Finding a Home, Part One

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - episode 395 - Finding a Home, Part One

Welcome back Walt. That's hard for me to get used to. I'd rather call you Mr. Whitman out of respect, but if you prefer the familiar Walt understand.

Thank you George. Remember that even my family even changed my name from Walter to Walt.

Then the name Walt it is. First let me ask about your writing - what style do you say you used?

Ah George, I would like to think that my writing is direct and even conversational. I consider my writing to be successful if I have addressed readers as if they are close friends, often using the first person and speaking with bold, unapologetic intimacy.

I have noted that your language stresses democratic ideals and is very inclusive.

Yes, George. I must admit that I saw myself as the voice of democracy, embracing all people and experiences. I attempted to construct language thatis inclusive, non-discriminatory, and celebrates diversity - to express my writing with a sense of openness and acceptance, inviting all listeners to feel part of the conversation.

Thank you for experiencing Celebrate Poe.

Transcript

George - plain text

Walt Whitman - Italics text

Welcome to celebrate Poe - Episode 395 - Finding a Home, Part One

Welcome back Walt. That's hard for me to get used to. I'd rather call you Mr. Whitman out of respect, but if you prefer the familiar Walt understand.

Thank you George. Remember that even my family even changed my name from Walter to Walt.

Then the name Walt it is. First let me ask about your writing - what style do you say you used?

Ah George, I would like to think that my writing is direct and even conversational. I consider my writing to be successful if I have addressed readers as if they are close friends, often using the first person and speaking with bold, unapologetic intimacy.

I have noted that your language stresses democratic ideals and is very inclusive.

Yes, George. I must admit that I saw myself as the voice of democracy, embracing all people and experiences. I attempted to construct language thatis inclusive, non-discriminatory, and celebrates diversity - to express my writing with a sense of openness and acceptance, inviting all listeners to feel part of the conversation.

Walt, I know that most writers of the 19th century might write about the spiritual, but were hesitant to write about physical emotions.  You seem to be different.

I do hope that is true, George.   I firmly believed t hat my poetry should unite the physical and the spiritual. I celebrated the senses, the body, and the soul as one - and I did not shy away from discussing desire, identity, and the beauty of human connection.

Mr. Whitman - I mean Walt - from what I understand, you urged readers to live in the moment.

Yes, George. I like to think my words were urgent and immediate, often repeating “now” to emphasize the importance of the current moment.

And would you care to comment on the unusual cadence of much of your work?

My style is influenced by the rhythms of the King James Bible and Quaker preaching. My lines are often long, flowing, and repetitive, with a cadence that feels both grand and intimate.

One thing that I find most unique is your connection to nature and the universe.

Yes George. I tried to find the divine in nature and in every person. In fact, I see myself as part of a larger whole, and my poetry often blurs the line between self and other.  I enjoyed finding the divine in the every day and the universal and the particular - such as a blade of grass or a common laborer who I then elevated with my language making them feel sacred and significant.

Mr. Whitman, what about your use of the list.

George, I enjoyed using what you might call catalogs - Long lists of people places and things to create a sense of inclusivity and abundance. I might have a list of natural elements cities or even types of people as a way to evoke my expansive vision.

Walt would you care to comment on how you celebrated individuality and the universal self?

George, my use of “I” is not merely personal; it represents a universal self that encompasses all people and experiences.  Yes, my vision is deeply inclusive, blurring the lines between self and other, individual and collective. Use natural imagery—like grass, rivers, or open roads—to symbolize how each person is both distinct and part of a larger whole.  And my philosophy is rooted in the worth of every individual.

Walt, before we get into your experiences, I want to talk about communication—how it shapes us and connects us. Your poetry has this incredible power to make readers feel seen and understood, as if you’re speaking directly to them. How do you think about communication, especially when it comes to sharing our deepest selves?

Ah, George, communication is the lifeblood of the spirit, the open road between souls! I write not just for myself, but for all who wander—through my words, I invite every reader to walk beside me, to share in the joys and sorrows of existence. The best communication is honest, unafraid, and full of the senses—the touch of the wind, the sound of laughter, the warmth of a hand. It’s in these moments we find ourselves and each other.

That’s beautifully stated, Walt. Speaking of finding each other, I know that for you, places like Pfaff’s Beer Cellar were important spaces for connection. How did you first become interested in going to Pfaff’s?  And by the way the establishment called  Pfaff’s it spelled P f a  f f ’s. P f a  f f ’s but I digress/

Ah, Pfaff’s—that underground haven where poets, actors, and free spirits gathered! I was drawn by the promise of lively talk, laughter, and the exchange of bold ideas. In those days, the city was alive with voices, but Pfaff’s was a place where one could be both seen and heard, where the boundaries between artist and audience blurred. I wanted to be part of that current, to drink deeply from the well of conversation and camaraderie. It was there, among friends and strangers, that I found a kind of communion—a fellowship of the open mind and heart.

What initially drew you to explore the atmosphere at Pfaffs?

Ah, George, what drew me  to Pfaff’s? In those days, I was nearing forty, living with my mother in Brooklyn, and I had not published a poem in two years—I was adrift, seeking something more than the quiet of my room or the streets I knew so well. The world above was bustling, but I craved a place where I could be among others who saw the world as I did—artists, dreamers, souls unafraid to challenge the conventions of the day.

Well, Walt, what was the establishment like?

Ah, George, Pfaff’s, beneath the streets of New York, was unlike any other place. It was a refuge for the unconventional, a gathering spot for bohemians, actors, journalists, and all manner of rebels and outliers. The atmosphere was wild, welcoming, and alive with conversation—laughter, wit, and the free exchange of ideas. There, I found fellowship and inspiration, especially at the long table presided over by Henry Clapp, the so-called “King of Bohemia,” who had brought the spirit of Paris to New York.

But it was not just the artistic camaraderie that drew me. Pfaff’s was also a place where I could be myself, among men who understood my heart and my desires—what I called “my darlings and gossips,” my “beautiful boys”. In that smoky, dimly lit vault, I found acceptance and a sense of belonging, at a time when both were rare for a man like me.

So, George, it was the promise of connection—intellectual, artistic, and personal—that first led me to explore the atmosphere at Pfaff’s. And once I stepped down those rickety stairs, I knew I had found a home.

Sounds almost like a modern day gay bar to me. In fact you could probably call it the first gay bar in America, except I seriously doubt that they had disco music.

George I certainly enjoyed opera and classical music but I am unfamiliar with this disco music that you refer to.

Well that was after your time - don't worry about it.  Some might say that the wild atmosphere of the establishment made Pfaff’s a magnet for rebellious artists.

George, Pfaff's wild atmosphere was a magnet for semi-rebellious artists such as myself because it offered a vibrant, unconventional space that fostered free expression and challenged societal norms. It was a gathering place for bohemians—writers, painters, actors, and social commentators—who sought refuge from the constraints of mainstream culture and embraced radical ideas about art, politics, and identity. The bar’s lively, unruly environment encouraged bold conversation, creativity, and camaraderie among individuals who were often marginalized or misunderstood. My contemporaries and myself myself found in Pfaff’s a community where we could openly explore our identities and artistic visions without judgment. This atmosphere of acceptance and intellectual freedom made Pfaff’s a crucial hub for the first American bohemians, fueling our rebellious spirits and inspiring what was viewed as groundbreaking work. In essence, Pfaff’s was more than a bar; it was a sanctuary for those who dared to defy convention and celebrate individuality, making it irresistible to  other avant-garde artists of the time, as well as myself.

Well Walt, How DID Pfaff's lively environment foster creativity among its bohemian crowd?

George, Pfaff’s lively environment fostered creativity among its bohemian crowd by providing a unique, stimulating atmosphere where artists, writers, and intellectuals could freely exchange ideas, challenge conventions, and find camaraderie.

The underground saloon was a gathering place for anti-establishment figures—writers, actors, painters, and social critics—who were drawn to its conviviality and low cost of food and drink. This made it accessible to struggling artists and encouraged a sense of community among those who felt marginalized by mainstream society.

In fact, The “Long Table” at Pfaff’s became a hub for spirited discussions about art, literature, and politics, often lasting into the early hours. These conversations were a catalyst for new ideas and collaborations, with participants engaging in witty banter, critique, and the sharing of creative work.

It quickly became obvious that the bohemians at Pfaff’s supported each other both personally and professionally. For example, the group was instrumental in promoting my work at a crucial point in my career, and their camaraderie provided much-needed encouragement and inspiration for artists facing financial and critical hardships.  Remember this was around the time of the first publication of leaves of grass - a collection that I thought nobody wanted.

Walt, how would you describe overall the environment at the establishment?

George, The environment at Pfaff’s was nonjudgmental and open, allowing individuals to experiment with their identities and artistic personas. As I'm sure you realize,This freedom was vital for creativity, as artists felt safe to explore new ideas and forms of expression.

Were social networks and even collaborations present?

Yes George. The community at Pfaff’s extended beyond the bar itself, with relationships and collaborations continuing in other venues and through literary publications. This network helped spread new artistic movements and supported the growth of American bohemianism.   The underground saloon itself was a gathering place for anti-establishment figures—writers, actors, painters, and social critics—who were drawn to its conviviality and low cost of food and drink. This made it accessible to struggling artists like myself and encouraged a sense of community among those who felt marginalized by mainstream society.

Pfaff’s became a hub for spirited discussions about art, literature, and politics, often lasting into the early hours. These conversations were a catalyst for new ideas and collaborations, with participants engaging in witty banter, critique, and the sharing of creative work.

The bohemians at Pfaff’s supported each other both personally and professionally. For example, the group was instrumental in promoting my work at a crucial point in my career, and their camaraderie provided much-needed encouragement and inspiration for artists facing financial and critical hardships.

Also, The environment at Pfaff’s was nonjudgmental and open, allowing individuals to experiment with their identities and artistic personas. This freedom was vital for creativity, because artists felt safe to explore new ideas and forms of expression.

Walt, I know we have touched on this before but could you comment on the sense of community at the establishment.

Oh yes, George. The sense of community at Pfaff’s meant that support and encouragement were readily available. Artists found mentors, collaborators, and even patrons among the regulars. The open, nonjudgmental environment also made it easier for newcomers to be introduced and accepted into the circle. Through these interactions, artists gained visibility, built reputations, and formed alliances that could lead to publishing opportunities, artistic collaborations, and broader recognition.

The social mingling at Pfaff’s functioned as a catalyst for creative and professional growth, helping artists establish influential connections that propelled their careers and even shaped the cultural landscape.

I can see that the atmosphere at the bar was most conducive to creativity, but did you find any specific person that became special to you from a romantic standpoint?

Ah, George, the question you ask is close to my heart. At Pfaff’s, I found a circle of young men whose company I cherished deeply—among them, one who stood out in particular, Fred Vaughan. He was nearly twenty years my junior, and for a time, we shared not only the same table at Pfaff’s but also a home on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn. I recall showing Fred the letter from Emerson that meant so much to me—he was among the first to share in that moment of encouragement.

But, as so often happens, life and expectation intervened. Fred reached an age where the world expected him to find a proper mate—and in those days, that meant a woman. Our romance, as tender as it was, met its end not long after we began frequenting Pfaff’s together.

Still, Pfaff’s remained a place where I could explore other romantic possibilities. I called my companions there “my darlings and gossips” and “my darling, dearest boys,” and I valued the openness and affection I found among them. The bar was more than a playground for desire—it was a laboratory for the emotional experiences that would shape my art and my soul.

Some of my relationships at Pfaff’s were playful, some were intellectual, and a few were touched with romance. There were young men whose company I especially treasured, and our conversations—about art, life, and love—often spilled over into the early hours of the morning. I found in these friendships a kind of nourishment for my work and my spirit. The laughter, the arguments, the shared silences—all of it fed my poetry and my sense of self.

Pfaff’s was, for me, a place where the boundaries between friendship and something more tender often blurred. It was a place where I could explore my feelings, express my desires, and find comfort in the company of others who understood what it meant to live outside the conventions of the day. Those relationships, in all their variety and intensity, became a vital part of my life and my art.

Well Walt, How did the atmosphere at Pfaff’s influence your feelings about love or romance?

The atmosphere at Pfaff’s profoundly shaped my feelings about love and romance, George. In that underground haven, I found a rare freedom—a space where the heart could speak its truth without fear of censure. The laughter, the debates, the shared cups, the easy way we leaned into each other’s company—all this created a sense of belonging that was both exhilarating and comforting.

Love, in that setting, was not merely a private affair but a shared experience. It was woven into the fabric of our conversations and our camaraderie. There, I learned that love could be as much about the collective as the individual—about the bonds forged over ideas, art, and the simple act of being seen and accepted. The openness of Pfaff’s allowed me to explore my own desires and affections, not just as a poet, but as a man among men, yearning for connection.

The atmosphere at Pfaff’s taught me that love thrives where there is trust, where the mind and heart are free to wander. It showed me the beauty of romance that is unafraid, that dares to be tender and bold—a love that is both a refuge and a revolution. In that sense, Pfaff’s was not just a place for artistic ferment, but a crucible for the heart. The feelings I nurtured there—for my “darlings and gossips,” for my dear companions—became the living pulse of my poetry, and of my life.

This has been fascinating, but I would like for you to relate to our listeners the reaction of Ralph Waldo Emerson to the first edition of Leaves of Grass,    as earlier mentioned.

Yes George. So, when you ask about Emerson’s reaction to Leaves of Grass, I can tell you that it was a moment I’ll never forget. To receive such warm, enthusiastic praise from Ralph Waldo Emerson—a writer I deeply admired—was nothing short of a miracle to me. I remember reading his letter over and over again, hardly able to believe my eyes. He called my book “the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that America has yet contributed,” and said, “I greet you at the beginning of a great career.”
Those words gave me courage when my confidence was shaken by other critics. I was so moved by his support that I decided to print his letter in my next edition—though I know he wished it had remained private. Still, I felt the world should know the kindness and encouragement he offered me. That letter became a light for me in dark times, and I am forever grateful for his generosity of spirit.

Imagine. I greet you at the beginning of a great career.

This recognition from my literary hero was exhilarating and validating. I  had sent copies of Leaves of Grass to several writers I admired, but Emerson’s response was the one I most cherished. It came at a critical time, at a time when I was facing harsh criticism and disappointing sales. Emerson’s endorsement not only bolstered my confidence but also helped legitimize my work among skeptical readers and critics.

In fact, I was so moved by Emerson’s letter that, despite Emerson’s intent that it remain private, I later printed it in the 1856 edition of Leaves of Grass—an act that both publicized Emerson’s support and caused some embarrassment for Emerson, who had not anticipated his private encouragement becoming a public endorsement. Nonetheless, Emerson’s letter became a cornerstone of self-promotion and a rallying point for my defenders. In other words, Emerson’s reaction to Leaves of Grass was a private gesture that became a validation that helped launch my literary career.
               
Walt, I believe this has been one of the most fascinating episodes that Celebrate Poe has ever had, and I would like you to end with some concluding comments by Walt about Pfaff’s.

George, Descending into Pfaff’s cellar was an experience unlike any other in New York at the time. To enter, you’d approach a seemingly ordinary stretch of Broadway, just north of Bleecker Street, where a hatchway or set of rickety stairs led you down beneath the sidewalk. The passage was steep and narrow, almost like stepping into a root cellar or a hidden cave—dimly lit, and a little mysterious, with the weight of the city and its ceaseless crowds passing just overhead.

As you made your way down, the noise and bustle of Broadway faded behind you, replaced by the muffled sounds of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses from below. The air grew cooler, and the scent of tobacco and beer mingled in the damp, vaulted space. The cellar itself was divided into rooms—some lit by gas lamps that flickered against the arched ceilings, others darker and more private. The main area featured long communal tables, where artists, writers, and actors gathered, and where you’d find yourself welcomed into the heart of New York’s bohemian life.

Every step down felt like a transition—from the bright, public world above, to the intimate, shadowy world below, where creativity, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging awaited

Pfaff’s lively environment—marked by its inclusivity, intellectual energy, and supportive community—created a fertile ground for creativity among its bohemian crowd, encouraging bold new ideas and artistic experimentation.  It is a place that will always mean a great deal to me as a second home and a place of encouragement.

Join Celebrate Poe for episode 396 Finding a Home, Part Two

Sources include: The Complete Works of Walt Whitman, especially Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, From Noon to Starry Night: A Life of Walt Whitman by Ivan R. Dee, Walt Whitman: A Life by Justin Kaplan, Walt Whitman: The Song of Himself by Jerome Loving, and Walt Whitman by James E. Miller.

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe.