My Poem To Walt Whitman Poem by Pablo Alfonso

Near the sea I throw this cry of colors,
my greeting and the departure of my soul with your soul…
Walt Whitman!
I can swim! I can row! I can sing! I can ride a horse!
My revolver has twelve shots
and my motorcycle is as cheerful as the sun.
I'm the one who has run
with a mad heart of assurance,
I fraternize on all paths with men.
I'm friends with acrobats,
of typographers, sick people, peasants and boxers.
I'm the one who can, suddenly, again
turn everything back,
books, family, love, house, friends,
and praise,
only for the virile pleasure
to try my heart
on another lonely and dramatic days.
Oh dear Walt Whitman!
Volition! Vigor! Joy!

I'm the one who has run through all the cities
yelling at them like a madman with hope
to the poor poets without strength and without light,
the new health of your limpid songs.
Your songs where the earth and heaven have laid their hand!
Your immortal songs made of mortal dreams!
Because only you were the mystical and wild harp
where to your music from remote geographies,
my life was again clear freshness;
and at night sharp I was filled by strangers and longing
designs of purity, perfection and strength.

I read to you and then it looked like
I was coming back
from the field.
In my heart stood high, fast and cheerful,
the candles of Curiosity, Energy and Enthusiasm.

You were just the one who made me hottest this line of passion,
this violent marching decision,
this ardor, this love for heroes,
to freedom and personality,
which is the wide altar of my ways,
where stubbornly pure and lonely
I die and burn,
burn and I go up,
I go up!

¡Walt Whitman!
Up with souls!

The cavalry, the music,
the gardens, the flowers, the sea and the women!
Four hundred swimmers in the wave of stubborn happy head!

The fire! The dramatic station with the departure of the trains!
What is above the Southern Cross and what's underneath
from the fantastic eyelids of madmen.
The total symphony of earth and life!
The son of God who came with his songs of strength and hope!
that was you, Walt Whitman!

The perfect comrade! The Developer!
Our great source of strength, Americans!
Oh dear Walt Whitman!
Oh, Captain, my Captain, my Captain!

More than all philosophers
you taught me strength and nobility,
with your agile celestial eyes
and your aurora face
in the fumes of your natural saint's beard.

Oh, Captain, my Captain, my Captain!

You say: everything comes back.
But I scream against your chest:

Nothing comes back!

The force is to go crazy trusting to the end
with our sonic hearts like thunder
marching forward incessantly.

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