout leurs relations avec leurs mères qui aident à perpétuer l’oppression des femmes dans leurs rapports avec les hommes. À cause des conflits entre ces protagonistes et leurs mères et de la répression dans les rôles traditionnels qu’elles devraient adopter, Malika et Fatemeh rejettent le rôle de mère. Dans Partir, Kenza a aussi un rapport tendu avec sa mère, mais elle veut fonder une famille en dehors des contraintes de la tradition. En rejetant des rôles qui définissent la féminité dans leurs cultures, ces femmes développent un esprit individualiste.

Chez les protagonistes dans ces romans, la conception négative de la maternité commence avec l’influence de leurs mères. Cette influence démontre comment les rôles traditionnels peuvent entraîner l’oppression et même la violence. En conséquences, les filles développent des relations froides avec leurs mères. Dans son récit autobiographique, La Transe des insoumis (2003), Mokeddem explique que les femmes dans les tribus algériennes enseignent aux filles à se soumettre aux hommes et donc transmettent l’oppression aux générations suivantes : « L’amour des mères se mesure à leur aptitude à blinder des filles contre les coups de la vie. Sans rien changer » (31). Avec cette expression de « l’amour » les femmes essaient de communiquer la réalité de la vie, mais Malika ressent « le désarroi d’un sentiment d’injustice » (31), et elle n’écoute pas les enseignements de sa mère. Elle raconte comment les femmes prient pour avoir des garçons au lieu des filles, devenant misogynes contre leur propre sexe. On pourrait aussi attribuer cette misogynie perpétuée à la structure des tribus parce que les femmes doivent renoncer à leur liberté pour « la cohésion de leur famille, leur tribu » (96). Pour Malika, la sécurité de la famille ne remplace pas la valeur de la liberté individuelle.

[...]

Le rapport entre la narratrice, Fatemeh, et sa mère dans La Muette (2008) est similaire à celui entre Malika et sa mère. Chahdortt Djavann illustre comment les mères dans l’Iran théocratique imposent la tradition et la soumission à leurs filles. La mère de Fatemeh a une opinion fataliste de la vie et elle pense que les malheurs des femmes sont leur destin. Par exemple, quand le père de Fatemeh raconte comment son père a tué sa mère, elle dit, « Nul ne peut lutter contre son destin, à chacun le sort qui lui échoit, ainsi va la vie » (25). Fatemeh ne croit pas en cet adage, et Djavann montre que le fatalisme devient une excuse pour les abus et pour la répression. En outre, la mère de Fatemeh ne l’encourage pas à étudier et quand elle invite ses amies à la maison, le bruit empêche Fatemeh d’étudier. Fatemeh lutte contre les obstacles que sa mère crée parce qu’elle veut devenir médecin et échapper à la vie domestique.

Comme Malika, Fatemeh ne veut pas ressembler à sa mère et elle refuse de croire que son destin est de devenir comme d’autres femmes du quartier. Fatemeh se sent « éloignée » de sa mère (20) ; elle pense qu’elle est trop simple avec son manque d’éducation et ses croyances assez superstitieuses. De plus, la mère invite le mollah chez eux après la mort de son père à cause de ses superstitions. Lorsque le mollah ordonne le mariage forcé entre Fatemeh et lui puis lorsqu’il condamne la muette (la tante de Fatemeh) à mort à cause d’une liaison, Fatemeh blâme sa mère d’avoir « bouleversé [leurs] destins » (51). Comme la grand-mère de Malika, la muette provoque la jalousie de la mère de Fatemeh parce que Fatemeh a un rapport plus proche avec elle : « J’aimais mon père, j’adorais la muette, et j’avais de la pitié pour ma mère » (30). Le sentiment de pitié indique que Fatemeh ne veut pas être comme sa mère et qu’elle se sent supérieure à elle.

Le conflit entre Kenza et sa mère dans Partir (2006) n’est pas aussi tendu que ceux de Malika et Fatemeh, mais Kenza est aussi réprimée par les coutumes traditionnelles dans sa famille marocaine. Ben Jelloun décrit la mère de Kenza, Lalla Zohra, comme une mère dévouée qui aime ses enfants, mais qui ne reconnaît pas les capacités de Kenza : Lalla Zohra vient « [d’] une petite ville où on respectait encore les traditions, où la vie moderne n’avait pas tout chamboulé » (75). Elle ne sait pas lire et elle n’apprécie pas les capacités des femmes ; elle favorise Azel pour qui elle a plus d’ambitions qu’elle n’en a pour Kenza :« Lalla Zohra faisait mine de s’inquiéter pour sa fille qui ne trouvait pas de mari mais elle était surtout obsédée par l’avenir de son fils » (77). Elle ne s’occupe que des morales de Kenza, particulièrement son comportement quand elle danse.  […] Cependant, puisque Kenza est déjà adulte et gagne de l’argent comme infirmière, sa mère n’a pas autant de contrôle sur elle que les mères de Malika et Fatemeh en ont.

La mère de Malika déforme aussi la conception de la sexualité chez sa fille. À l’âge de quatre ans, quand Malika se réveille pendant la nuit, elle voit le rapport sexuel de ses parents, mais elle pense que son père bat sa mère. Elle crie en demandant pourquoi il la frappe mais sa mère la gronde, « Tais-toi et dors, vipère ! » (31). Cet événement choque Malika qui confond alors la sexualité et la violence. Ses parents l’expulsent de la chambre commune, ce qui pourrait préfigurer l’anxiété de Malika concernant la sexualité quand elle est plus âgée. […]

Le rapport que la mère de Fatemeh a commencé avec le mollah mène à un mariage forcé entre Fatemeh et le mollah et à un rapport de violence. Pour le mollah, le mariage est une façon d’exercer son pouvoir, au lieu de l’amour ou du respect. Surtout, il viole Fatemeh parce qu’il croit que c’est son droit comme mari. Djavann décrit le mariage traditionnel et la maternité dans des scènes de rébellion ou de violence. Fatemeh est traumatisée et se sent misérable dans son rôle assigné. Zahra, une autre femme du mollah, est jalouse de Fatemeh et la fait tomber sur le ventre. Fatemeh pense qu’elle va faire une fausse-couche, mais elle ne ressent pas d’émotion pour son bébé et elle avoue que « L’idée de perdre l’enfant ne me dérangeait pas en soi, je ne l’avais pas désiré, loin de là […] » (105). Quand le bébé est né, le mollah est déçu qu’elle soit une fille, et Fatemeh « ne [se] sen[t] pas mère » (108). Puisque l’enfant est un produit du viol, Fatemeh n’éprouve pas de lien entre elle et son bébé, et elle ne peut pas l’aimer. […]

Dans ces deux romans, Mokeddem et Djavann associent la maternité à l’étouffement. Malika mentionne « un drame qui remonte à la prime d’enfance » et le traite de « l’origine de tout » (182), comme son rapport avec sa mère et son désir de ne pas enfanter. Elle ne nomme pas ce drame, mais dans son dernier livre, Je dois tout à ton oubli (2008), elle décrit l’étouffement d’un bébé par sa mère, donc ce traumatisme pourrait être le drame dont elle parle. Cet étouffement pourrait aussi être relié à l’étouffement émotionnel et mental que Malika ressent à cause des contraintes de sa famille. Djavann montre plus brutalement l’étouffement quand Fatemeh étouffe son bébé avec un oreiller après avoir tué le mollah. Elle sait que, comme fille, son enfant endurerait une vie difficile. Fatemeh pense encore une fois à la phrase de sa mère, « Nul ne peut lutter contre son destin » (109) et elle continue le cycle de conflit entre les mères et leurs filles avec ce meurtre. […]

Pour Malika et Fatemeh, le rôle de mère qu’elles devront occuper semble comme un piège et elles ne veulent pas répéter les choix de leurs mères et donc perpétuer la soumission des femmes. Le refus de Malika d’avoir des enfants est une source de contention entre sa mère et elle, bien que sa mère n’en parle pas. Malika explique, « Qu’une femme puisse refuser d’enfanter est de l’ordre de l’inimaginable, de l’inconcevable pour [sa mère]. […] n’avoir pas d’enfant représente la plus terrible catastrophe quelle qu’en soit la cause » (181). Selon sa tradition, ce choix est un rejet anormal de son rôle biologique et culturel et il montre que Malika n’appartient pas à sa communauté. Le manque d’enfants l’éloigne aussi d’autres femmes parce que la question, « Combien tu as d’enfants ? » (181) est une source de conversation informelle et aimable entre des femmes, qui sont à l’aise en parlant de ce sujet.

Comme son refus d’avoir des enfants, Malika rejette aussi la proposition de mariage que sa tribu lui impose : « Personne n’a jugé utile de me demander mon avis ou seulement de m’informer de ce projet pourtant imminent » (127). Pour échapper à cette situation, Malika quitte le village le jour où la famille de son futur mari arrive. Puis, la famille ne la veut plus parce que personne ne voudrait « une fille capable de fuguer » (127). La honte de sa famille ne la dérange pas parce que le mariage aurait arrêté ses études, et donc, il aurait détruit son identité d’écrivain et de médecin. Au lieu de la structure tribale de sa société, Malika préfère l’individualisme qu’elle apprend de son institutrice française et des écrivains qu’elle lit. […] Son récit autobiographique et son sentiment d’être « sans-famille » (183) sont des expressions de l’individualisme qu’elle a appris et une inversion des valeurs tribales.

Tandis que Malika et Fatemeh rejettent le rôle de mère à cause d’expériences choquantes, Kenza, dans le roman Partir (2006), voudrait être mère, mais dans un cadre non traditionnel. Ben Jelloun écrit qu’elle veut « se marier, être comme les autres, se dépêcher de faire des enfants et surtout rentrer au pays la tête haute pour satisfaire sa mère » (298). Cependant, son rapport avec son amant Nâzim quand elle habite à Barcelone n’est pas conventionnel parce que c’est elle qui l’a choisi, et non pas sa famille. Elle lui fait des avances, jugeant que ses actions sont « assez osé[es] » (206). Kenza grandit émotionnellement et gagne de l’indépendance en commençant ce rapport par son propre choix. […] Bien que Kenza pense qu’elle se libère en poursuivant un homme, le rapport devient destructif pour elle et elle se trouve célibataire et sans enfants à la fin du livre. Quand elle découvre que Nâzim est marié, le narrateur commente : « Elle n’avait brusquement plus eu envie de vivre » (295). Elle essaie de se suicider et Ben Jelloun illustre comment même un rapport amoureux qu’on choisit peut mener à la violence émotionnelle ou physique. […] Pourtant, plus tard, quand elle a trente ans et n’est pas encore mariée, elle veut « défendre l’idée qu’on pouvait être célibataire et heureuse, libre et digne, respectée et aimée » (308). Quoiqu’elle ait essayé de réussir dans sa vie en trouvant un homme, il était donc important pour elle de se développer seule et de ne pas se définir par les rôles de femme ou de mère.  

[...]

Dans La Transe des insoumis, La Muette, et Partir, les protagonistes féminins se révoltent contre la soumission perpétuée par leurs mères et elles rejettent l’obligation d’enfanter ou de se marier selon leurs coutumes. Mokeddem, Djavann, et Ben Jelloun dépeignent la maternité et le mariage avec des scènes de rébellion ou de violence pour révéler la souffrance des femmes dans ces conditions et leurs conflits intérieurs. Ces femmes luttent pour leur propre individualité, qui n’est pas conciliable avec leurs coutumes qui valorisent l’obligation envers la famille au lieu des ambitions personnelles. Cependant, les influences occidentales sur Kenza et Malika les rendent individualistes et Djavann, avec ses propres valeurs occidentales, crée un personnage qui lutte contre son destin. Les problèmes de Malika et Kenza en Europe montrent aussi que les valeurs occidentales ont des défauts.  Il apparaît donc que les écrivains soulignent non seulement l’importance pour les femmes de développer leur propre identité au lieu de se définir par des rôles traditionnels mais la solitude inévitable qu’elles doivent aussi affronter.

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This task is not an easy one, for Whitman explores and tries on many of the spiritual and religious ideas that he was familiar with at the time; as he writes, “I am large….I contain multitudes” (“Song of Myself,” 1316). Any analysis of the poet’s self-composed religion must therefore take into account the variety of religious and philosophical influences that he was under, as well as whatever unique or innovative beliefs he proposes. However, this work pays off, as Whitman’s “new religion” becomes beautifully understandable; an entire dogma or doctrine may not be fully realized from an analysis of Leaves of Grass, but the foundations of a new religion and belief structure are very clearly laid out. In Leaves of Grass, Whitman presents the nation with a radical new religion containing various pre-existing beliefs and spiritual notions, but one that ultimately rests on a subject that is forever linked with Whitman: the erotic. In order to fully support this claim, it is necessary to first examine Whitman’s personal background, as well as the backgrounds of the religions and authors upon which he constructed his creed. Next, the nature and meaning of the erotic in Leaves of Grass and Whitman’s religion must be analyzed. Finally, so as to prove that this text and its cosmological contents do indeed constitute a justifiable religion, and not merely the personal writings or reflections of its author, a look into Whitman’s personal writings about Leaves of Grass as well as historical criticism focusing on religion in America during this time period will be provided.

Before an examination of Whitman’s spiritual and religious statements in Leaves of Grass may be undertaken, it is beneficial to understand Whitman’s personal religious background in order to understand precisely where this text and its religious intents are coming from. Whitman had a difficult relationship with organized religion, which makes it intriguing but also puzzling as to why he would suddenly feel compelled to introduce a new religion through Leaves of Grass. The poems that constitute the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, the edition that forms the foundation of this critical examination, present ideas that depart dramatically from the Puritan and Christian ideals that had formed the foundation of American religious beliefs for over a century. However, Malcolm Cowley, in his introduction to the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, observes, “Whitman cannot be called a Christian heretic, for the simple reason that he was not a Christian at any stage of his career, early or late” (Cowley, xiv). In Whitman’s words, “I was never made to live inside a fence” (Whitman as cited in D.J. Moores, Mystical Discourse, 184). Whitman’s problems with religious institutions and the traditional Christian view of God are well documented, not only in what is found in his artistic works, but what is found in his personal reflections and writing, as well. While working for the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Whitman wrote an editorial in which he declared his distaste for churches who looked to financial or social status in order to determine the value of their members: “ ‘We don’t see how it is possible to worship God there at all…Ah, there is no religion there’” (Whitman, as cited in Reynolds, 237). Clearly Whitman was perturbed by the corruption that he saw in the supposedly upstanding and virtuous religious institutions that surrounded him.

But Whitman was concerned with more than the human failings that were a part of the Christian churches he knew about: the idea of worshiping distant or absent divine ideas or powers without the recognition of the influence of human beings in this relationship was one that weighed heavily upon Whitman. “We consider the bibles and religions divine,” Whitman writes in “A Song for Occupations,” “I do not say they are not divine / I say that they have all grown out of you and may grow out of you still, / It is not they who give the life….it is you who give the life” (78-81). Because of the very personal understanding of religion that Whitman adopts, he is disturbed by those religions and their representatives who view their own faith as somehow more perfect or advanced than any other creed. He makes this belief quite clear in “Song of Myself,” writing, “I do not despise you priests; / My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, / Enclosing all worship ancient and modern, and all between ancient and modern” (1092-94). Whitman does not stop at questioning the divine truth and power that individuals invest in bibles and religions, however: he is also concerned with contemplating and redefining the relationship between creation and the Creator:

And I call to mankind, Be not curious about God,

For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,

No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God…

I hear and behold God in every object, yet I understand God not in the least,

Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?

I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,

In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass;

I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is signed by God’s name,

And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever (“Song of Myself,” 1271-80).

In one sense, it is possible to read this passage as a pious commemoration of the “unknowability” of God, for Whitman does acknowledge, in fact, that he is “at peace about God,” and he recognizes this divine presence in all things around him. However, Whitman’s statement that he cannot “understand who there can be more wonderful than [himself]” reveals an almost absurd degree of self-centeredness and arrogance that immediately casts serious doubts upon any reading that entails a tribute to the divine or a celebration of any all-powerful deity. This question of what the real role of “God” is in relationship to the material world of men and women, and indeed where spiritual truth and power themselves lie, is one that Whitman revisits throughout the entirety of Leaves of Grass, and it is one that will be examined in further detail later in this paper. For the moment, however, it is enough to point out that Whitman had severe doubts and reservations about the standard, traditional religious practices common to his time period, and this, no doubt, led him to turn his focus to the crafting of his own idealized religious system.

In order to preface a discussion of the specific elements and nuances of Whitman’s religion, a brief roadmap is necessary. There are three major themes or tenets of the religious doctrine that Whitman puts forth in Leaves of Grass, with the third serving as an extension of the previous two. These three principles include the relationship between the human soul and the human body, the bond that unites all of humanity, their souls and their bodies, together, and the value of the erotic – the union of human souls and bodies in a sexual way – in celebrating this spiritual experience. Whitman’s treatment of these different ideologies in his religion is seen throughout Leaves of Grass, and by the end of the collection, one can grasp the entirety of Whitman’s ideal religion.

“I am the poet of the body, / And I am the poet of the soul:” so Whitman begins the twenty-first section of his epic “Song of Myself,” and in these two lines captures the first essential aspect of the religion he is inaugurating: the unification of the body and the soul (“Song of Myself,” 422-23). In fact, it is difficult to discuss one of these entities without the other in Whitman’s poetry, as they inevitably become interlocked. A startling example of the way in which Whitman sees the indivisibility of soul and body is found in a short passage from the poem “The Sleepers:”

The myth of heaven indicates the soul;

The soul is always beautiful….it appears more or it appears less….it comes or lags behind,

It comes from its embowered garden and looks pleasantly on itself and encloses the world;

Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and perfect and clean the womb cohering,

The head wellgrown and proportioned and plumb, and the bowels and joints proportioned and plumb (167-171).

Although there is no direct reference to the unity of soul and body in this passage, Whitman’s poetic structure alludes to the strong connection between the two that he makes explicit elsewhere in his poetry. It is the seeming inconsistency of the passage that highlights this important connection for Whitman: he begins with an almost dream-like and serene image of the soul before moving sharply to an explicit celebration of the human body. Were these two descriptions separated by a stanza or passage marker, this dramatic shift would be less suggestive, but the fact that Whitman joins these two depictions together in a single stanza discloses his deeper, religious intent. These passages show that there is no escaping the importance of this unity of soul and body in Whitman’s poetry.

Whitman’s unification of the body and the soul owes a great deal to the Romantic literary tradition, and the work of William Wordsworth in particular. D. J. Moores, a literary critic who has taken considerable interest in the mystical nature of Whitman’s poetry, states that “Wordsworth and Whitman are the two principal Romantics in the Anglo-American tradition,” and that as such, they both share a great deal in common in terms of their views on the relationship between body and soul (Moores, Mystical Discourse, 9). In his extensive work comparing the mystical natures of the works of both Wordsworth and Whitman, Moores refers to the research done by Whitman scholar Mark Delancey to emphasize this important similarity between these two Romantic authors. “Delancey,” according to Moores, “sees the conjoining of body and soul in Whitman as suggestive of the Wordsworthian relation between the ‘celestial light’ and ‘the light of common day,’ as they are connected in the ‘Imitations’ ode” (Moores, 10). This reference to the “celestial light,” with its heavenly connotations, reveals the magnitude that this coupling has on a discussion of the divine in these texts. However, while Wordsworth expresses a great deal of interest in this relationship, Whitman argues that it supercedes all other sorts of divine entities, including the idea of God. For Whitman, the body and the soul are two distinct but interconnected entities that together craft a much larger and greater entity: the self. The idea of this self is a central tenet of Whitman’s religion, and Whitman’s worldview in general. His contention is starkly laid out in a brief but powerful passage from “Song of Myself:” “I have said that the soul is not more than the body, / And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, / And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s-self is” (1262-64). These extraordinary, if decidedly more than slightly sacrilegious lines, make the significance of the union of body and soul to Whitman overtly clear to any reader, even one approaching Whitman for the first time. The body and the soul are two inseparable parts of Whitman’s view of the human identity, and as a result it forms the foundation upon which he may construct his original religion.

A different sort of unity exists within Leaves of Grass, however, and this unity goes beyond the internal union of an individual’s body and soul to encapsulate the harmony of all human beings. Whitman repeatedly during Leaves of Grass, and “Song of Myself” in particular, identifies himself with his fellow human beings. “…these one and all,” Whitman writes, referring to those people whom he describes in an extensive, 70-line list, “tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, / And such as it is to be of these more or less I am” (“Song of Myself,” 324-25). And it would be irresponsible not to make note of the opening three lines of “Song of Myself,” in which Whitman draws his reader into the poem by specifically citing this bond that exists between all human beings. “I celebrate myself,” Whitman famously begins his poem, “And what I assume you shall assume, / For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you” (“Song of Myself,” 1-3). This idea of the importance of human unity to a religious belief system is one that is not uncommon to multiple religions, although it is possible to find one influence in particular which may have proven to be more substantial than the rest. Whitman was a close follower of fellow Romantic author Ralph Waldo Emerson, who examined and reflected upon his own religious beliefs and influences in his own texts. The research of literary critic Wai-Chee Dimock reveals that it was the uniting ability of religion, and the Islamic religion in particular, that fascinated Emerson:

…this fact forcibly suggests the idea that the only true and legitimate vehicle of immortality, the only bond of connection which can transverse the long duration which separates the ends of the world and unites the first people to the knowledge and sympathy of the last people, is religion” (Emerson, “Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks,” 1:62, as cited in Dimock).

Although this reference only speaks about Emerson, it is not altogether impossible or unreasonable to extend this notion to Whitman’s writing, for as Moores remarks in Mystical Discourse, “Emerson exerted indisputably the profoundest influence on Whitman’s poetry,” and even Whitman himself acknowledged his own debt to Emerson’s ideas: “ ‘I was simmering, simmering…Emerson brought me to a boil” (Whitman, as cited in Moores, Mystical Discourse, 24). This Emersonian sense of the importance of relating to others through compassionate means is reflected in “Song of Myself”: “And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral, dressed in his shroud” (1265). The strong religious language of this quotation, with its references to one’s own “funeral, dressed in a shroud,” brings up clear religious connotations, and one can see the broader, holy significance and implications that Whitman and his fellow Romantic authors felt about the union of human souls.

However, while this connection is certainly a defensible one, it cannot be ignored that there are clear distinctions between Emerson’s uniting faith and Whitman’s. One distinction that deserves particular attention because of its substantial deviation is the importance of the role of the material world role in Whitman’s writing. F.O. Matthiessen, an American literary historian, notices, “Whitman bridged the gap between the material and the ideal in a way that Emerson could not” (Matthiessen, 540). Perhaps there is no better example to support this claim than in the closing passages of Whitman’s “The Sleepers.” Here, Whitman imagines representatives of the whole of humanity joined together in a sensual but innocent connection, which conjures up images of the Garden of Eden from the Judeo-Christian tradition. “The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,” Whitman imagines in typical sensual terms, “They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as they lie unclothed” (“The Sleepers,” 179-180). These lines do, indeed, extend Emerson’s ideas from the ideal to the very material and bodily.

In addition, while Emerson certainly played a large role in shaping Whitman’s idea of the significance of human unity, the influence of other foreign religions, particularly Eastern religions, can be strongly felt when reading Whitman’s text. Whitman’s familiarity with and knowledge of these philosophies does not seem to be too strong, but Malcolm Cowley does stress, “It is true that they [Indian ideas] were vaguely in the air of the time and that Whitman may have breathed them in from the Transcendentalists or even from some of the English quarterly reviewers” (Cowley, xii).  Cowley points out that ideas such as karma and metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul after death into another living body, ideas that enhance this idea of human connectivity, are very much within these Eastern religions. Just as with the works of Wordsworth and Emerson, however, Whitman made these ideas his own: “It also seems possible, however, that he reinvented them for himself…” (Cowley, xii). Regardless of where the ideas of his influencers end and where his own begin, it is clear that Whitman’s religion placed a high value on the unity of human souls and the fellowship of all human beings, regardless of occupation, race, or gender.

The combination of these two spiritual ideas – the conjoining of the soul (spiritual) and the body (sensual) on the one hand, and the unity of all humans on the other – reveals the third and most critical component of Whitman’s “Bible:” the importance of the role of the erotic in his religious doctrine. Whitman is well known for his sensual and at times even graphic images and accounts that are found throughout his poetry; this fixation on bodily pleasures and descriptions is presented within the first twenty lines of “Song of Myself:” “I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, / I am mad for it to be in contact with me” (11-12). However, it is one thing to employ these passages in a romantic or natural description, and quite another to incorporate them into a discussion of the Divine, which is precisely what Whitman does in Leaves of Grass. Whitman’s physical but more or less platonic imagery in “The Sleepers,” of men and women of all occupations and ages throughout the world joining hands, is amplified when God becomes a very human and erotic being in Whitman’s poetry: “God comes a loving bedfellow and sleeps at my side all night and close on the peep of the day” (“Song of Myself,” 52). Thus, the intense significance of eroticism in Whitman’s religious views is unapologetically laid out for all to see.

These erotic passages only increase in their detail and length as the poem unfolds. Two sections after the afore mentioned encounter with the literal “loving God,” Whitman intensifies this erotic spirituality to a level that borders on pornography: while describing an afternoon together with a personification of his soul, Whitman writes, “You settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me, / And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my barestript heart, / And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet” (“Song of Myself,” 79-81). Here, body and soul become more than merely united as they are in Wordsworth’s writings: they become intimate lovers.

This is an astonishing religious position to adopt, but while it is in keeping with Whitman’s legacy of focusing on the material and bodily, this sort of religious eroticism is not unique to the poet alone. David Reynolds looks to the movement known as “Swedenborgianism” as an inspiration for Whitman’s erotic religion. A movement that was growing and spreading on the American continent during these middle years of the nineteenth-century, “ ‘Swedenborgianism,’” as defined by Reynolds, “was a religious movement that showed how the erotic and the mystical could be combined” (Reynolds, 45). Given such graphic passages as the one listed above, it is not difficult to see how this sort of movement may have and in fact did impact Whitman’s religious view. Indeed, it makes sense that Whitman would inevitably have become interested in a religion whose views on the sensual closely mirrored his own writings. Whitman did not keep his appreciation and acceptance of this particular religious system a secret, even going so far as to remark, “ ‘I think Swedenborg was right when he said there was a close connection—a very close connection—between the state we call religious ecstasy and the desire to copulate” (Whitman, as cited in Reynolds, “From Periodical Writer to Poet,” 45). “The fact that this erotic moment is followed immediately by an intensely religious one,” Reynolds continues, “is also in keeping with Swedenborgian belief” (Reynolds, “From Periodical Writer to Poet,” 47). The intensely religious moment that Reynolds is referring to occurs around line 85 in “Song of Myself,” where Whitman asserts:

And I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own,

And I know that the spirit of God is the eldest brother of my own,

And that all men ever born are also my brothers….and the women my sisters and lovers (83-85)

Here, the erotic precursor that Whitman has set up turns this passage from a simple religious reflection into one of an intense pronouncement of the role of the erotic within Whitman’s religion. And when Whitman remarks in the next line that “a kelson of the creation is love,” it is clear that Whitman is using the word love in every sense of the word, from neighborly love to sexual acts.

A bit more must be said about Swedenborgianism in order to truly understand its religious doctrines as well as how these doctrines affected Whitman. Marguerite Beck Block, a Swedenborgianism scholar, in her exhaustively researched tome on Swedenborg and his religion, offers some valuable insights into this rather obscure religion that held such power over Whitman. Emanuel Swedenborg, a Swedish born statesman and scientist, established his self-titled religion in the eighteenth century, but it was not until the early part of the nineteenth century that this new religious sect caught hold in America (Block, “Emanuel Swedenborg”). This new religion, an off-shoot of Christianity, reflects some of the major tenets of the Romantic movement, such as the significant role of the soul in human existence, but extends the realm of this spirit to an important dimension: sexual love. “In Part I of [Swedenborg’s] great work, The Delights of Wisdom pertaining to Conjugial Love,” Block writes, “he expounds his doctrine of sex as a spiritual, as well as a physical, fact persisting to all eternity” (Block, 49). This idea is obviously in line with Whitman’s opinion of the indivisibility of body and soul. What Block writes next makes Swedenborgianism appear to be in the same trajectory as Whitman’s religion. According to Swedenborg, “in the world of spirits married partners meet and live together, but if they find, as their interior natures are revealed, that they are not spiritually united, they separate and seek their spiritual mates elsewhere” (Block, 49). Whitman’s view of a spiritual world in which all humans are connected fits almost perfectly into this description of Swedenborgianism. Swedenborg’s religion, therefore unites the two major tenets of Whitman’s own religion and appears to serve as a base upon which Whitman could expand his own ideas. This free-swinging spiritual world of Swedenborg’s, in which sex plays an integral part in the life of dynamic human spirits, was clearly attractive to Whitman, and it is not difficult to see how Whitman would incorporate this religious doctrine into his own religion of connecting spirits and the power of the erotic.

Although Swedenborg clearly had a profound impact on Whitman’s theology, he was not alone in his influence on the poet’s erotic religion. Just as Whitman’s idea of human unity may have been influenced by Eastern religions, so, too, are his views on the erotic within religion. The religious significance of erotic deeds is one that is familiar to Eastern philosophies and religions. Cowley finds strong parallels between what Whitman describes in his poetry and what members of the Mahayana sect of the Buddhist religion believe, “that the sexual act can serve as one of the sacraments” (Cowley, xxii). Again, this inclusion of various world philosophies and religions reveals that Whitman was seeking religious truth through multiple religious traditions in order to come to find his own mystical and spiritual values. The result is a wonderfully complex amalgamation of philosophies that center upon a simple theme: the importance of recognizing the harmony of all aspects of human life, consummated in erotic love. “I am…A novice beginning experient of myriads of seasons, / Of every hue and trade and rank, of every caste and religion, / Not merely of the New World but of Africa Europe or Asia,” Whitman writes in “Song of Myself,” and it is obvious that Whitman is true to his word (342-44).

With the major tenets and beliefs of Whitman’s religion examined, it must be considered whether all of this grandiose language ought to be taken as a serious attempt to establish and cultivate a new religion for this still relatively new nation, or if Leaves of Grass is merely an extended personal reflection on Whitman’s own, private thoughts. Based on what Whitman left in his personal writings, and the changing nature of religion during this time period in the young American nation, it seems that Whitman did indeed intend for his revolutionary religious doctrine to be picked up by his fellow Americans, however improbable that may seem to modern readers. Whitman was clearly taken by the idea that this text could be a transforming work; in his notes Whitman wrote, “ ‘Leaves of Grass’ – Bible of the New Religion,” which seems to all but prove that this text was more than a means for Whitman to express his own personal feelings on this hot-button topic in mid-nineteenth century America (Whitman, Notes and Fragments Left by Walt Whitman, pg. 55, as cited in Harris). W.C. Harris, an the American history scholar, argues that not only was Leaves of Grass an active text responding to and calling for change in this turbulent society, but that that society itself was seeking and in some ways demanding a new idea to lead it through this turmoil:

…if we weigh the force with which Whitman speaks  of a New Bible as ‘the principal object – the main life work’ and if we consider the fact that the mid nineteenth century was until then the most active period of sectarian splintering and Bible translation in American history, it seems that an important argument has been left unmade about the way in which the 1860 Leaves responds to demands that nineteenth-century Americans were making on the Bible (Harris, 75).

Some modern readers might find it troubling that Whitman, a man who, as previously seen, expressed such disdain for organized religion and actively questioned the power of the Divine, would seek to craft a new “religion” of his own and to attempt to spread this religion to the masses. But Harris’ quote serves as a rebuttal to those who would call Whitman a hypocrite for preaching a religion while criticizing the status quo. Reynolds, too, responds to this problem, and reminds modern readers that “in a time when mainstream religion was becoming increasingly secular, promoters of religion could be thoroughly enjoyed without reference to the churches with which they were associated” (Reynolds, Walt Whitman’s America, 255). Thus, while it may be difficult for modern readers to get behind the religious doctrine of a man opposed to religious structure, within the context of this time period, “Whitman’s advocacy of nondenominational ‘religion’ in secular poetry, then, was not unusual” (Reynolds, 256). Harris’ proposal also illuminates another new and intriguing way of reading Leaves of Grass: as a means for Whitman to assume the role of national spokesman, putting into words the spiritual struggle that America was experiencing at this time. Whitman has often been celebrated as “America’s Poet,” but this interpretation gives even more credence to this title. A poetry collection that begins with the commemoration of the self thus takes on national significance through the way that it addresses the crisis in piety in America, and offers an answer to those who are willing to listen.

Additionally, the importance of Whitman’s connection with the Romantic movement cannot be overstated when discussing the religious implications that Whitman hoped Leaves of Grass would have on his nation and its citizens. The Romantic notions of what a poet is and what his or her poetry can accomplish take on incredibly mystical meanings. In Walt Whitman: A Life, Whitman scholar Justin Kaplan shows just how powerful the Romantics held the art of the poet and his or her message to be. According to Kaplan, “Whitman was the inheritor of the Wordsworthian/Romantic notion of the poet as the ‘agency of a transcendent power’ who ‘created rapt verse in “ecstasy of statement” ’” (Kaplan, 189). These references to “a transcendent power” composed in “ecstasy” almost perfectly reflect what one finds in Leaves of Grass, where Whitman describes the poet as one “lighting the study of man, the soul, immortality” (8). This Romantic notion of the unique power that poetry possesses in matters of the spirit helps explain the somewhat perplexing mystery of why Whitman chose to relate his theological beliefs through poetic means, as opposed to a biblical format. As already noted, this time-period in American history saw the re-evaluation of how to interpret the Bible, which made translating the traditional Bible, and even creating new ones, much less questionable. Indeed, only a quarter of a century before Whitman published Leaves of Grass, Joseph Smith founded the Mormon religion by publishing that religion’s Bible, the Book of Mormon (“Joseph Smith, Jr. – Basic Facts,” LDS website). Some might argue that this new way of considering the Bible would make publishing a “New Bible” a more acceptable and appealing means of promoting a new religion to the American public. However, Whitman’s view of the poet as the holder of a “transcendent power” and his connection to the Romantic-movement justify his more secular, non-traditional method of informing the public of his new religion.

The idea, then, that poetry could bring about stunning reforms and establish new principles was one that Whitman would not have had a difficult time accepting and attempting to duplicate. Harris expresses this same sentiment in E Pluribus Unum, although his Romantic reference is Emerson as opposed to Wordsworth. Harris reminds his readers that:

As Emerson had written ten years earlier in Representative Men, ‘We too must write Bibles, to unite again the heavens and the earthly worlds’ (EL 761). Like Poe and Whitman, Emerson sees founding, truth-telling texts as being endowed with precisely the practical intent that his country needed so urgently but that its extant political and religious institutions could no longer supply (Harris, 75-76).

Harris here crystallizes perhaps the best argument for what Whitman saw himself doing in Leaves of Grass: crafting a text that expounded a higher truth to a country that was searching for an answer to its earthly problems. This certainly reflects a highly Romanticized view of the power of poetry in the world, but it is an important realization to come to in order to truly understand what Whitman is trying to do in his epic masterpiece. While it may seem idealistic, or even insane to some extent, when read from a modern perspective, one cannot argue that this sort of national-changing purpose was at the forefront of Whitman’s mind as he sat down to compose Leaves of Grass in mid-nineteenth century America.

However, after all of this discussion of the nuances and beliefs of this religious system proposed by Whitman and what he envisioned this religion actually becoming within the framework of the American culture, it must be asked, does not all of this discussion of a governing spiritual doctrine fly in the face of the vast majority of Whitman’s writings? Indeed, it seems paradoxical at best, and hypocritical at worst, that Whitman would attempt to establish and gather converts to any religion, even one of his own design, when he places so much value on individual freedom. The importance of self-identity and individual sovereignty to Whitman has previously been demonstrated in the examination of the union of body and soul in Leaves of Grass (“And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s-self is”), and it is difficult to overestimate the significance of the self when reading Whitman. This emphasis on autonomy is highlighted within the famed opening line of “Song of Myself”—“I celebrate myself”—and is even more clearly spelled out in a passage from the poem’s second section:

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems[…]

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand….nor look through the eyes of the dead….nor feed on the spectres in books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself. (25, 27-29)

Given this repeated commemoration of and even insistence upon self-expression and self-empowerment, it is easy to understand why many readers of Whitman are left critical of Whitman and his apparent self-contradictions. How, then, can this desire to “inaugurate a religion” be reconciled with these frequent and passionate assertions of the power of the individual?

In this case, it is necessary to look beyond the margins of the text of Leaves of Grass in order to understand how Whitman is able to advocate the rights of the individual while expounding the values of his new religion. Whitman’s 1871 prose piece, “Democratic Vistas,” perhaps sheds the most light on how Whitman saw his literary offerings working within the larger context of mid-nineteenth century American society. Reflecting on the philosophy of John Stuart Mill and the nature of modern (nineteenth century) democracies, Whitman writes:

John Stuart Mill’s profound essay on Liberty in the future, where he demands two main constituents[…]for a truly grand nationality — 1st, a large variety of character — and 2d, full play for human nature to expand itself in numberless and even conflicting directions — ([…]an infinite number of currents and forces, and contributions, and temperatures, and cross purposes, whose ceaseless play of counterpart upon counterpart brings constant restoration and vitality.) (Democratic Vistas, 1)

At first reading, this passage would appear to be about political or national liberty, and not applicable to a discussion of reconciling Whitman’s religious convictions to his self-empowering arguments. However, with a little bit of unpacking, it becomes clear that Whitman sees the many ideas and beliefs that are allowed to be expressed and developed in a nation that offers such liberty as the key to granting true individual freedom. What is beautiful to Whitman about this “Liberty” is that it enables the sharing of, as he writes, “an infinite number of currents and forces,” which permits an individual to examine and either accept or deny any idea, whether it be political, social, or religious, for him or herself. In this way, Whitman’s call to “filter [all sides] from yourself” does fit within the parameters of his religious creed, while at the same time ensuring individual autonomy.

It may be that this controversial argument for turning oneself over to a particular religious belief while maintaining individual sovereignty cannot be resolved. Even Whitman was able to recognize the perceivable incongruities and contradictions within his own masterpiece: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then….I contradict myself” (“Song of Myself,” 1314-15). Its very nature makes it a mind-bending paradox, a Catch-22: to accept Whitman’s religion is to believe in what he proposes; but to believe in what he proposes, on some level, deprives an individual of the full autonomy which Whitman so earnestly advocates for.  In the end, however, this apparent incongruity appears to be forgivable, for to truly yield to Whitman’s belief and follow his religious example, one must search for answers on his or her own and “filter [all sides] from yourself.” This answer may not please all readers or believers, but then again that, too, is a characteristic of Whitman’s poetry, and poetry in general for that matter.

Leaves of Grass represents a remarkable defining moment in the life of its author. It is through this text that Whitman not only could make the claim to being the “American Poet,” but also attempts to become the “American prophet.” Cowley recognizes the stunning insights and impacts of the collections longest and most epic work, “Song of Myself,” declaring, “ ‘Song of Myself’ should be judged…as one of the great inspired…prophetic works that have appeared at intervals in the Western world” (Cowley, xi). After examining the elements of Whitman’s religious doctrine in Leaves of Grass, including the variety of spiritual and literary influences that impacted his own personal beliefs, as well as the meaning of this text during this time in American history, Cowley’s statement does not seem to be as farfetched or as unjustifiable as it may originally appear to be. Although Whitman’s desire to “inaugurate a religion” through the composition of Leaves of Grass may have failed to reach the scope that he would have liked or intended, the religious significance of the text is not lost. Leaves of Grass reveals that Whitman is, truly, the poet of the body and the poet of the soul, uniting them in a way that established a new religious doctrine for the new nation with which he identified himself so strongly.

In his introduction to What Is World Literature?, David Damrosch states that “works of world literature take on a new life as they move into the world at large, and to understand this new life we need to look closely at the ways the work becomes reframed in its translations and in its new cultural contexts” (24).  The works of Edgar Allan Poe have been moved to countries all over the world such as France, Spain and Nicaragua.  With each move, Poe’s works have gained what Damrosch terms a ‘new life’ through a variety factors including the literary movements occurring in those countries, the specific foreign writers that have championed his works, and the way in which his foreign audiences have viewed him as a writer apart from American society.  In this manner, Poe becomes a literary figure that captivates international audiences while always eluding their grasp.  This paper will focus on the ‘new life’ Poe’s works received in Spanish America.  According to Kirsten Silva Gruesz in the preface to her book Ambassadors of Culture: the Transamerican Origins of Latino Writing, “when they venture into transamerican thinking by traveling or translating other American poems, writers perform an act of cultural ambassadorship” (xiii).  Rubén Darío, Poe’s cultural ambassador in the Americas, travelled from Nicaragua to the United States where Poe’s works influenced him.  He exemplifies how literary movements like Modernismo shaped Poe’s interpretation in Spanish America.  Poe’s great French champion Baudelaire and Poe’s outsider status in American society also influenced the way in which Darío included Poe in his poetry.

As Poe gained popularity internationally, writers have strongly identified with the life of Edgar Allan Poe.  He was born on January 9^th, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts and orphaned at the age of two.  Poe went to live with John Allan who never officially adopted him.  This lack of acceptance led to bouts of depression that would plague Poe for the rest of his life.  He provoked the anger of his caregiver by gambling and writing poetry instead of preparing for a career.  After being thrown out by John Allan, Edgar Allan Poe continued to pursue his dream of writing (Jacobs).

In 1831, Poe published his third book Poems. By Edgar A. Poe. Second edition., proving his poetic maturity.  He began writing short stories and reviews for magazines as well.  Despite his struggles with alcohol, Poe published works immensely influential today such as “The House of Usher” (1839) and “The Raven” (1845).  When Poe’s wife Virginia Clemm died in 1847, Poe was crushed, and his depression and alcohol abuse worsened.  Two years after the death of his wife, Poe died in mysterious circumstances (Jacobs).

While Poe worked as a journalist, he wrote articles on how he defined literature and its purpose.  Through his criticism of other authors, one can learn more about Poe’s thoughts on the writing of literature.  He strongly believed that the didactic had no place in poetry or literature in general and showed this opinion by rejecting authors whose works had lessons or moral messages.  For Poe, the primary function of art is to provoke an aesthetic reaction or convey a feeling which by definition cannot have a moral.  Since man naturally enjoys beauty, he also seeks true beauty.  This belief led Poe to place great importance on the sound of his poetry even above the meaning of the words used to create this sound.  To quote Poe,

A poem, in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having, for its immediate object, pleasure, not truth; to romance, by having for its object an indefinite instead of a definite pleasure, being a poem only so far as this object is attained; romance presenting perceptible images with definite, poetry with indefinite sensations, to which end music is an essential, since the comprehension of sweet sound is our most indefinite conception. (Jacobs)

Art is distinguished from science by a lack of necessity for truth.  The beauty that Poe finds so essential in poetry represents an ideal that cannot exist in the real world.  In order to find the beauty that man instinctively seeks, man must turn to art (Jacobs).

Perhaps due to his views on the purpose of literature, Poe never successfully wrote any longer fiction.  His career centers on poetry and short stories.  Since Poe believed art was supposed to give the reader one aesthetic experience, novels did not fit into this literary vision.  They are too lengthy to give only one experience.  According to Poe, each sentence in a short story should further that one experience, a goal that is perhaps unattainable when applied to novel writing (Jacobs).

Poe combined both these thoughts in “The Philosophy of Composition,” an essay he writes on his process of writing “The Raven.”  Again Poe reiterates the importance of beauty as the only purpose of art and the singular intent an author may have in mind while creating art.  In order to avoid the mistakes the novel makes within this theory, Poe states that a reader should be able to read a poem in one sitting.  Otherwise, the reader will not have one aesthetic reaction to the poem but several split experiences.  Within this essay, Poe rejects the need for inspiration while composing literature and claims “The Raven” was written in the same manner as a math problem.  Many critics agree that it does not really matter whether Poe was actually not inspired at the time he wrote “The Raven” or whether the process was actually like a math problem.  In either case, Poe saw this uninspired, mathematical development of writing as the ideal process leading to art with the sole purpose of the aesthetic experience of perfect beauty which man naturally seeks.  Furthering his thoughts on this topic, Poe concludes that melancholy is the emotion readers should feel after reading poetry.  Through the poem, readers will recognize that the beauty within the poetry will never exist in the material world and lament this lack in their lives (Jacobs).

Poe’s life and his literary theories took on new meanings and influence when they found their way to other countries.  Although early researchers believed Poe entered the international scene through Russia, the first proof of Poe’s influence outside the United States actually surfaces in France in 1844 in the form of Gustave Brunet’s imitation of Poe’s short story “William Wilson.”  Within the following year, a translation of Poe’s short story “The Gold-Bug” was the first of Poe’s works to be translated (“Poe in France” 9).  In 1846, the French journalist E.-D. Forgues published an article on Poe making him Poe’s first foreign language critic.  Letters Poe wrote in late 1846 show that he knew that the French were talking about him, although the specifics were rather unclear (10).  These first glimpses of Poe’s influence in France spurred an interest in his writing that had lasting effects for that country and many others.  Fifty years after Poe’s first appearance in France, the country’s writers were still captivated with him as shown through the director Aurélien-Marie Lugné, who changed his last name to Lugné-Poe after reading Poe’s works (15).

After these first allusions, translations and critical articles, French writers continued to translate Poe and integrated his work into the development of the literary movement of French Symbolism.  Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé, two of French Symbolism’s predecessors, translated a great deal of Poe’s work.  Paul Valéry, a French writer heavily influenced by French Symbolist poetry, also took an interest in the translation of Poe.  Like Poe these writers were interested in conveying sensations and individual experiences in a controlled manner through their writing.  These poets completely banished themes like history, politics and morality from their work (“French Symbolist Poetry”).  French Symbolism and Poe’s influence on the movement remained relevant for three generations of French poets (“Charles Baudelaire” 168).

Baudelaire and Mallarmé’s writing both provide examples of the integration of Poe’s ideas in this movement.  Baudelaire used the word “correspondence” in his translation of Poe’s essay “The Poetic Principle.”  The word correspondence was a buzzword for the Symbolists, and while the word correspondence does not appear in Poe’s writing, the ideas of a focus on the senses and a transcendence of the physical world are certainly present.  In his own poem “Correspondences,” Baudelaire contributes two influential ideas to French Symbolism: the recognition of the parallels between the material world and the spiritual world and the importance of the senses.  Although Mallarmé found Poe’s theory of musicality in poetry intriguing, he pushed the idea even further than Poe and created his own theory that came to be closely associated with French Symbolism.  While Poe advocated the importance of poetry’s sound over its meaning, Mallarmé envisioned poetry in which the words would be stripped of meaning through innovative usages and rhythms in order to further the beauty shown in the poetry.  These French writers found their poetic theories reflected, furthered and highly connected to Poe’s works (“Poe in France” 12).

Although Poe was translated by French short story writers and even novelists, these French Symbolist poets and their translations were the most influential translations of the time since Poe was already intimately tied to their popular poetic movement.  Without Charles Baudelaire, however, the influence of Poe’s work would have been severely diminished.  Like the other writers that came before, during and after the French Symbolist movement, Baudelaire was attracted to the idea of choosing the reaction a reader would have and then effecting that reaction through poetry.  Baudelaire, therefore, valued Poe’s restrictions on the length of a poem, his emphasis on beauty and the mathematical calculation that contributes to its creation (“Charles Baudelaire” 168).

Baudelaire published “Mesmeric Revelation,” his first translation of Poe’s works, in 1848, only four years after Poe’s work first appeared outside of the United States.  Five stories translated by Isabelle Meunier, one critical article exalting Poe as an excellent story teller by E.-D. Forgues, and Baudelaire’s American acquaintances in Paris most likely combined to give him his first glimpse of Poe and inspire his translation of a popular collection of Poe’s short stories Histoires extraordinaires in 1856 (“Charles Baudelaire” 166).  The preface to this volume was a revision of Baudelaire’s “Edgar Allan Poe, sa vie et ses ouvrages” [“Edgar Allan Poe, His Life and Works”], an article on Poe’s life and works that defined the author for many readers in Europe and beyond (“Poe in France” 11).  Baudelaire’s second volume of translations of Poe’s short stories Nouvelles Histoires extraordinaires was successful and well read like the first collection.  Through his translations and articles, one article claims, “Baudelaire offered Poe to the world” (“Charles Baudelaire” 169).

One of the reasons Baudelaire’s translations of Poe’s works had such a widespread influence is the “shock of recognition” Baudelaire felt when he first read Poe’s works (“Charles Baudelaire” 165).  Baudelaire recognizes a great deal of his own poetic theory and personal life within Poe’s literature.  This similarity was so pronounced that some people accused Baudelaire of copying Poe’s poetry in his own.  An angry Baudelaire claimed that the poems people accused him of taking from Poe were written years before he had heard of the American writer.  However, the revised version of “Edgar Allan Poe, se vie et ses ouvrages” that prefaced Histoires extraordinaires contained parts of Baudelaire’s translation of Poe’s “The Poetic Principle” word for word without quotations or references to the thoughts as Poe’s and not Baudelaire’s (167).  Baudelaire’s thoughts on writing were so similar to Poe’s that he sometimes had difficulty telling them apart himself.

This remarkable connection between Baudelaire and Poe was strengthened by the striking similarity of their personal lives.  Like Poe, Baudelaire’s family left him to fend for himself after he insisted on becoming a writer.  Alcohol and drugs tarnished Baudelaire’s reputation as her struggled to control his abuse, just as Poe had done.  Most notably, Baudelaire saw both himself and Poe as outsiders to their cultures and societies (“Poe in France” 11).  While Baudelaire considered this fate somewhat inevitable for all poets, his feelings were complicated by the lack of acceptance of his own works in France.  Although his literary genius is recognized today, Baudelaire was more or less ignored during his lifetime (Hyslop).  Baudelaire dedicated a great deal of his literary career to proving the literary genius of Poe.  Through championing Edgar Allan Poe, Baudelaire was championing all poets who do not receive the attention they deserve, including Baudelaire himself.

Baudelaire translated Poe’s short stories with the goal of making Poe a widely read author in France and countries beyond.  Despite being largely a poet himself and identifying closely with the ideas found in Poe’s poetry and poetic theory, Baudelaire only translated four of Poe’s poems.  All four of these poems served to compliment short stories or essays Baudelaire translated, such as “The Raven” and “The Philosophy of Composition,” the essay Poe wrote about writing the poem (“Charles Baudelaire” 167).  In contrast, Baudelaire translated forty-five of the seventy-one tales published by this time.  Patrick Quinn suggests that Baudelaire’s translation decisions reflected his desire to promote Poe outside of the United States.  With the stories contained in Histoires extraordinaires, Baudelaire hoped to attract a wide readership for the still unknown author.  The stories in this book include “tricks, divination, leg-pulls, etc” which appeal to readers without any previous conceptions of Poe.  Baudelaire’s second volume of short stories included stories that dealt with more difficult and complex themes that drew a readership once Baudelaire had already established Poe as a distinguished writer through his first volume (168).

Although later French writers like Mallarmé and Valéry took up the task of translating Poe’s poetry, Poe’s popularity was first established through Baudelaire’s translations of his short stories, and many authors in other countries first discovered Poe through these translations (“Charles Baudelaire” 167).  This translation process vaulted Poe’s poetic theory and short stories into the international sphere.  Due to Baudelaire’s own literary genius, these translations for the most part are highly accurate and true to their originals (169).  Writing of subsequent Spanish translations of Poe, Englekirk states that “So painstakingly does Baudelaire follow Poe, that often page after page of the English and French versions must be studied in the effort to determine from which one the Spanish translation was taken” (27).

Spanish writers and readers first came to know Poe through the French translations of his works.  Literature written in English was not very popular in Spain during the nineteenth century due to the British occupation of Gibraltar.  Subsequently, Francisco Franco, who ruled the country for forty years, promoted the study of Spanish literature at the expense of other countries’ literature.  For this reason, Poe and other English language writers were frequently read in French or translated into Spanish from French (Gurpegui 108).  A translation directly from the English, however, offered Spain its first glimpse of the American author, although its readers could not have known it.  An anonymous version of Poe’s story “Three Sundays in a Week” appeared in El Museo Universal in 1857.  According to Englekirk, the translation matches the original almost exactly excepting the translator’s decision to give the characters Spanish names.  Since Baudelaire did not translate this particular story, the English original was most likely the source (15).

This anonymous translation kicked off a decade of popularity for Poe in Spain.  Even as the first translation of Poe’s work appeared in Spain, interest in Poe died down in France about a decade after he was first discovered there (Englekirk 19).  Although the first translation in Spain came from the original short story in English, it was not long before the French translations of Poe’s works influenced Spanish writers and readers.  As one might guess, Baudelaire’s translations had the most influence in Spain.  According to Englekirk, “Poe’s fame lay dormant in Spain until the prestige of Baudelaire and the excellency of his workmanship aroused an immediate interest in his tales” (17).  At the same time, Baudelaire’s accurate and prominent translations also meant that fewer Spanish writers felt the need to create their own translations of Poe’s works (33).

The first time Poe’s name appeared in Spain proves this point.  In 1858, Pedro Antonio de Alarcón introduced the readers of the magazine La Epoca to Poe in an article that relies heavily on Baudelaire’s biography of the author and even borrows lines from one of Baudelaire’s prefaces to a volume of Poe’s translated works (Englekirk 60).  This article, however, also foreshadows how Spanish writers would not merely follow the French while reading and translating Poe.  By adding his own enthusiasm for Poe and his literary theories, Alarcón showed that Poe appealed to writers in Spain for reasons other than the mere fact that he was popular in France (Gurpegui 108).

In the same year that Alcarón’s article appeared, the first volume of Poe’s stories was published under the title Historias extraordinarias.  As the title suggests, this collection obviously had strong connections to Baudelaire’s Histoires extraordinaires (Gurpegui 109).  The stories within the book were ordered in much the same manner as the stories in Baudelaire’s volume (Englekirk 25).  Englekirk shows that many of the Spanish titles were taken from Baudelaire’s translations instead of the English originals.  This example on page 26 of his book proves this point even if one is not familiar with French or Spanish:

“The Murders in the Rue Morgue”

“Double Assassinat dans la rue Morgue”

“Doble asesinato en la calle de Morgue”

Baudelaire’s influence in Spain was not limited to translations alone.  Many critical essays reflected and furthered the ideas and themes Baudelaire championed.  In Manuel Cano Cueto’s 1871 article on Poe, he sees the author as a “sort of redeemer of the materialistic American people” (Gurpegui 109).  According to Englekirk, the writer Ángel Guerra concludes that Poe “has nothing of the American” (71).  In a prologue written by José Pablo Rivas, Englekirk states the writer sees Poe as “not of America” (79).  While Baudelaire undeniably saw Poe as a poet disconnected from his society, the Spanish writers placed a greater emphasis on Poe as a figure apart from America.  Due to the political and cultural restrictions placed on literature written in English, Spanish writers’ might have had more to gain from separating Poe from his original culture.  Although Baudelaire originally introduced this view of Poe, these bold statements show the extent to which some Spanish writers viewed Poe as an outsider to his society.

Although no Spanish writer felt the same intense affinity that Baudelaire felt with Poe, a few Spanish writers did have lives that resembled Poe’s and were more influenced by him for that reason.  Emilio Carrere had drinking problems and feared his poetic voice would not receive the attention it deserved (Gurpegui 110).  Carrere even feared a fate like Poe’s and hoped to control his destructive behavior (Englekirk 433).  Unfortunately, Carrere’s poetry is not as noteworthy as Poe’s or Baudelaire’s.  His work, however, is still interesting as almost everything he wrote contains numerous allusions and references to Poe (441).

Carrere constructed his understanding of Poe based on the image created by both Baudelaire and the Nicaraguan writer Rubén Darío (418).  Unlike France and Spain, Spain and Spanish America discovered and explored Poe and his works at more or less the same time.  These regions also benefited from the shared language of Spanish which allowed them to largely eliminate the step of translation.  The way texts moved back and forth between the two regions produced interesting consequences for the translation and interpretation of Poe in Spanish America.

Since Spanish America includes many countries and spans a large area, trends in translations and interpretation are harder to identify.  Poe’s works, however, gained popularity in Spanish America more or less towards the end of the nineteenth century (“Poe in Spanish America” 121).  Although the Cuban writer Enrique Piñeyro published an article on Poe in Colombia in 1877, he did not express the enthusiasm that many French and Spanish writers had previously articulated.  There are few mentions of Poe between this article and the 1890s (86).  At the beginning of this decade, Spanish translations of Poe’s stories gained significant popularity in Spanish America.  Spanish American writers apparently did not feel the need to create their own translations of these stories since they were already in the native language (33).  As previously mentioned, most of these translations closely resembled Poe’s originals since they were based on Baudelaire’s high quality translations.  Since Spanish American writers were not occupied with the translation of these stories, they were able to focus on other aspects of Poe’s works including his poetry.

Although Spanish American authors were influenced by the Spanish authors who found Poe through French translations and specifically Baudelaire’s translations of Poe’s stories, they were also inspired to study Poe by their proximity to the United States.  Time and space allowed Spanish American writers to distance themselves from Baudelaire’s translations that had heavily influenced the Spanish translation process.  More Spanish American authors travelled between their countries and the United States than did Spanish writers.  Their understanding of the English language and American society allowed them to connect to Poe in a way that few French and Spanish writers had.  Many of these Spanish American writers were able to obtain Poe’s works and read them in the original English (Englekirk 35).  In fact, Piñeyro who wrote the 1877 article on Poe had most likely read his works in English before writing that article (86).  For this reason, Spanish American translations almost exclusively depended on the original English versions of Poe’s works.

Since Baudelaire had made Poe a well known international figure through his short stories, Spanish writers naturally investigated Poe as a story writer as well.  For this reason, when Poe began to influence Spanish American writers, only eight Spanish writers had translated any of Poe’s poetry (Englekirk 36).  Although Spanish translators introduced Poe’s stories to Spanish America, Spanish American writers helped Spanish readers see a new side of Poe as well.  Spanish writers came to know Poe’s poetry through translations by Spanish American writers.

According to Englekirk, “The results of their [Spanish American writers] efforts to express in their own tongue, not alone the content, but the meter, rhythm, and rhyme of Poe’s lyrics, belie at once the thought that they might have had recourse to some text other than the English” (35).  In other words, these poets, their familiarity with the English language and the accessibility of Poe’s works in the original English produced translations of Poe’s poetry that allowed them to more accurately reflect the original in Spanish.  Since Spanish American writers were removed from Baudelaire’s emphasis on Poe’s short stories, had mastered the English language, and had first hand experience with American society, they were able to concentrate on translating his poetry with remarkable accuracy.

The translation of Poe’s poetry really gained momentum through the literary movement Modernismo.  Like the French Symbolists, these writers appreciated Poe’s literary theory.  This connection is not surprising as Modernismo adopted ideas from French Symbolism as well as Poe’s poetry.  Susan F. Levin and Stuart Levine state that “Poe’s poems appeal to the Modernists… because of their musicality, their coloristic and symbolic language, and their evocation of unusual states of mind” (122).  Although Baudelaire and other authors involved with French Symbolism rejected the idea of ‘art for art’s sake,’ Modernismo embraced the concept and melded it with ideas from French Symbolism (“Modernismo…”).  These writers focused on writing poetry although other literary forms were occasionally used.  Despite the fact that Modernismo incorporated several French ideas, this literary movement was distinctly American, with its legitimization of the discussion of American themes and issues within poetry (Lebron).  Poe’s poetry influenced and inspired poetry in Spanish America throughout this movement.

Although time, distance and new literary thought allowed Spanish Americans to view Poe in new ways, Baudelaire’s influence can still be traced through the way several Spanish American writers identified with Poe.  Since the Modernista writers studied French literature extensively, they connected Baudelaire closely with Poe and sometimes also viewed themselves as a part of this exclusive relationship.  The idea of Poe as an “alienated artist” created by Baudelaire and furthered by Spanish writers appealed strongly to the Modernista writers (“Poe in Spanish America” 121).  Some of these authors had family backgrounds similar to Poe’s, while others merely viewed themselves as outsiders in their societies.

One such poet is Rubén Darío.  Darío coined the term Modernismo and is one of the most representative writers of the movement (Lebron).  Darío embodies many of the trends discussed in relation to Spanish America and its treatment of Poe.  He identified personally with Poe on several levels.  When Darío travelled to New York, he had the opportunity to study American society in general, and Edgar Allan Poe in particular (Englekirk 166).  Finally, through the poetry and literary theory of Darío, one can see how the movement incorporated the poetry and poetic theory of Poe.

The fact that Darío and Poe’s birthdays are only one day apart suggests the almost uncanny similarities between the lives of the two authors (“Rubén Darío 215).  According to Englekirk, “The very intensity with which Darío studied Poe’s life is proof of the Nicaraguan’s sympathy, understanding, and fascination for the tragedy of the American genius” (169).  This relationship is very reminiscent of Baudelaire’s feelings towards Poe.  Like Poe, Darío was not raised by his biological parents and lacked the love of a mother (170).  Due to this living arrangement, Darío suffered from bouts of melancholy at a young age.  This overwhelming sadness also led to Darío troubles with alcohol later in life (178).  The death of his wife Rafaela Contraeras worsened this problem just as Virginia Clemm’s death had affected Poe (“Rubén Darío 217).  Since Darío saw many aspects of his own life in Poe, he promoted and supported Poe’s poetry and literary theory in a way quite similar to Baudelaire’s championing of Poe and his stories.

When Darío moved to Chile at the age of 19 in 1886, he became a journalist as Poe had before him.  While in Chile, Darío most likely read Poe for the first time.  He was part of a group of writers who kept up with popular literary trends of the time which familiarized him with French poets like Baudelaire.  For these reasons, Darío most likely read Poe in both French and English at about the same time (Englekirk 184).  In a manner very characteristic of the Spanish American writers of the day, Darío travelled to New York in 1893 where he was able to study Poe in his original context (187).  While in New York, Darío compared Poe to a swan (182).  This comparison shows that Darío saw Poe and his poetic theory in conversation with Modernismo.  The swan stood for beauty which the Modernista writers valued above truth and was one of the most influential symbols of the movement.

Like Baudelaire and the French Symbolists, Darío created the image of Poe that other Modernista writers accepted and used in their own writings.  This image represented Poe as “a prototypical suffering artist, handsome, and a constant dreamer” (“Poe in Spanish America” 123).  After returning from his trip to New York, Darío first described Poe in this manner in his book Los raros.  By declaring Poe as a writer of unique and remarkable talent, Darío alerted other Spanish American writers especially the Modernistas to the genius he saw in Poe.  The biographical information in this essay matches Dario’s own background (123).  Here Darío validates himself through validating Poe as Baudelaire had done previously in France.  Moreover, Englekirk claims that “much of Darío’s symbolism is directly traceable to Poe” (195).  Since symbols played an important role in Modernismo, it is worthwhile to look closely at how these symbols work within specific poems written by Darío.

Like Poe, the poets involved with French Symbolism, and Charles Baudelaire particularly, Darío identifies beauty as the purpose of poetry.  Any truth discussed in the poem is happenstance (Englekirk 194).  Darío’s poetry, however, frequently takes on political and social themes.  In his poem “To Roosevelt,” Darío criticizes Theodore Roosevelt by speaking directly to him through the lines “You’re the United States / you’re the future invader / of the guileless America of indigenous blood / that still prays to Jesus Christ and still speaks Spanish” (85).  While themes such as those found in “To Roosevelt” seem incompatible with Poe’s thoughts on poetry, Darío did not see this contradiction as an issue.  When he discusses these themes in his poetry, he imagined them as the cries of the people of his continent (Englekirk 194).  Two translators of Darío’s poetry, Derusha and Acereda, state that Darío “was more of a poet than a political thinker, and his sense of hispanidad- an idealized cultural bond… emanated more from his heart than from his intellect” (25).  The universality of the cultural meaning behind these political thoughts is the beauty that Darío sees himself describing in poems like “To Roosevelt,” and for this reason, he has no problem incorporating Poe’s poetic theory into his political and social poetry.

Although Darío sometimes viewed the United States in a negative way, the fact that Poe was from the United States did not affect Darío’s admiration of the poet.  Like Baudelaire and many writers after him, Darío viewed Poe as an alien in his society.  Englekirk mentions that “Darío realized that the American poet had long been the unfortunate victim of Puritanical bias and of selfish literary revenge.  He rejoiced that magnanimous spirits in America and in France had risen to Poe’s defense” (180).  Since Poe viewed the United States in a critical way in his own literary works, Darío’s connection to the poet was actually strengthened by Poe’s nationality.

With Darío’s inclusion of political and social themes in his poetry, one can see the influence of Modernismo on Darío’s interpretation of Poe.  Although the writers of this movement adopted ideas from European literature such as those of the French Symbolists, Modernismo was an American movement because its writers discussed topics and issues that were specifically American.  Since Darío was a central writer to this movement, it is not surprising that his poetry treats topics such as the United State’s involvement in Spanish American countries.  As Darío already felt a strong connection to Poe based on their similar lives, he simply interpreted Poe’s works in a way that allowed him to retain that close relationship.

The difference between the French Symbolists’ influence and Poe’s influence on Darío’s poetry is hard to distinguish, especially in relation to the symbolism used.  Englekirk, however, claims that the distinction is possible and gives several ways to recognize Darío’s incorporation of Poe in his works.  These methods of recognition focus on the techniques Darío used while writing his poetry, such as rhyme, alliteration and repetition as well as the actual content of the poems (Englekirk 195).  Englekirk mentions Darío’s “Divina Psiquis, dulce Mariposa invisible…” or in translation “Divine Psyche, sweet invisible Butterfly…” as a poem that has definite ties to Poe and especially his poem “Ulalume.”  Although Englekirk only mentions this connection in passing, a closer look at both of the poems offers a view of how Poe appears in Darío’s poetry.

The atmosphere Darío creates in “Divine Psyche” reminds one of the settings Poe crafts in “Ulalume.”  The “ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir” (1114) that Poe mentions may have contained the “the cathedral / and the pagan ruins” that Darío describes (159).  The melancholy states that darkened both Poe and Darío’s lives pervade both of the poems.  As Poe wanders with his Psyche, he says they find “At the end of our path a liquescent / And nebulous luster was born” (1112).  Darío also talks to his Psyche of paths: “you explore the most dark and terrible twists and turns” (159).  The atmosphere these poets chose to create illuminates their thoughts on the connections between the spiritual world and the material world.

Darío appeals to the separation of the spiritual and the material worlds by describing his Psyche as an entity inside him but autonomous of him when he writes “You peek out from my eyes at the light of the earth / and live in me as prisoner of a strange master” (159).  The spiritual can interact with the material world since the reader can see the spiritual Psyche observing the material world.  Darío’s materiality, however, limits the role this spiritual aspect can have in his life.  Poe’s Psyche interacts with the physical world as well.  She lets her wings sink “Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.”  Poe also mentions that he “pacified Psyche and kissed her” and implies that the spiritual can interact with the physical (1113).  In “Ulalume” as in “Divine Psyche,” however, there is also the idea that the material world and the spiritual world are still very separate.  Poe’s Psyche tries to warn him about the star they have found, but Poe does not heed her words.  At the end of the poem, Psyche’s concerns which Poe had dismissed as “nothing but dreaming” end up being correct (1113).  Through these examples, a reader can see how Poe and Darío both explored the connection between the spiritual world and the physical world.

In “Divine Psyche” Darío explicitly states Poe’s influence on his poetic creation by speaking to Poe directly.  In the lines, “‘Between the cathedral and the pagan ruins / you fly, O Psyche, O my soul!’ / said / that heavenly Edgar, / who entered paradise accompanied by the sound of bells / and the perfume of spikenard,” the reader can see how closely Darío felt himself connected to Poe.  Darío dedicates a whole section of this poem to Poe, and refers to Poe by his first name.  He deifies Poe through religious language.  The idea of the “sound of bells” welcoming Poe to heaven reminds the reader of the musicality of Poe’s poetry, which Darío admired and attempted to recreate in his own poetry.  This line is most likely a specific reference to Poe’s poem “The Bells,” which includes many examples of repetition and alliteration that create this musicality that Darío attempts to imitate.  An emphasis on sensory experiences also comes through in this line with the focus on the sound of the bells and the smell of the flowers.  Although “Ulalume” does not specifically include many references to sensory experiences, Poe’s poetic theory placed great importance on the senses.

Rubén Darío took Edgar Allan Poe and his works and incorporated them not only into his poetry but also into his thoughts on the purpose of poetry.  Since Darío recognized the many similarities between the two writers’ lives, he felt a special connection with Poe.  Baudelaire pioneered this kind of relationship with Poe, and influenced subsequent writers like Darío to adopt this view.  Similarly, Baudelaire created Poe as a figure outside of American society and allowed writers in France, Spain and Spanish America to identify with Poe on that level as well.  Poe gained popularity in these foreign countries through Baudelaire but also through the popular literary movements of the time.  He remained relevant as writers continued to recognize their theories and themselves in his works.

Although each country and each writer varied their understanding of the American writer, Edgar Allan Poe fostered international conversation between all kinds of literary minds.  When Rubén Darío discovered Poe and integrated the American author’s thoughts into his own poetry, he created connections between the United States and Spanish America through which ideas were exchanged and shared.  In this way, one can see Darío as a cultural ambassador like Gruesz references in the preface to her book.  Following the thoughts of Damrosch, one can see how the ‘new lives’ Poe’s works took on in France and Spain influenced the ‘new life’ given to his works in Spanish America.  At the same time, each country offered something new to the works of Edgar Allan Poe and helped establish his works as part of a world literature.

In my term paper, I analyzed how Poe was successful in generating the same effect on his readers in “The Black Cat” and “The Tell Tale Heart” by using different types of insanity: objective and subjective. I looked specifically at how the author creates two varying settings, a mental and a physical, to establish different relationships with his readers, but overall, instill the same feeling of horror. For my creative project, I wanted to expand further on Poe’s idea of insanity and imitate the method in which he was able to engineer emotions in readers.  In his work, Poe relies heavily on the relationship between the narrator and his reader, very often established through the setting.  Recognizing the importance of the setting led me to using photography as means for expressing insanity.   I believe that, while interpretation is always left to the viewer, photographs allow the photographer to control which emotions are portrayed; the photograph itself acts as the photographer’s little square.  Just as Poe was able to create a carefully constructed effect on his readers, my photos were meticulously designed to impress the extremes of my college experience that truly make it feel insane to me.

Instead of having random pictures depicting college insanity, I used quotes from “The Tell Tale Heart” and “The Black Cat,” and modeled my photos from those.  My goals for the collection included not only conveying my version of Poe’s short stories on a physical level, but also, almost most importantly, pairing the scenes with a designed emotion to create the desired response that I thought the words created. For example, my favorite quote from “The Black Cat” is, “I knew myself no longer,” spoken by the intoxicated narrator after gouging out his cat’s eyes.  I believe this quote indicates the utter loss of self-restraint and the fear that accompanies losing control.  I paired this quote with a picture of a ND shot glass surrounded by a mixture of drugs and M&M candies.  On a physical level, I chose to incorporate the candy because it adds youth and irony to the picture; drugs seem more innocent and familiar when compared to candy.  Plus, the candy portrays both the temptation (sweetness) of the drugs, especially for the super stressed college student, and the ease of obtaining and doing them.  I contend that the obscurity of pairing candy with drugs not only creates a feeling of uncertainty and confusion for the viewer but also the same fear of losing control felt by Poe’s narrator.

For me, the most important and favorite part of the process was not taking the actual picture, but rather editing the photo to perfectly accompany a quote and fit into the collection as a whole.  Throughout the whole project, I used Poe as my mentor for his systematic ability to take an emotion and create an objective sentence that impresses his decided effect on readers.  Paired with a song by Muse titled “Super Massive Black Hole,” my final collection includes 26 photos that depicts my view on Poe’s idea of insanity and how it relates to my college world.