Walt Whitman was kind of a mess. I mean that in the best way possible. When he first self-published Leaves of Grass in 1855, he didn't just write a book; he basically threw a brick through the window of American literature. At the center of that brick was the song of myself poem, a sprawling, ego-driven, messy masterpiece that most critics at the time thought was straight-up garbage. They called it "reckless" and "sensual." One reviewer even suggested Whitman was a beast.
He didn't care. He actually wrote his own anonymous positive reviews to boost sales. Bold move.
If you’ve ever tried to read the whole thing, you know it’s not exactly a light Sunday morning browse. It’s long. It’s loud. It’s confusing. But honestly, if you want to understand why we think the way we do about individuality and "finding ourselves" in the 21st century, you have to look at what Whitman was doing in those 52 sections. He wasn’t just talking about himself. He was trying to prove that he was you, and you were him, and we were all part of this giant, vibrating cosmic soup.
The Scandal of the "I"
Most poets back then were formal. They wrote about Greek gods or used very specific rhyme schemes that felt like wearing a tight suit to a funeral. Whitman showed up in an open-collar shirt with his chest hair showing. Literally. The frontispiece of the 1855 edition showed him looking like a laborer, not a "man of letters."
The song of myself poem starts with a line that everyone knows but few people actually sit with: "I celebrate myself, and sing myself."
Today, that sounds like a typical Instagram caption. In 1855? It was bordering on blasphemy. You weren't supposed to celebrate yourself; you were supposed to celebrate God or the State or your ancestors. Whitman flipped the script. He argued that the human body—every gross, sweaty, beautiful inch of it—was just as sacred as a prayer. He writes about "the scent of these arm-pits" being "aroma finer than prayer."
That’s a lot to take in. It’s visceral.
He was obsessed with the idea of the "Democracy of the Soul." To Whitman, if everyone is divine, then no one is better than anyone else. He spends pages listing different types of people: the carpenter, the pilot, the "clean-hair’d Yankee girl," the slave, the prostitute. He doesn't judge. He just observes. He’s like a human camera panning across a 19th-century street.
Why the 1855 Version is Different
A lot of people don't realize that Whitman spent his whole life rewriting this thing. He released nine different editions of Leaves of Grass. If you buy a copy today, you’re usually getting the "Deathbed Edition" from 1892. It’s polished. It’s refined.
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But the 1855 version of the song of myself poem? That’s where the raw energy is.
In the first version, the poem didn't even have a title. It was just 12 untitled poems. The punctuation was wild—lots of ellipses (...) that made it feel like he was breathing heavily between thoughts. He was trying to capture the rhythm of a person talking, or maybe the rhythm of the ocean. Ralph Waldo Emerson, the big-shot intellectual of the time, loved it. He wrote Whitman a famous letter saying, "I rub my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam has no illusion."
Most other people were just confused by the lack of rhyme. They asked, "Is this even poetry?"
Whitman’s answer was basically: "Who cares?" He wanted to break the rules because the old rules couldn't contain the American experience. America was expanding, messy, and contradictory. He felt the poetry should be, too.
Dealing With the "Contradictions"
There is a famous bit near the end where he says, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)"
People use this quote all the time to justify being flaky or inconsistent. But Whitman was being deeper than that. He was talking about the complexity of the human identity. You aren't just one thing. You are a collection of memories, desires, mistakes, and potentials.
He saw the song of myself poem as a way to bridge the gap between people. This was a guy living through the lead-up to the Civil War. The country was literally ripping itself apart. Whitman was desperately trying to find a common thread that could hold everyone together. He decided that thread was the physical body and the shared "oversoul."
He uses the metaphor of grass. It grows everywhere. It doesn't care if you're rich or poor. It’s the "uniform hieroglyphic."
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The Graphic Bits Nobody Mentions in High School
Let's be real: Whitman was very "into" the body. Like, very into it.
High school English teachers usually skip the parts where he describes the "quivering" of the body or the intense, almost erotic connection he feels with the earth. He describes the sea as "crooked inviting limbs." He describes the wind as "soft-tickler."
Critics like Rufus Griswold (who, fun fact, also tried to ruin Edgar Allan Poe's reputation) were horrified. They thought it was "obscene." But for Whitman, sexuality and spirituality were the same thing. You couldn't have one without the other. To deny the body was to deny the soul. This was revolutionary stuff. It paved the way for the Beat Poets like Allen Ginsberg a century later. Without Whitman’s "Song of Myself," there is no Howl. There’s probably no rock and roll lyrics, either.
The Structure (Or Lack Thereof)
If you’re trying to find a neat outline for the poem, you’re going to have a bad time. It’s a "stream of consciousness" before that was even a term.
- It starts with the awakening of the self and the senses.
- It moves into a long "catalog" where he lists every job and person he can think of.
- It dives into a dark night of the soul where he feels the pain of the world.
- It ends with a sort of cosmic departure.
He tells us at the end that if we want to find him, we should look under our "boot-soles." He’s become part of the dirt. He’s the grass.
It’s a bit trippy.
How to Actually Read It Without Getting Bored
Don’t read it like a textbook. Seriously.
If you try to analyze every single metaphor in the song of myself poem, you’ll give up by section 15. Whitman wanted you to experience it. Read it out loud. Feel the cadence. It’s supposed to be a song, after all.
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- Skip around. You don't have to go 1 to 52. Jump into section 24 if you want to hear him brag. Go to section 6 if you want to think about death.
- Ignore the weird words. He uses "kanuck" and "tuckahoe" and weird French-sounding words he made up. Don't worry about it. Just keep moving.
- Focus on the "You." Notice how often he talks directly to you. He’s trying to pull you into the poem.
The Actionable Insight: Applying Whitman to 2026
It’s easy to look at a poem from the 1800s and think it’s just a museum piece. But the song of myself poem is actually a pretty good manual for modern mental health.
Whitman’s core message was radical self-acceptance. In an era of curated social media feeds and constant comparison, his "celebration of the self" is a necessary antidote. He didn't celebrate himself because he was perfect. He celebrated himself because he existed.
Here is how you can actually "Whitman" your life:
- Practice the Catalog: Whitman made lists of mundane things to show their beauty. Try writing a list of 10 "boring" things you saw today—a cracked sidewalk, a pigeon, the steam off your coffee. It shifts your perspective.
- Embrace Your Multitudes: Stop trying to fit into a single box. You can be an accountant who loves heavy metal and gardening. You are allowed to be contradictory.
- Physical Presence: Get off the screen and feel the "hustle of wheat" or just the air on your skin. Whitman was obsessed with the physical world for a reason—it’s the only thing that’s real.
Whitman’s work reminds us that being human is a "miracle." He famously said that a "leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars." If you can get past the old-fashioned language and the occasional 19th-century rant, you'll find a poem that is basically telling you that you are enough.
You don't need to do more. You just need to be more aware of the fact that you're here.
And honestly? That's a pretty good reason to sing.
Next Steps for Exploration:
- Read the 1855 Preface: It’s basically a manifesto on what it means to be an American. It’s just as powerful as the poem itself.
- Compare Section 1 and Section 52: Look at how the "I" changes from the beginning to the end. He starts as a man leaning on the grass and ends as a spirit dissolving into the air.
- Listen to a Recording: Find a professional reading (or even a decent amateur one) on YouTube. This poem was meant to be heard, not just seen on a page.