by Olivia O’Toole
For fifteen years, the students and faculty of Central Michigan University have gathered on the dewy lawns of Fabiano Gardens to partake in the collective reading of Walt Whitman’s poetry collection, Leaves of Grass. Since its initial publication in 1855, Leaves of Grass was edited and revised by Whitman himself until he died in 1892. It is considered his life’s work and is often seen as a tribute to Whitman’s own zest for life, as well as his patriotism.
This year, the marathon fell on September 30th and was scheduled to begin at the criminal hour of 7:36 am, the precise moment the sun was to rise that day. It’s important to note that upon arrival to the marathon, you are not shackled to a bench until the final page of the collection is turned. Readers and listeners alike are free to come and go as they please throughout the day, bringing blankets, snacks, or just themselves.
I was first made aware of this event last year when I was a mewling freshman. While the notion of spending a Friday reading poetry in the gardens did appeal to me, I was wildly intimidated by the people I had assumed would attend, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I could convince any of my friends to go with me as safety blankets, even though the event is open to all. This year, however, as a sophomore hardened by the world and campus life, I was bound and determined to go, right at the crack of dawn, too.
Except I did sleep through my alarm, so I ended up rolling in at around 8:00 am, the sun well in the sky. Better luck next year, I guess.
So early in the morning, on a Friday no less, the only initial attendees were me, one other student, and Robert Fanning, a professor of creative writing here at CMU and the event host. The landscaping people cutting the grass (the Leaves of Grass, ba-dum-tss) were also there. All of us were sweater-clad and heavy-eyed, and it quickly became clear to me that my reservations about attending last year were for naught. There is an instant camaraderie formed between people so crazy about poetry that they’ll devote the most precious hours of the morning to it, and you will be hard-pressed to find other events so welcoming that there is already a blanket waiting for you when you arrive.
Unfortunately, I am of the unhappy few with Friday classes, so I couldn’t stay for the entire day. But as I walked through campus in the late afternoon, there they were in numbers, the lovers of poetry or Whitman or both or neither, reading from various copies of the same book. They spent nearly 9 whole hours working through those poems, and there is not a doubt in my mind that they loved every second of it.
Comments