Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A First Literary Love

So who was your first literary love?

Harold. Harold and his purple crayon, those books by Crockett Johnson.

As a girl, I wanted a magic crayon to first draw the world
and then, to enter it.

An early favorite poem, because it reminded me of Harold and the Purple Crayon, Walt Whitman's "There Was a Child Went Forth."

Every time I read this poem, I think of Harold. I still love Harold.

There Was a Child Went Forth
Walt Whitman

THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him . . .


David Milliken said...

I am reading and enjoying "Southern Comfort." In Emerson's terms I "respect your genius,' Ms. Andrews.

David Milliken

David Milliken said...

. . . When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake

David Milliken

Nin Andrews said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Nin Andrews said...

Thanks so much David, and yes, Blake . . .
Who can resist him?