Poetic licentiousness: what does the president see in 'Leaves of Grass'?

• Author: Gillespie, Nick

You can't judge a book by its cover, but can you judge a man by the books he gives to his, er, inamoratas? That's a question raised by accounts that one of the gifts President Clinton gave to former White House intern Monica Lewinsky was a copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. As Newsweek reported, Clinton had "also happened to give Hillary [a copy] when they were courting."

Such consistency over the decades is hardly surprising: Seduction is a trial-and-error process, and smooth operators tend to stick with what works. (Casanovas also possess the ability to make the object of their affections believe she is being given intensely, uniquely individual attention - which explains why, in some accounts, the first lady burst into tears upon hearing the news that Bill had given another the same book.)

Anyone familiar with Leaves of Grass can understand why the president might deploy it in his romantic intrigues. An undeniably great work of literature, Whitman's poem celebrating "the procreant urge of the world," "unspeakable passionate love," and "blind loving wrestling touch" simultaneously exudes a touch of class and raw sex appeal. Like Ravel's Bolero and Botticelli's Birth of Venus, it has long been a highend aphrodisiac.

Serious artistic merit and redeeming social value aside, passages such as, "[Y]ou settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, / And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your / tongue to my barestript heart, / And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet," whisper to prurient interests. (Not for nothing was an 1881 edition banned). Even, or perhaps especially, when the meaning is opaque - "Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude; / How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?" - smutty inferences are nearly irresistible.

Certainly, knowing of the president's longstanding fondness for Leaves of Grass adds a new dimension to the poem, which takes the form of "journeys through the states," starting from Whitman's birthplace in Long Island and fanning out throughout the rest of the country. Although first published in 1855, Leaves of Grass seems every bit as much a roman a clef as Primary Colors.

Indeed, it's hard not to picture Clinton when reading lines such as, "Daughter of the lands did you wait for your poet? / Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and indicative hand?" and "I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, / To touch my...