The reading of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" at Army Community Theatre is easy on the ear, capitalizing and emphasizing the cadences and melodies inherent in the poetry.

But it is not always satisfying as Readers Theatre, which relies on the audience's mental imagery to supply stage pictures behind the words. Those necessary pictures don't come into focus despite a technically interesting interpretation in the version adapted and directed by Anne Marie MacPherson.

Divided into two acts and 90 minutes of selected poems with no introductions or linking narration, the flow of words leaves the audience grappling with elemental questions about the poet and his message.

Since Whitman was born nearly 200 years ago and had edited three publications of "Leaves of Grass" before the Civil War, he clearly spoke from a different world. His words state his indifference to life and death, claiming himself to be "as lucky to die as to be born." This paints him as a fellow traveler, observant, but primarily an inward participant. While he didn't fight in the war, he volunteered as a nurse.

His message to us, reserved for the Epilogue in this production, is to celebrate the individual, and that individual "is you." This suggests he was something of an early 19th-century self-help guru, whose message might have been "Leave all that you have and follow yourself."

MacPherson builds the performance around solo and choral reading, having her cast overlap and echo phrases, repeat words and speak in unison to give a pulse beat to the poetry. They also sometimes simultaneously speak differing lines, creating a babble of sound, or retreat to whispers — as if telling secrets.

Occasionally props are brought in for emphasis — a beating drum or hands slapping on thighs to accentuate the beat, or tools clinking against metal and stone in underlying percussion. The cast also selectively sings, hums, and laughs to literally underscore the poems' words.

The performance features five seasoned veterans — Gerald Altwies, Richard MacPherson, Jan McGrath, Richard Pellett and Tracy Yamamoto — each of whom has at least one featured segment.

Within his tightly established parameters, Whitman lived fully, but not materialistically, ultimately satisfying himself. Certainly, "I celebrate myself and sing myself," are not the words of an insecure man. In "To Him That Was Crucified," Whitman says "I don't speak your name, but I understand you."

While there is value in riding on the waves of Whitman's words, we might wish for a stronger tour guide during this reading.

Joseph T. Rozmiarek has been reviewing theater since 1973.