At first listening both Wordsworth and Whitman offend my ears.

At first listening both Wordsworth and Whitman offend my ears. They sing a strange music — unnatural rhythms, twisted syntax that has to be reread to be unraveled. 

I have come to a peace with Whitman. His passionate wild flow of images invites surrender - OK, Walt, I’ll open my eyes a little wilder and see more of the world. And Whitman never despairs. I go to him when I’m ready to give up and then I don’t.

I’ve resisted Wordsworth for fifty years. Those stupid sunny daffodils, and the aimless wondering lonely as a cloud, Dear William, you have over-personified yourself out of millions of readers, especially me! Nature personified turns the universe into my crazy aunt, who by the way is one extremely unpleasant woman. 

Thank God, you stole that boat, and also that you dropped (“led by her” referring to Nature) from at least the version presented in this course. This Boat Stealing Episode has some real meat to it. Childhood has its pleasant moments. Rowing a boat into the night sounds fun, until the boogieman mountain shows up and haunts your dreams. 

I judge a poem by what I’m left with when the poem goes away. I have to admit, I’m left with a lot here. Wonderful images, the strength of the oar’s stroke, the glide through the water, the “troubled pleasures” of the night. I feel the painted scene as an image. It’s wonderful and complete and then the terrible nameless fear appears and for once Wordsworth doesn’t personify:

“… huge and mighty Forms, that do not live 
Like living men, moved slowly through the mind 
By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.”

The darkness of our nature remains just that. 

Well, done. I may come to peace with William yet.