These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing or next to nothing,

If they do not enclose everything then they are next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are next to nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,

This is the common air that bathes the globe.

This is the breath of laws and songs and behaviour,

This is the tasteless water of souls. . . . this is the true sustenance,

It is for the illiterate. . . . it is for the judges of the supreme court,

            it is for the federal capitol and the state capitols,

It is for the admirable communes of literary men and composers and singers

            and lecturers and engineers and savans,

It is for the endless races of working people and farmers and seamen.

Soon after I thought of doing a post with these verses from Whitman, what you might call a poetic irony or happy coinciding occurred.  On an impulse, I decided to revisit Keith Carter’s photography website, especially to look for new work that I hadn’t seen yet.  Lo and behold, I found that he’s started a new series called “Beautiful Imperfect Things,” based on materials in the Walt Whitman Archives (yeah, that’s right, Walt Whitman!) kept in the Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Collection at Duke University. Minor magic?  Doubtful telepathy?  Timely, at least, no doubt.