in verse #52: Walt versus Joseph

The theme of this month’s post is foreshadowed in its title. Had I written “Walter versus Joseph” you would sense a formal balance between the two names; had I written “Walt versus Joe” you would sense an informal balance. But the imbalance in formality bespeaks an imbalance in the poetics of two poets.[i] Yeah, yeah, I know: you know Walt Whitman; Walt Whitman is a friend of yours; Joseph Smith is no Walt Whitman. You’re right, and that is one of the main points of the comparison I am about to impose on you, should you accept the invitation.

I want you to read a long poem by Whitman, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” paying close attention to all the devices of his mature poetic,[ii] to his full emotional engagement with the subject, and to the thematic elements, especially the blend of transcendental and realistic images, that he employs. Also, this is the season to read this poem: lilacs are blooming in my dooryard, and Lincoln died 150 years ago, on my birthday.[iii]

I invite you to then contrast that with a long poem by Joseph Smith, Doctrine and Covenants 93. In light of Whitman’s method of composition by collage, I invite you to note the number of elements in Smith’s work that appear to be a collage of themes from John 1:1-14, and the ways in which he deploys them, and moves into a new set of ideas regarding “the word.” I’ll have a little more to say about that in about 17 minutes, when you finish reading this poem aloud:

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

1

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

2

O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

3

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig with its flower I break.

4

In the swamp in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary the thrush,
The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.

Song of the bleeding throat,
Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)

5

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting
—the gray debris,
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.

6

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing,
With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,
With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,
With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang,
Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.

7

(Nor for you, for one alone,
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,
For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.

All over bouquets of roses,
O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

8

O western orb sailing the heaven,
Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d,
As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,
As you droop’d from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on,)
As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,)
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,
As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,
As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

9

Sing on there in the swamp,
O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,
I hear, I come presently, I understand you,
But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me,
The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.

10

O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

Sea-winds blown from east and west,
Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting,
These and with these and the breath of my chant,
I’ll perfume the grave of him I love.

11

O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air,
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific,
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there,
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows,
And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

12

Lo, body and soul—this land,
My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships,
The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio’s shores and
—flashing Missouri,
And ever the far-spreading prairies cover’d with grass and corn.

Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,
The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,
The gentle soft-born measureless light,
The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon,
The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13

Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,
Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

O liquid and free and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!
You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.

14

Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth,
In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing
—their crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia
—of daily usages,
And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent — lo, then and there,
Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,
And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.

Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,
To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.

And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me,
The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three,
And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

From deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol rapt me,
As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

Come lovely and soothing death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later delicate death.

Prais’d be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,
And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach strong deliveress,
When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.

From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee,
And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

The night in silence under many a star,
The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,
And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil’d death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,
Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,
Over the dense-pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.

15

To the tally of my soul,
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,
With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,
And I with my comrades there in the night.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,
As to long panoramas of visions.

And I saw askant the armies,
I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags,
Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc’d with missiles I saw them,
And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody,
And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,
I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,
But I saw they were not as was thought,
They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not,
The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d,
And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d,
And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.

16

Passing the visions, passing the night,
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands,
Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul,
Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,
Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.

I cease from my song for thee,
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.

Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul,
With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,
With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake,
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.[iv]

 

Among the themes Whitman introduces into this meditation on the aftermath of the tragic death of Lincoln are these lines: “O sane and sacred death…. / Come lovely and soothing death, / Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, / In the day, in the night, to all, to each, / Sooner or later delicate death.” These lines should be read every June 27^th, in memoriam Joseph Smith — in fact, we should make it a practice to read the entire poem aloud in Temple Square every June 27^th, when spring has truly passed the baton to summer and all the lilacs begin to die back.

And speaking of Joseph Smith, he seemed to be able to cut and paste from scripture and elaborate, in producing new scripture. I think we could best call this a process of revelation by association. His mind is full of scripture, as his days are full of work, of teaching, of seeking and offering guidance. The 93^rd section of Doctrine and Covenants demonstrates these qualities well, as also the incessant pressure on Joseph not only to live but to produce the work assigned him by the Lord. It begins as a meditation on John 1:1-14, perhaps occurring to Joseph during the process of translating the Old Testament, as the last long stanza would seem to attest. I am using the text prepared by Colin B. Douglas for his new book Six Poems by Joseph Smith.[v] He points out, in his commentary, that “[a]lthough most of the revelations recorded in the Doctrine and Covenants respond to particular questions,”[vi] we don’t know what, if any, question this section is answering. I invite you to watch as the response to John unfolds into an entirely unexpected meditation, then comes back to the moment in which Joseph is living. Enjoy this new dimension of meaning in D&C; I’ll be back in about 15 minutes.

Doctrine and Covenants 93

     i

NARRATOR:

Verily, thus saith the Lord:

THE LORD:

It shall come to pass that every soul
who forsaketh his sins,
and cometh unto me,
and calleth on my name,
and obeyeth my voice,
and keepeth my commandments
shall see my face
and know that I am,
and that I am the true light
that lighteth every man
that cometh into the world,
and that I am in the Father,
and the Father in me,
and the Father and I are one—
The Father because he gave me of his fulness
and the Son because I was in the world
and made flesh my tabernacle
and dwelt among the sons of men.
I was in the world and received of my Father,
and the works of him were plainly manifest.

And John saw and bore record of the fulness of my glory,
and the fulness of John’s record is hereafter to be revealed;

And he bore record, saying:

JOHN:

I saw his glory,
that he was in the beginning
before the world was.
Therefore, in the beginning the Word was,
for he was the Word,
even the messenger of salvation,
the light and the Redeemer of the world,
the Spirit of truth,
who came into the world,
because the world was made by him,
and in him was the life of men
and the light of men.
The worlds were made by him;
men were made by him;
all things were made by him,
and through him,
and of him.

And I, John, bear record

that I beheld his glory
as the glory of the Only Begotten of the Father,
full of grace and truth,
even the Spirit of truth,
which came and dwelt in the flesh,
and dwelt among us.
And I, John, saw that he received not of the fulness at the first,
but received grace for grace;
and he received not of the fulness at first,
but continued from grace to grace,
until he received a fulness;
and thus he was called the Son of God,
because he received not of the fulness at the first.

And I, John, bear record,
and lo, the heavens were opened,
and the Holy Ghost descended upon him in the form of a dove
and sat upon him,
and there came a voice out of heaven saying
“This is my beloved Son.”

And I, John, bear record

that he received a fulness of the glory of the Father;
and he received all power,
both in heaven and on earth,
and the glory of the Father was with him,
for he dwelt in him.

THE LORD:

And it shall come to pass,
that if you are faithful,
you shall receive the fulness of the record of John.
I give unto you these sayings
that you may understand
and know how to worship
and know what you worship,
that you may come unto the Father in my name
and in due time receive of his fulness;
for, if you keep my commandments,
you shall receive of his fulness
and be glorified in me as I am in the Father.
Therefore, I say unto you,
you shall receive grace for grace.

   ii

THE LORD:

And now, verily I say unto you:

I was in the beginning, with the Father,
and am the Firstborn;
and all those who are begotten through me
are partakers of the glory of the same
and are the church of the Firstborn.
Ye were also —
in the beginning,
with the Father —
that which is Spirit,
even the Spirit of truth;
and truth is knowledge of things as they are,
and as they were,
and as they are to come;
and whatsoever is more or less than this
is the spirit of that wicked one
who was a liar from the beginning.
The Spirit of truth is of God;
I am the Spirit of truth,

and John bore record of me, saying:

JOHN:

He received a fulness of truth,
yea, even of all truth;
and no man receiveth a fulness
unless he keepeth his commandments.
He that keepeth his commandments receiveth truth and light
until he is glorified in truth and knoweth all things.

THE LORD:

Man was also —
in the beginning
with God;
Intelligence,
or the light of truth,
was not created or made,
neither indeed can be.
All truth is independent in that sphere in which God has placed it,
to act for itself, as all intelligence also;
otherwise there is no existence.
Behold, here is the agency of man,
and here is the condemnation of man,
because that which was from the beginning
is plainly manifest unto them,
and they receive not the light,
and every man whose spirit receiveth not the light
is under condemnation;
for man is spirit;
the elements are eternal;
and spirit and element,
inseparably connected,
receive a fulness of joy;
and, when separated,
man cannot receive a fulness of joy.
The elements are the tabernacle of God;
yea, man is the tabernacle of God,
even temples;
and whatsoever temple is defiled,
God shall destroy that temple.
The glory of God is intelligence,
or, in other words, light and truth;
light and truth forsake that evil one.
Every spirit of man was innocent in the beginning,
and, God having redeemed man from the fall,
men became again, in their infant state, innocent before God;
and that wicked one cometh and taketh away light and truth,
through disobedience,
from the children of men,
and because of the tradition of their fathers.

   iii

THE LORD:

But I have commanded you
to bring up your children in light and truth.

But verily I say unto you, my servant Frederick G. Williams:

You have continued under this condemnation:
you have not taught your children light and truth,
according to the commandments;
and that wicked one hath power, as yet, over you,
and this is the cause of your affliction.

And now a commandment I give unto you:

if you will be delivered you shall set in order your own house,
for there are many things that are not right in your house.

Verily, I say unto my servant Sidney Rigdon

that in some things he hath not kept the commandments
concerning his children;
therefore, first set in order thy house.

Verily, I say unto my servant Joseph Smith, Jun.

(or in other words, I will call you friends,
for you are my friends,
and ye shall have an inheritance with me—
I called you servants for the world’s sake,
and ye are their servants for my sake)—

And now, verily, I say unto Joseph Smith, Jun.:

You have not kept the commandments
and must needs stand rebuked before the Lord;
Your family must needs repent and forsake some things
and give more earnest heed unto your sayings
or be removed out of their place.

(What I say unto one I say unto all:

pray always, lest that wicked one have power in you
and remove you out of your place.)

My servant Newel K. Whitney, also,
a bishop of my church,
hath need to be chastened
and set in order his family
and see that they are more diligent and concerned at home
and pray always,
or they shall be removed out of their place.

Now, I say unto you, my friends:

Let my servant Sidney Rigdon go on his journey and make haste,
and also proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord
and the gospel of salvation
as I shall give him utterance;
and by your prayer of faith, with one consent,
I will uphold him.

And let my servants Joseph Smith Jun. and Frederick G. Williams
make haste also,
and it shall be given them,
even according to the prayer of faith;
and inasmuch as you keep my sayings
you shall not be confounded in this world,
nor in the world to come.

And, verily I say unto you

that it is my will
that you should hasten to translate my scriptures
and to obtain a knowledge of history
and of countries
and of kingdoms,
of laws of God and man,

and all this for the salvation of Zion.

Amen.

I don’t think you can read all of Smith’s revelations as poetry. Douglas presents only 6 sections in his book, which with his commentary runs to 129 pages. The sections require that close reading, and reward it. For me, Douglas opens the poem, with his restructuring, to a far more nuanced reading, and reveals a loose and yet satisfying structure — much like that of Whitman’s poem. To me, “the word” blossoms in all kinds of ways, including as intelligence, and as the commandments, and as the specific tasks assigned to Sidney Rigdon and Joseph Smith. Douglas and I presented a poorly-attended session of little interest in the Sunstone Symposium years ago on the subject of “The Poet Joseph Smith,” and I have continued to draw on it in my work with the letter from Liberty Jail (as in this earlier post). It is now evident that Colin Douglas has done even more with it. I hope that is now apparent to you, too.

But hold on, I hear you say: How are these two linked?

Your turn.

__________

[i] Although I am responsible for the poem “I dreamed I saw Joe Smith last night,” I, like most Mormons, refer to the First Prophet of the Restoration as Joseph, not Joe, Smith. His consistent use was Joseph Smith, Jun. It was his detractors who called him “Joe Smith.” Whitman, on the other hand, though formally Walter Whitman, always referred to himself as Walt Whitman, when he used his name. He was also a Jun., but used the shortened form Walt as his family did, to distinguish himself from his father, Walter Whitman.

[ii] The text is from the Walt Whitman Archive, http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/193, as published in the last edition Whitman saw through the press, the so-called “Death-bed Edition” of 1891-2.

[iii] Although technically I was born on Lincoln’s deathday, and only 70 years ago, most people still regard Lincoln as having died on 14 April 1865, the day he was shot. And besides, Lincoln is only peripheral to this post; I am its author. It is my birthday under discussion, and, fittingly as a memorial to a Republican president, income-tax-filing day.

[iv] http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/193, accessed 23 April 2015.

[v] Six poems by Joseph Smith : a dimension of meaning in Doctrine and Covenants / Colin B. Douglas. — West Jordan, Utah : Temple Hill, c2015. Most of Douglas’s text editing involves changes to punctuation. I hope to review this book soon for this website; this is just an introduction, and a welcome addition to my own obsessions with the texts Joseph Smith dictated.

[vi] Ibid., p. 11.