On the subway coming home from my real-life job, all I could think about was Walt Whitman. Not any particular poem (echoes of "Leaves of Grass" whistled in and out of my tired, achy headspace) at the time, but in retrospect, the end of the workaday world evokes in my mind "
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," easily my favorite Whitman poem. It avails not,
(
Read more... )