That’s the audacious promise Walt Whitman makes in the beginning of the American epic “Song of Myself.” I know I rant about Whitman around here all the time, but this time I have a reason.
Hurrican Ike has displaced my Uncle Bill and Aunt Merrie from their home in Galveston. I can’t do much for them–but I know Uncle Bill loves Whitman. So I’m going to record Whitman for Uncle Bill. The rest of you are welcome to listen too. Or read along at with a cool annotated version of the text from Virginia Commonwealth University.
