Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
After the interesting posts by Phil, Gordon, and Hardeman, I'd like to add a brief note for your consideration.
The recent death of John Prine reminded me that the Maywood IL native's parents grew up near Paradise, a hamlet along the Green River in Muhlenburg County, Kentucky. It's just a short jaunt down the creek from Beaver Dam KY where my wife's family once lived, so I have a good idea of the terrain and the people who lived there, "lived" being the operative word. All the homes in Paradise were shuttered in 1967 on orders of the TVA. Toxic emissions from a new Peabody Fossil Power Plant somehow took precedence. Of course, the mercury vapors only affected a small hamlet in the backwoods; I suppose it cannot be considered tyranny if something is for the common good. Anyway, give a listen to John Prine's "Paradise" with this bit of history in mind.
Moving southward from the Kentucky wildlands, we seem destined to search in vain for "the poor poet of Tennessee." I would like to suggest that Melville used poetic language to refer to a "backwoods poet" rather than a specific Tennessean.