I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
--Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (1855, 1881)

As Adam early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep,
Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach,
Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,
Be not afraid of my body.
--Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (1861, 1867)

Welcome to a place devoted to thinking about the body in poems, about how physical life gets represented or "textualized." We focus particularly on American poetry beginning with Walt Whitman. His self-conscious interest in being known as "the poet of the body" provides a nice point of departure for thinking about poets who are more delicate, though often no less passionate, in coding the body: poets like Emily Dickinson.

Users of this site include anyone who wants to know how (in the role of literary critic) to explain and understand the relationship of poetry to the body, or how (in the role of writer) to achieve "physical eloquence." The site is designed with indepedent and interactive learning in mind--and also informal learning. We encourage writing in the first person and writing that is exploratory, writing that is not yet ready for print publication or even presentation at conferences, student writing, writing that seeks friendly criticism and like-minded enthusiasm for the topic.

I am your guide, Jimmie Killingsworth. I've written a number of books and articles about Walt Whitman, which you can find listed on the Whitman bibliography page. But this is my first effort at making a web site independent of a particular college course. My impression is that, both within and outside college classrooms, many people are exploring representations of the body in poetry. My aim here is to provide a meeting place for these curious seekers.

Write to me at killingsworth@tamu.edu.

If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,
Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
* * * * * * * * * *
Root of wash'd sweet-flag! timorous pond snipe! nest of guarded duplicate eggs! it shall be you!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!
Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you.
--Walt Whitman ("Song of Myself," 1855, 1881)

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