'This Compost' by Walt Whitman

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SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was safest;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk;
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea;
I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew
me.

O how can it be that the ground does not sicken?
How can you be alive, you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health, you blood of herbs, roots, orchards,
grain?
Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead?10

Where have you disposed of their carcasses?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations;
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to-day--or perhaps I am deceiv'd;
I will run a furrow with my plough--I will press my spade through the
sod, and turn it up underneath;
I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.


Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person--Yet behold!
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noislessly through the mould in the garden,20
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its
graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings, while the she-birds sit on
their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear--the calf is dropt from the cow, the
colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green
leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk--the lilacs bloom in the
door-yards;
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata
of sour dead.30

What chemistry!
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea, which
is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its
tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited
themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever.
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good,
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard, and of the orange-orchard--that
melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease,40
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once a
catching disease.


Now I am terrified at the Earth! it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,
It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless
successions of diseas'd corpses,
It distils such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor,
It renews with such unwitting looks, its prodigal, annual, sumptuous
crops,
It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from
them at last.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Walt Whitman's "This Compost": A Celebration of Life and Death

Walt Whitman's "This Compost" is a remarkable poem that defies easy categorization. Is it a celebration of life or death? Is it a joyful paean to the natural world, or a somber reflection on the inexorable cycle of decay and renewal? Like much of Whitman's work, "This Compost" is a complex and multi-layered meditation on the human condition, and the relationship between humanity and the natural world.

At its core, "This Compost" is a celebration of the transformative power of nature. The poem opens with the lines:

"This compost is manure of my soul;
I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?)
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies,
It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them,
It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves,
I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath,
Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death,
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being."

These lines are a vivid evocation of the power of nature to transform and rejuvenate us. Whitman compares the transformative power of nature to the power of music, describing how it "whirls" him "wider than Uranus flies." He goes on to describe how nature "wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them," suggesting that nature has the power to awaken in us hidden passions and emotions.

Yet at the same time, "This Compost" is also a meditation on death and decay. The poem describes the process of decomposition in vivid detail, as Whitman imagines his own body slowly breaking down and becoming part of the natural world. He writes:

"I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

Long I was hugged close--long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me."

These lines are a powerful evocation of the cycle of life and death, and the idea that we are all part of a larger natural world that is constantly renewing itself. Whitman's description of his own decomposition is both vivid and unsettling, as he imagines his body being broken down and consumed by the natural world. Yet at the same time, there is a sense of acceptance and even celebration in these lines, as Whitman embraces his own mortality and celebrates the fact that he is part of something larger than himself.

Throughout "This Compost," Whitman uses language that is both celebratory and elegiac, capturing the beauty and power of the natural world while also acknowledging its darker, more destructive aspects. He describes the "bitter and angry hail" that cuts him, and the "fakes of death" that threaten to strangle him, yet at the same time he revels in the "lick'd" of the waves and the "honey'd morphine" that soothes his soul. The poem is thus a complex and multi-layered meditation on the human condition, and the relationship between humanity and the natural world.

In conclusion, "This Compost" is a remarkable poem that defies easy categorization. It is at once a celebration of life and death, a joyful paean to the natural world, and a somber reflection on the inexorable cycle of decay and renewal. Whitman's language is both celebratory and elegiac, capturing the beauty and power of the natural world while also acknowledging its darker, more destructive aspects. Ultimately, "This Compost" is a powerful reminder that we are all part of the larger natural world, and that our lives are inextricably bound up with the cycle of life and death that surrounds us.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Poetry This Compost: A Celebration of Life and Death

Walt Whitman, one of the most celebrated poets of the 19th century, wrote a poem that is both a celebration of life and death. This poem, titled "This Compost," is a powerful reflection on the cycle of life and the beauty of decay. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, imagery, and language used in this poem to understand its deeper meaning.

The poem begins with the speaker addressing the compost pile, saying, "Something startles me where I thought I was safest." This line sets the tone for the rest of the poem, as the speaker is surprised by the beauty and power of the compost pile. The compost pile, which is made up of decaying organic matter, is a symbol of life and death. It is a place where the dead are transformed into new life, and where the cycle of life continues.

The first stanza of the poem describes the compost pile in detail, using vivid imagery to bring it to life. The speaker describes the "black soil" and the "damp of the ground" that make up the compost pile. He also describes the "rank" and "fetid" smell of the pile, which is a reminder of the decay and death that is taking place. Despite these unpleasant aspects, the speaker finds beauty in the compost pile, saying that it is "the smell of the good earth."

The second stanza of the poem explores the theme of death and decay. The speaker describes the "rotting corpse" that is being transformed into new life in the compost pile. He also describes the "worms" and "slugs" that are feeding on the decaying matter. This imagery is both beautiful and disturbing, as it shows the beauty of the natural cycle of life and death, but also the harsh reality of decay and decomposition.

The third stanza of the poem explores the theme of rebirth and renewal. The speaker describes the "sprouts" and "plants" that are growing out of the compost pile, showing how new life is emerging from the death and decay. He also describes the "fragrant blossoms" that are blooming, showing the beauty and vitality of the new life that is emerging.

The fourth stanza of the poem explores the theme of interconnectedness. The speaker describes how the compost pile is connected to the larger ecosystem, saying that it is "the leaven that passes through and remains in the bread." This imagery shows how the compost pile is not just a place of death and decay, but also a place of transformation and renewal. It is a vital part of the larger ecosystem, and without it, life would not be possible.

The final stanza of the poem is a celebration of life and death. The speaker says that the compost pile is "the poem of the earth," showing how it is a reflection of the natural world and the cycle of life and death. He also says that the compost pile is "the air that has nourished the globe," showing how it is a vital part of the larger ecosystem. Finally, he says that the compost pile is "the perpetual transfer of the earth," showing how the cycle of life and death is ongoing and never-ending.

In conclusion, "This Compost" is a powerful reflection on the cycle of life and the beauty of decay. Through vivid imagery and language, Walt Whitman shows how the compost pile is a symbol of life and death, rebirth and renewal, and interconnectedness. This poem is a celebration of the natural world and the cycle of life and death that is ongoing and never-ending. It is a reminder that even in death, there is beauty and vitality, and that life is a precious and fragile thing that should be celebrated and cherished.

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