gibbered on about anything; perhaps he was surprised. N o w I
was alone with him in a ranch-type house and I couldn’t get
home without his help and I needed him to let me go; not keep
me; not hurt me; not arrest me; not fuck me; and I felt some
fear about how I would get away because it is always best to
sleep with men before they force you; and I was confused,
because it wasn’t sex, it was answers to questions. And I
thought about it, and I looked around the ranch-type house,
and considered how strong he was and it was best not to make
him angry; but I felt honor bound to tell my government not
just about the War but about how they were fucking up the
country, the U . S . A ., and I couldn’t act like I didn’t know or
didn’t care or retreat. M y name is Andrea I told him. It means
manhood or courage. It is a European name but in Europe
only boys are named it. I was born down the street from Walt
Whitman’s house, on Mickle Street in Camden in 1946. I’m
from his street. I’m from his country, the country he wrote
about in his poems, the country o f freedom, the country o f
ecstasy, the country o f jo y o f the body, the country o f
universal love o f every kind o f folk, no one unworthy or too
low, the country o f working men and w orking women with
dignity; I’m from his country, not the Amerika run by war
criminals, not the country that hates and kills anyone not
white. I’m from his country, not yours. Do you know the
map o f his country? “ I will not have a single person slighted or
left away. ” “ I am the poet o f the B ody and I am the poet o f the
So u l. ” “ I am the poet o f the woman the same as the m an. ” “ I
too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, / 1 sound m y
barbaric yaw p over the roofs o f the w o rld . ” “ Do I contradict
m yself? /V ery well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I
contain multitudes. )” He nursed soldiers in a different war and
wrote poems to them. It was the war that freed the slaves.
Who does this war free? He couldn’t live in Am erika now; he
would be crushed by how small it is, its mind, its heart. He
would come to this island because it has his passion and his
courage and the nobility o f simple people and a shocking,
brilliant, extreme beauty that keeps the blood boiling and the
heart alive. Am erika is dead and filled with cruel people and
ugly. Am erika is a dangerous country; it sends its police
everywhere; w hy are you policing me? I loved his America; I
hate m y Am erika, I hate it. I was the first generation after the
bomb. D idn’t we kill enough yellow people then? M y father
told me the bomb saved him, his life, him, him; he put his life
against the multitudes and thought it was worth more than all
theirs; and I don’t. Walt stood for the multitudes. Am erika
was the country o f the multitudes before it became a killing
machine. In m y mind I know I am leaving out the Indians;
