Walt Whitman, Yesterday & Today

CHICAGO BROTHERS OF THE BOOK 1916
Copyright 1916 by the Brothers of the Book
The edition of this book consists of six hundred copies on this Fabriano hand-made paper, and the type distributed.
This copy is Number 2
To Dr. Max Henius CONSISTENT HATER OF SHAMS ARDENT LOVER OF ALL OUTDOORS AND GENEROUS GIVER OF SELF IN GENUINE FELLOWSHIP THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
On a day about mid-year in 1855, the conventional literary world was startled into indecorous behavior by the unannounced appearance of a thin quarto sheaf of poems, in form and in tone unlike anything of precedent issue. It was called Leaves of Grass, and there were but twelve poems in the volume. No author’s name appeared upon the title page, the separate poems bore no captions, there was no imprint of publisher. A steel engraving of a man presumably between thirty and forty years of age, coatless, shirt flaringly open at the neck, and a copyright notice identifying Walter Whitman with the publication, furnished the only clues. Uncouth in size, atrociously printed, and shockingly frank in the language employed, the volume evoked such a tirade of rancorous condemnation as perhaps bears no parallel in the history of letters. From contemporary criticisms might be compiled an Anthology of Anathema comparable to Wagner’s Schimpf-Lexicon, or the Dictionary of Abuse suggested by William Archer for Henrik Ibsen. Some of the striking adjectives and phrases employed in print would include the following, as applied either to the verses or their author:
A few quotations from the press of this period will serve to indicate the general tenor of comment:
“The book might pass for merely hectoring and ludicrous, if it were not something a great deal more offensive,” observed the Christian Examiner (Boston, 1856). “It openly deifies the bodily organs, senses, and appetites in terms that admit of no double sense. The author is ‘one of the roughs, a Kosmos, disorderly, fleshly, sensual, divine inside and out. The scent of these armpits an aroma finer than prayer.’ He leaves ‘washes and razors for foofoos,’ thinks the talk about virtue and vice only ‘blurt,’ he being above and indifferent to both of them. These quotations are made with cautious delicacy. We pick our way as cleanly as we can between other passages which are more detestable.”