Welcome to Prosery, storytellers all, where we write a piece of flash fiction (144-words or less) using a given line of poetry.

I’m Dora (@ Dreams from a Pilgrimage) and I’m delighted to be your host at the dVerse Pub today.

For this week’s flash fiction, I’ve chosen a line from a famous poem by that preeminent American poet (as well as essayist, journalist, teacher and government clerk) Walt Whitman. He was born in Long Island in 1819 and lived in Brooklyn for most of his life. He moved to New Jersey as his health began to decline and died in Camden in 1892 at the age of 72 where he was honored with a public funeral.

Whitman’s poem “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” was written in 1859 and included a year later in the 1860 edition of his collection of poems, Leaves of Grass. According to Wikipedia, a reviewer described “Out of the Cradle” as “unmixed and hopeless drivel” but shortly afterwards a response to it was published reviewing the poem favorably. It’s thought that Whitman may have written the response himself! During the American Civil War he assisted in the medical care of the wounded, serving in hospitals in Washington, D.C.

“Out of the Cradle” is a poem that reflects the man, a man who some would say reflects the soul of America: a huckster, brash and unaffected, bold to forge an enterprise or avocation as much as the spirit of a young nation, daring to merge the free rhythms of his song with the song of all living things, his voice sounding the pain, the resilience, the maturing consciousness of life itself.

In the poem Whitman recounts how as a child on a beach at night he watched two birds build a nest together when one of them disappears, leaving her mate searching for her. Looking back on this event, Whitman says, “My own songs awaked from that hour.” Writes critic Mark Bauerlein, in that hour of his birth as a poet, Whitman “joins a procession of singers and listeners—mockingbird, boy, man, poet, reader—attending to the cries of lonesome love.” Bauerlein continues:

Here is Whitman narrating his awakening to death and his simultaneous projection into poesy. Out of this primal scene of eros and thanatos, of a ‘musical shuttle’ made of ‘pains and joys,’ Whitman derives an intense and somber lesson in mortality and inspiration.¹

“Out of the Cradle” opens with these words:

excerpt from Walt Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking”; read poem here and listen to it read by Tom O’Bedlam here.

Your challenge? Write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 144 words that includes the following quotation from the poem. You may not alter the order of the words, though you may insert breaks or punctuation.

Out of the Ninth-month midnight.

The “Ninth-month,” by the way, is the Quaker name for September. The line is pregnant with meaning, is it not, particularly as the stanza following goes back in time to a place where the “Fifth-month grass is growing”? Now in the Ninth-month will his “reminiscence” birth something larger than his destiny as a poet? (Read the poem to find out!)

Meanwhile, I’m looking forward to reading the stories you spin using that third line from the poem. 

New to dVerse? Here’s how to join in:

• Write a 144-word (or less) flash fiction using the given line.
• Post your story on your blog and link back to this post.
• Enter your name and the link to your post by clicking Mr. Linky below (remember to check the little box to accept the use/privacy policy).
• Read and comment on your fellow storytellers’ fiction –- there’s so much to derive from reading each other’s writing: new inspiration, new ideas, new friends. Enjoy!