Hallowed Halls, in the Style of Walt Whitman
Yesterday, in my Whitman class, the teacher sent us out to wander campus and jot down some notes about what Whitman might have included in a poem. This is what I finished with, touched up slightly. All told, it took me about ten mintues, combining the actual writing down yesterday and the polishing today.
Hallowed Halls, in the Style of Walt Whitman
O hallowed halls, students, keepers of tomorrow’s knowledge, tell me your story and allow me to sing
your song, your hymn to him, the one who gave you what you are.
Chairs and tables, bones left of a computer, eyes and ears and tongue of a knowledge-giver,
A knowledge-drinker, child of she who ate the apple and let knowledge pour into the world.
Lone student studying furiously, I sing the song of you and wonder what great thoughts will you share?
Hunched over books beneath the strong great Oak, can you, heir of knowledge, feel the ghosts of the trees who fell,
yet still growing in the roots?
They were many and now are less, victims of Nature’s fury and beguiling wiles,
And you, hunched over your books, are their legacy of knowledge and truth and strength.
Parking lot and cloudy sky, rains drawing near to bathe us, same water from the sky that the
great lizards drank, eons ago-
What knowledge could you give us, o water, what pearls of wisdom are found in your oysters?
And cars, I’ve not forgotten you, covered in raindrops, red and white and grey, children of technology,
Created by knowledge, our chariots to our knowledge, tooting horns and rumbling wheels, let me sing
my hymn for you.
Buildings older than many I know, tell me your story and let your song continue to grow in those
students who long to learn,
All students from dozens of places, from cities and countries far from this ground, sing together, a
multitude of voices raised high,
And know these hallowed halls, are your teacher and your guide.