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Camden House & Grave

The Whitman House: Final Resting Place (on a beautiful fall day!): I depart as air, I shake my white locks At the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it In lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love. If you want me again look […] […]

Whitman Found

This picture was taken on Saturday, November 21 at approximately 3 pm. Where was I? at Starbucks, in Macy’s in Center City, Philadelphia […]

Nadia E for 11-19-19

We have reached of final on the tour of Walt Whitman prose and poems. Good0bye my fancy only precedes what i first found out i had a Walt Whitman course. I didn’t know anything about him and i was glad because i got a chance to soak in Whitman with an open mind. I got […] […]

Nadia E for 11-12-09

Sands of Seventy had many great short poems that can be applied to how people can relate to Whitman. He starts off with Mannhatta. My city’s fit and noble name resumed, Choice aboriginal name, with marvellous beauty, meaning, A rocky founded island–shores where ever gayly dash the coming, going, hurrying sea waves (Whitman 385). i can only presume to think […] […]


Check out this sample PA paper ballot…particularly the first candidate for County Commissioner!! […]

Wharton and Whitman – musings

Summer is depressing. Sure it’s the story of a young woman’s sexual awakening, but her awakening seems largely futile as she does not end up truly awakened – truly independent. The final decision she makes (to keep her baby and marry Royall) seems only to imprison her. Yet, Dr. Singley brought to light the idea […] […]

Group Annotation Jen and Nadia 11-19-09

Below is the remainder of the poem titled “Last of Ebb, and Daylight Waning” and its annotation….       As of speakers far or hid.   How they sweep down and out! how they mutter! Poets unnamed–artists greatest of any, with cherish’d lost designs, Love’s unresponse–a chorus of age’s complaints–hope’s last words, Some suicide’s […] […]

The United States to Old World Critics – Annotation


Emily for Nov. 19th

Last Spring, I took a Seminar called Poetry as Survival at Rowan.  For that course each student had to choose one poet out of five poets and spend the entire semester working with that poet’s book.  Each contemporary poet was writing in response to human tragedies—war, loss, heartbreak, alcoholism, and failure—as a way of surviving […] […]

Jennica for November Nineteen

A couple days ago, I have received a call from my father saying that my grandfather is in the hospital undergoing a surgery. Apparently a blood vein or something of that matter has popped and is clotted in a small area of his brain. Old age and death is quite a transparent matter, I think. […] […]