ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
to read Walt Whitman works again.
and so I did and I wanted to share.
I present you with this gem, both horrifyingly beautiful and hopeful:
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.
---
your-methamphetamine introduced me to this friggin' stunning band, We All Inherit the Moon.
if you like sigur ros, explosions in the sky, this will destroy you, godspeed, basically any post-rock band and/or max richter check this out:
you should play this while reading the poem. it makes for a nice soundtrack 
--Gravity
here we go
I keep nicking up my hand somehow only to realize it after the hand sanitizer. hot holy hell fire. I don't understand how I've gotten so obliviously clumsy. another cover: https://0h-gravity.tumblr.com/post/641805322068033536/my-cover-of-birmingham-by-shovels-and-rope-hope not the best recording I've done but well there it is. hope you like it. hope y'all are hanging in there. --gravity
this is the part where you nod and say yeah
I always cycle through this heavy nostalgia mood for dA heyday. so many good times. I remember when I first started posting on here there was this user who introduced me to the ghost town Pine Point and then a couple years ago I was listening to the PUP album The Dream Is Over which has a song inspired by the town. And every time I listen to the song I think about that person and I wonder if they remember me too. It was a brief acquaintance as they left the site or maybe they just changed usernames I don't know but they were one of the first people to engage with my poetry. and I think every person I had a connection with on here has something linked to them like that - some piece of music or book or poem or movie or place. and when I see that token of them I remember that person and I want to reach out but I don't; part of that is because they aren't on dA anymore and I don't have any contact info beyond this but for those that I do have the means to reach out and I don't. some
meteor make me young
I can't seem to make my own original content so in the meantime here's a cover: https://0h-gravity.tumblr.com/post/631813639421247488/this-was-probably-one-of-the-hardest-songs-ive yeah, I'm still making those hope all is well --gravity
the deep despair
well it's finally reached me. yesterday, after a seemingly endless work day. hearing the strains and aches of the system and of every human all around. after all my sighing and sighing and sighing. and just as I am escaping from the hellish place I am stopped and faced with a mirror of such...devastation, my soul could not bear it. I managed it well enough that she could not see it then. under the mask and through the goggles. I managed it. and when I departed, I rushed through the hall because the tears were there and they were not going away. the heaviness would not leave me until it had indeed bore itself out. the single stall bathroom was unoccupied. a small mercy. and I finally sobbed. everything in me. all of it. the youth of it. the brutal end of it. the slightest hope fighting against snuffing out. the futility. the futility. please god. don't let him die. I say all this for catharsis. I don't mind so much to be heard. I've carried it since yesterday and it is making me
© 2013 - 2024 0hgravity
Comments10
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I didn't look at this until now...I love it! The poem and the song!
Thank you for sharing.
I'm glad I was open enough to take a listen, because I really did end up loving the solemnity in the strings.
I'm going to give Walt Whitman another visit as well; he's beyond words.
Thank you for sharing.
I'm glad I was open enough to take a listen, because I really did end up loving the solemnity in the strings.
I'm going to give Walt Whitman another visit as well; he's beyond words.