What we make of ourselves…

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After the first two lines of Walt Whitman’s Mannahatta, follow,

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,

“Now I see what there is in a name…”

What is in a name?

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet,”

Shakespeare, William. Romeo. Juliet.

Walt sees what is in a name– so, over the centuries, and over the Atlantic Ocean–and the Mediterranean (sea)– as, though William Shakespeare was English, if not British, if not Western, he was writing about Verona, fair Verona, in Italy, or somewhere. Walt is able to answer Shakespeare, Shakespeare in his guise as Juliet, who, though only Shakespeare’s “character”, is able to ask one of, not Shakespeare’s, but literature’s, most beloved and enduring questions.

Walt says what is in a name is nests of water-bays, rich, nested, hemm’d thick.

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