I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown.
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to the day-at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892) wrote in long, loose lines. Whitman introduced to American poetry a democratic, all-encompassing vision and a freedom of style that liberated the form from its traditional constraints.
Whitman was a man of the people. He wasn’t rich and he wandered around our great country meeting the everyday man and woman. He found solace and inspiration in the lives of the 99%. They weren’t called that then, but these days we are. These days we have the 99% and the 1 %. Most of us are part of the 99% and we care about each other, whether we have met or not. We know they are our sisters and brothers. We don’t all look alike, We don’t all speak English well. We don’t all believe in the same issues. What we all are is Americans proud of our country and where we are going. On this election day, I Hear Americans Sing and they vote.