William Michaelian: I Hear America Singing

I still remember what I said when my friend and literary co-conspirator, John Berbrich, told me several years ago that there's a shopping mall on Long Island named after Walt Whitman: "There should have been a huge public outcry over that. What kind of people are we, that we would name a place of generic commercialism after a national treasure?"

We'd been talking about Whitman's colossal stature and my idea of declaring a national Whitman holiday. John, the Long Island-born publisher of the small press quarterly Barbaric Yawp, said — and I'm quoting directly from our conversation as it appears on my website — "Whitman is the monstrous whispering ocean moving eternally beneath the full moon, waves lapping the sand."

"Beautiful," I replied. "And so true. For me, Whitman’s confidence is like Beethoven’s. They were geniuses, creatively bursting at the seams. Their defiant laughter shakes the universe. These days especially, with the news dominated by petty minds cultivating lies, I think we should declare an international Whitman holiday and observe it for at least a year. During that time, we can take stock of ourselves, and perhaps emerge with a higher aim and purpose."

Of course, we go on like this all the time. But I still think about that holiday idea, as well as another John came up with: "I propose that all technological inventions be declared illegal for at least ten years, thereby giving us perhaps a chance to catch up a little bit. This time period may be extended if necessary."

William Michaelian has already prepared for the long nights, the rain and the snow: buy his book Winter Poems here.