As we gather to listen you will find this episode a pivot point. Walt and I begin here at section 16 of "Starting From Paumanok," the long-form, microcosmic, final inscription piece to Leaves of Grass. I conclude the reading by barking out a version of the opening to "Song of Myself."

I intend to release audio-only versions of all my Weekly Whitmans. I'm releasing this one first because, well yes, it's true, I am getting some complaints about my crop top. Secondly, I'm not quite done with the video yet.

Special guest this week: W.A. Mozart, giving us a rondo from his horn concerto no.4 (Whitman often went to the symphony and spoke of enjoying the works of contemporary and classical composers). Allegro vivace!

"But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page. . ."

This episode begins at section 14 of "Starting From Paumanok," the long-form, free-wheeling final Inscription poem, set in the book before the Leaves lead us into "Song of Myself," and Whitman's immortal opening lines, uttered originally in 1855, and in the soul many years before then, and still the same words in the Deathbed edition - "I celebrate myself, and sing myself..."

Yet it must be heard prefaced by the very first line of the Inscriptions, "One's self I sing, a simple separate person, / Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse."

In case you are just now tuning in to my Whitman broadcast here, I have set myself the task of doing a reading of the entirety of Leaves of Grass. It will likely take me years.

The idea does not seem daunting because Whitman inspires me, it's that simple. Every time I go to the book I'm uplifted, and every part of the whole experience is fulfilling in itself. When I read Leaves of Grass closely and with the ear of the heart, each bout of it makes me feel good and strong and compassionate. What other reason could there be to read a poem? What other reason could there be to do anything, for that matter?

If you, too, my listener, my friend, if you yourself have ever wanted to read Whitman straight through, why not read it with me? I can assure you Walt has been calling out to you. Why not sing with us? Line by line, week by week, section by section, lifetime by lifetime.

This episode cuts off at the end of section 15. Walt and I will be back next week to pick it up at the top of section 16 of "Starting From Paumanok." Thank you for listening, thank you for being with me these moments.

America's poet being orated for the first time, I mean really declaimed -

Hello camerados close,

Walt and I pick it up at the opening to section 11 of "Starting From Paumanok," the 19 section long final inscription poem to Leaves of Grass, and continue on to the end of section 13.

We will start up again next week at the top of section 14. Won't you join us, won't you sing with us?

My July 4th reading of the opening inscriptions from Leaves of Grass continues at section 8 of the epic final inscription piece "Starting from Paumanok." This episode carries us to the end of section 10.

We'll pick it up next week at the top of section 11. Line by line, song by song, state by state - reciting the poem of America one week at a time.

In case you are just now tuning in, in the first episode I was seduced by the ghost of Walt Whitman. In spiritual union, I came to possess and be possessed by this ghost, in its voice and its essence, its calling and its afterburn of images.

This episode begins at section four of "Starting From Paumanok," the epic final Inscription piece to Leaves of Grass. I read through to the end of section 7.

Me and Walt will be back next week.

Open the leaves. Turn the page. Tune the voice. Sing the book. Air the soul, line by line.

We begin on page 1, the initial inscription, a greeting, a mantra, a principle. Then we flow through the inscriptions and land on the epic final inscription, "Starting from Paumanok."

The recording ends on section 3 of "Starting from Paumanok," and intends to go all the way to the end of the Deathbed edition, uttering every single included line, leaving out none, until I've made a record of Leaves of Grass for myself. It's a big project, but I intend to pursue it, however long it takes, even if it takes me until the time of my death, I will speak what I can while the spiritual wind still passes through me. That, anyway, is a mini-manifesto and a course set. Onward we go, the beginning now in place.