The Controversial Cover

Hello - this is George Bartley - just wanted to let you know that starting with Episode 400, the name of this podcast will be changed from Celebrate Poe to Celebrate Creativity - this way, this podcast can really delve more into 19th century writers, as well as human creativity, and the use of AI in literary and historical research - a lot more fun than it might appear at first!   So don’t miss episode 400 of Celebrate Poe - oh, I mean - Celebrate Creativity.

But as for now - Welcome to Celebrate Poe - episode 399 - The Controversial Cover

This episode is about the cover of the first edition of Walt Whitman's leaves of Grass - with one of the most controversial covers of its time - largely because of what it did not have. There was no picture on the front page of he book, just ornate an engraving of the title - leaves of grass. The book is a collection of 12 poems, and nothing like it had ever been published before. Let's talk to Mr. Whitman about that first edition.

Mr. Whitman, I want to talk with you about the first edition of leaves of grass - in fact more to the point, it's original cover. First, mr. Whitman, could you simply explain what the cover and frontspace looked like?

Thank you for experiencing Celebrate Creativity.

Transcript

Walt Whitman - italics text

George Bartley - playing text

Hello - this is George Bartley - just wanted to let you know that starting with Episode 400, the name of this podcast will be changed from Celebrate Poe to Celebrate Creativity - this way, this podcast can really delve more into 19th century writers, as well as human creativity, and the use of AI in literary and historical research - a lot more fun than it might appear at first!   So don’t miss episode 400 of Celebrate Poe - oh, I mean Celebrate Creativity.

But as for now - Welcome to Celebrate Poe - episode 399 - The Controversial Cover

This episode is about the cover of the first edition of Walt Whitman's leaves of Grass - with one of the most controversial covers of its time - largely because of what it did not have. There was no picture on the front page of he book, just ornate an engraving of the title - leaves of grass. The book is a collection of 12 poems, and nothing like it had ever been published before. Let's talk to Mr. Whitman about that first edition.

Mr. Whitman, I want to talk with you about the first edition of leaves of grass - in fact more to the point, it's original cover. First, mr. Whitman, could you simply explain what the cover and frontspace ooked like?

Certainly, Mr. Barley, the cover simply had the title, and the frontspiece of the 1855 publication of which you speak,, is an engraving based on a daguerreotype of myself, showing me as a handsome man - if I do say so myself - with a short beard, in shirtsleeves, an open collar, and a wide-brimmed hat.  Note that that I am dressed as a laborer, not a gentleman.  And as a note of explanation, a frontspiece is an illustration facing the title page of a book. It's considered part of the preliminary matter.

In the case of the first edition of Leaves of Grass, where the cover itself was quite plain with just the title and some ornate lettering, the famous portrait of myself in my working clothes indeed servsas the frontispiece. This image, preceding the title page, provided an immediate visual introduction to the author and the unconventional nature of his poetry. It set a tone and offered a glimpse into the persona behind the words.

I stand with one hand on my hip and the other in my pocket, gazing directly at the viewer, exuding a casual confidence and physical presence.

But perhaps what was most unusual was the fact that my name does not appear on the cover or title page, and my portrait appears only on the frontspiece. Note that this was at a time when most author portraits were formal, dignified, and conservative—authors were typically depicted in suits and formally seated —my self-presentation was somewhat radically informal and democratic.

Mr. Whitman, it sounds like you were trying to present yourself as the common man

Precisely, Mr. Bartley - I deliberately rejected the conventions of my era, presenting myself as “one of the roughs,” an everyman, and aligning myself with working-class Americans rather than the literary elite.

Mr. Whitman, I would imagine, with your background in printing and publishing, you understood the power of first impressions and designed the book’s physical appearance to communicate your poetic identity.

Yes Mr. Bartley. I wanted an image to communicate my identity as a new kind of American poet—vigorous, sensual, egalitarian, and connected to ordinary people.  And I believe my simple portrait as in everyman visually embodied the themes of Leaves of Grass: democracy, the body, sensuality, and the breaking down of social hierarchies.

And Mr. Bartley, I must point out that the portrait was unusually sensual for its time: the open collar, relaxed pose, and direct gaze convey a sense of physicality and self-assuredness that was most rare in literary portraits of the era.

Very appropriate, Mr. Whitman.  Such sensuality aligns with the content of Leaves of Grass, which celebrates the body and the senses.

Precisely, Mr. Bartley.

Was it like a pinup compared to other author images?

Mr. Bartley, In many ways, my portrait functioned as a “pinup” of the author: it foregrounded my body and persona rather than hiding behind literary convention or genteel respectability.  Mine was far from a formal portrait. Compared to the staid, buttoned-up images of contemporaries like Emerson, Longfellow, or Bryant, my image was provocative, even rebellious—a visual declaration of the poetic revolution that I was launching.  One might refer to my 1855 leaves of grass cover as a visual manifesto, announcing a new poetic voice and a new American identity—bold, sensual, and radically egalitarian.

Permit me to emphasize that it was intended for my 1855 illustration to differ from typical author portraits of the period. One must realize that. most mid-19th-century author portraits depicted writers in formal attire, seated or standing in dignified, reserved poses, often emphasizing their intellectual or moral seriousness. In contrast, my 1855 frontispiece shows me standing casually, dressed in workingman’s clothes (open collar, shirt sleeves, slouch hat), with one hand on my hip and the other in my pocket, gazing directly and confidently at the viewer.

And while other authors projected refinement and respectability, my image was informal, democratic, and physically assertive—a visual break from literary convention. In fact, the relaxed, open stance, direct gaze, and unbuttoned shirt communicate a sense of physical ease and self-possession that was unusual and even provocative for the era. Furthermore, the portrait’s directness and lack of barriers (no desk, no book, no formal clothing) invite a more intimate, personal engagement, suggesting both sensuality and confidence.

Then, Mr. Whitman, was your frontpiece design meant to portray you as a - pin up - or embody your poetic spirit?

Mr. Bartley, you should know better. The design was not a “pinup” in the modern sense, but it did intentionally foreground my physical presence and vitality, making my body and persona central to the reader’s experience. The choice was meant to embody my poetic spirit—democratic, sensual, and radically new—rather than simply to titillate.  I believe that the image communicated that I myself was the living embodiment of my poetry’s themes: individuality, sensuality, and connection to the common people.

Mr. Whitman, a very ambitious concept. But let me ask, why did you choose to omit your name from the first edition's cover?

Yes Mr. Bartley, you are correct. My name does not appear on the cover or spine.  Mine was a deliberate choice, signaling that the identity is inseparable from the poetry itself and that the reader should engage directly with the persona presented, not with a distant authorial figure.

You might say that the omission of my name, combined with the unique design, suggested a break from literary tradition and an invitation to encounter me as an individual happens to be a poet and is a representative of a new American voice.

How does the illustration reflect your comparatively revolutionary approach compared to conservative literary images?

Ah. Bartley - the image’s relative informality, sensuality, and directness visually enacts the same revolutionary impulses found in my poetry: a rejection of old-world hierarchies, a celebration of the body and individuality, and a vision of democratic unity.  Mr. Bartley, note that the independent, flourishing letters of the title, each unique yet harmonious, mirrors my vision of American democracy—diverse, self-reliant individuals forming a vibrant collective.

To use your current terminology, the image was a visual manifesto, signaling my break from conservative literary norms and my embrace of a bold, new, and distinctly American poetic identity.

First, how would you describe your portrait or picture?

Mr. Bartley, I have what you might describe as a relaxed open posture, with a hand on my hip and a casual slouch, exuding self assurance and ease. I look straight at the viewer, inviting intimate engagement and breaking the traditional barrier between poet and reader. Now the open shirt and lack of formal jacket or tie emphasize my physicality and lived experience, rather than shall I say genteel detachment. And the lush, organic forms of the title on the cover evoke vitality, gross, and sensuality, reinforcing the books themes.  Therefore the cover itself was typographically decorative with its embossed leaves, while the frontispiece introduced my initial self-presentation to readers as they opened the book.

Mr. Whitman I would say that your 1855 leaves of grass frontispiece image broke quite sharply from the era’s literary norms.

Thank you Mr. Bartley. While most mid-19th-century author portraits presented writers as dignified, formally dressed, and reserved, my image on the frontspiece of the1855 edition of leaves of grass was radically informal: I appear in workingman’s clothes, with an open collar and slouch hat, standing confidently with one hand on my hip and the other in my pocket, gazing directly at the viewer. My casual, approachable stance defied the conventions of literary respectability and intellectual distance that dominated author portraits of the time.

Considering the fact that you lived in a rather repressed era, Mr. Whitman, your concept was rather daring.

It could be interpreted that way Mr. Bartley. My stance on the frontispiece, with my body turned slightly and my hand on my hip, is meant to project ease and self-assurance.  And I look straight at the viewer, inviting engagement and breaking the barrier between poet and reader. The open shirt, visible neck, and lack of formal jacket or tie emphasize physicality and sensual presence.  And the gold-stamped, plant-encrusted title on the cover visually echoes themes of growth, vitality, and the body, reinforcing the book’s sensual undertones - so yes Mr. Bartley, my image does have visual elements that some individuals of the 19th century might perceive is having a provocative or sensual tone.

So ultimately, Mr. Whitman - and be honest - did the design aim to portray you as a poetic rebel or a pinup figure?

Aw Mr. Bartley, my firm intention was primarily to present myself as a poetic rebel—a new kind of American bard who embodied the democratic, sensual, and revolutionary spirit of my poetry. While the portrait does foreground my physicality in a way that is unusually direct and almost “pinup-like” for its time, the deeper aim was to make my body and persona a living extension of my poetic message, not merely to titillate. The pose and presentation were statements of literary and cultural defiance, not vanity.

And I have another question regarding the contents of the frontispiece. What message were you attempting to convey by omitting your name from the cover and spine?

Mr. Bartley, By leaving my name off the cover and spine, I attempted to signal that the poet and my poetry were inseparable—the image itself became my signature. My choice invited readers to encounter the poet directly, as a presence rather than a distant authorial figure. It also asserted a break from tradition: the book’s content and my persona on the frontispiece were to speak for themselves, embodying a new, self-made American identity.

How does the book embody your revolutionary approach to literary imagery?

The book’s informality, sensuality, and organic design visually enacted my poetic revolution. The flourishing, unique letters of the title—each different, yet harmonious—mirrored my vision of a diverse, democratic America. The direct, physical portrait and the living, growing title font together announced my break from conservative literary imagery, presenting me as both the product and the embodiment of my own “leaves”—my poems and my persona intertwined in a single, radical gesture.

Mr. Whitman, I know that the 1855 edition may not seem controversial today, but at the time it was viewed as quite provocative.

Yes Mr. Bartley, I do admit that my 1855 Leaves of Grass cover radically diverged from the era’s literary norms. While most author portraits of the period featured writers in formal, dignified poses—seated or standing in suits, projecting refinement and distance—I wanted my image to be informal and direct. As you know, I appeared in workingman’s clothes, with an open collar and slouch hat, standing confidently with one hand on my hip and the other in my pocket, gazing straight at the viewer. My presentation may have rejected the standard markers of literary respectability, but my presentation projected approachability, physicality, and a democratic spirit.

Note my open stance, with my body turned slightly and a hand on my hip, exuding ease and self-assurance.

Note how the unflinching eye contact invites the viewer into an intimate engagement, breaking the barrier between poet and reader.

Note the working man's attire - the open shirt and lack of formal jacket or tie emphasize physicality and a sense of lived experience.

Note the gold-stamped, floriated title on the cover, with its lush, growing forms, visually echoing the book’s themes of vitality, sensuality, and natural growth.

Mr. Whitman, I am still a little confused. Would you address the issue of omitting your name from the first additions cover? I find it hard to believe that an author would want to omit his or her name on a book.

The action of leaving my name of the cover was strategic in nature.  One must realize that by leaving my name off the cover and spine, I signaled that the poet and my poetry were inseparable—the image itself became my signature.. It also asserted a break from tradition: the book’s content and the persona on the cover were to speak for themselves, embodying a new, self-made American identity.

How does the illustration embody your revolutionary approach to literary imagery?

The cover’s informality, sensuality, and organic design visually enacted my poetic revolution. The flourishing, unique letters of the title—each different, yet harmonious—mirrored my vision of a diverse, democratic America. The direct, physical portrait and the living, growing title font together announced my break from conservative literary imagery, presenting the poet as both the product and the embodiment of my own “leaves”—my poems and my persona intertwined in a single, radical gesture.  Furthermore, I believe that my presentation rejected literary respectability and instead projected approachability, physical vitality, and a democratic spirit.

Thank you very much, Mr. Whitman.

Today that 1855 first edition of Walt Whitman's leaves of grass is one of the most coveted treasures in American literature. A first edition, first issue copy in excellent condition is typically valued between $100,000 and $150,000 at auction. Some copies in especially fine condition have fetched even higher prices, with sales reaching up to $200,000 or more in recent years.

Now, as listeners to Celebrate Poe might remember, Edgar Allan Poe’s Tamerlane is the most valuable book ever written by an American - largely because there are so few copies, and Edgar Allan Poe did not live very long.

But back to leaves of grass. Only about 795 copies were printed in 1855, and fewer than 200 are known to survive today.  And leaves of grass does have a certain amount of historical significance. The book marks marks the debut of one of America’s most influential poets and is considered a cornerstone of American literature.

Mr. Whitman, permit me to ask you one question that I forgot to ask - in what ways does the cover’s design embody your revolutionary approach to poetry?

Oh Mr. Bartley, The cover’s design—organic, independent, and generative—mirrors my poetic philosophy. Just as my poems celebrate individuality, sensuality, and the interconnectedness of all life, the cover’s letters are both separate and part of a living, growing whole. The imagery suggests that poetry, like democracy, thrives on diversity and new growth, and that language itself is fertile, evolving, and inseparable from the natural world and the body.  My cover is not just a visual introduction but a manifesto in design, announcing my break with literary convention and my embrace of a radically new, democratic poetics.

Now, Mr. Bartley, if you will excuse me, I will take my leave.

Goodbye, Mr. Whitman.

Farewell, Mr. Bartley.

Let me conclude this podcast episode by talking a bit more about the current value of a copy of leaves of grass.

Now the most valuable copies are those in the original ornate gilt binding, of which only 337 were produced. And a first edition of Leaves of Grass is not just a book—it’s a piece of American history. In pristine condition, it can be worth more than a luxury home in the area, with recent sales topping $300,000.” In fact,  the auction record is 305,000 dollars - making Whitmans 1855 leaves of grass not only a literary milestone but one of the most valuable American books you could ever hope to find

Only about 795 copies were printed, with fewer than 200 surviving today. Of those, only a subset were bound in the original green cloth cover, making intact copies especially rare.

Whitman self-published the book, paid for the printing, and even participated in typesetting and design. No other 19th-century poet played a central role and handling almost all aspects of their literary output.

In addition, the book broke conventions of its time. It was a large quarto volume (about 8 x 11 inches), unusual for poetry, which was typically published in small, pocket-sized editions. The cover, designed by Whitman, featured embossed green cloth and gold stamping, and the famous frontispiece engraving of Whitman in working man's clothes.

As I hope you realize by now, The first edition had no table of contents, no poem titles, and did not name the author on the title page. Instead, Whitman’s image appeared as a frontispiece, emphasizing the persona of the “American working man.” The poetry itself was radical in form and content, celebrating sensuality and democracy in ways that were considered shocking at the time.

The 1855 edition introduced poems like “Song of Myself,” which would become foundational to American literature. The book’s publication is seen as a pivotal moment in American literary history, marking the emergence of a distinctly American poetic voice.  By the way, I am currently working on some episodes about song of myself, and I don't think I've ever done anything I enjoy as much.

Now each copy of the original leaves of grass was printed from type (not plates), and the production process was closely supervised by Whitman himself, making each surviving copy a direct artifact of his creative process.  In other words, each copy was a physical and artistic rarity.

These factors—rarity, Whitman's personal involvement, innovative design, and its revolutionary place in literary history—combine to make the 1855 first issue of Leaves of Grass one of the most valuable and sought-after American books.

Join Celebrate Poe for a milestone episode - number 400 -  from Poe to AI Creativity - an episode you will not want to miss - an episode that points to what has been described as, a natural and enriching evolution for this podcast.

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, Walt Whitman by James E. Miller, and perplexity. AI

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Poe.