As an impressionable young girl searching for selfhood in any form of media I consumed, “O Me! O Life!” by Walt Whitman was my first look into the world of poetry, and I decided to make it my whole personality for approximately a year or so. I am probably among the masses when I say that watching Dead Poets Society by Peter Weir changed the trajectory of my 13 year old life, and when Robin Williams’ character recited Whitman’s “O Me! O Life!”, I simply could not get it out of my head. Covering my notebooks and walls with my pink and blue gel pens, I scribed “the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse”. The sentiment of making a mark on the world is a theme that could be touched on ad nauseam, but the imagery Whitman displays in this line has never left me. As a lover of anything theatrical, the idea that the world could be a stage, and I am simply just a character improvising is a much more whimsical and attractive notion than reality, so I personally will reject the latter! Whitman writes in this poem: “Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,” after posing the reader with the questions somewhere along the lines of “What is the point of it all?” This line illustrates how the speaker can’t help but think about all the foolish people desperately trying to figure out that same question in vain, how people are constantly putting importance onto miniscule things. The speaker seems to look among passersby with disappointment, although he himself is also just trying to figure out life and its importance. The revelation of the poem is simple– life is extraordinary because life is extraordinary. The fact that we are walking around, picking up groceries, stopping to pet a dog, taking out the garbage, is extraordinary. There is something so calming about the simplicity of this poem– the realization that life doesn’t have to be constantly extravagant for it to be unbelievable. Life exists, and that should be enough for us to stop wondering about the why? This poem makes me feel like I’m on fire. On fire in a good way. This poem makes me want to marvel at things and be marveled at equally. This poem hushes boisterous and petty voices, and brings to the forefront a whisper of “It’s gonna be okay.” 

I am so picky when it comes to poetry, as I feel like so much of poetry is not made for me, and I’m egotistical (and human), and only look for things that I can somehow relate back to myself. Poetry in my mind is either life-altering and soul crushing or corny and pseudo-philosophical. That is my curse, as I oftentimes cannot take a poem seriously no matter how much I love the medium. This poem to me is so unserious, which makes it all the more profound. When analyzing this, I find myself relating to the speaker, as he somewhat places himself on a higher pedestal while observing everyone else with annoyance. I think it is so human. The line I see humanity in is: “of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)” I see a person who is commenting on the folly of those around him, just to realize that that judgment does not save himself from the foolishness and ignorance that comes with being human. Acceptance of the fact that we are all fools trying to answer all these questions is the only way to move forward with patience and appreciation for those around us.

Walt Whitman 1819-1892