Whitman, Wordsworth, and overwhelm...

There's a lot going on in my head, mostly I don't share the anxiety, the hurt, the sense of overwhelming cultural devastation, because who can manage that firehose of dread and pain? 

So, two things. The Library of America is having a one-hour discussion about Whitman and his political writings (and I ordered the book) online on June 2. The link is here, and it's free to attend.

The other thing that I have to offer is a poem by Wordsworth, one that lives in my head:

The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

And while I don't necessarily want to be a "Pagan suckled in a creed outworn," I

most definitely yearn for less chaotic times. 

Have a lovely day, friends. Hugs all around,

C