POETRY IN FOCUS

Bob Cameron
Margaret Hogan
Patrick Lashmar
8920

RT7
 JR. SEC.

DIV.

25 *w-
\ ^i5^
POETRY IN FOCUS
©Copyright 1983 by Globe/Modern Curriculum Press Photographs:
All rights reserved. No be reproduced or
part of this publication may Paul Till — cover photograph, pp.10-11, 26-27, 44-45,
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
68-69, 86-87, 100-101, 124-125.
including photocopy, recording or any information storage or retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Illustrations:

Main entry under title:
Harry Black - pp. 24, 40, 61, 82, 97, 121, 145.
Poetry in focus
For use in secondary schools.
Includes index.
ISBN 0-88996-066-6 Design:
1. Canadian poetry (English).* 2. English poetry. Christine Alexiou
3. American poetry. I. Cameron, Bob. II. Hogan,
Margaret. III. Lashmar, Patrick.
PN6101.P63 821 '.008 C82-095004-1
Editorial Services:
Printed and bound in Canada
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Acknowledgements
The authors and publisher would like to thank the following people and Noyes, St. Lawrence, Ventnor, Isle of Wight, England. Page 52 — Cats in the
organizations for permission to reproduce copyright material. Cradle © 1974 Story Songs Ltd. (ASCAP). All rights reserved. Page 53 — Ballad
Page 12 — 1 Wonder How Many People in This City from THE SPICE BOX OF of Birmingham Reprinted from POEM COUNTERPOEM, Dudley
copyright ©
EARTH by permission of The Canadian Publishers, McClelland and
reprinted
Randall. Reprintedby Permission of Dudley Randall. Page 54 —
The Times They
Stewart Limited, Toronto; The Sun Is Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend) Are A-Changin '© MCMLXIII (UNP) by M. Witmark & Sons in the U.SA All rights
reprinted by permission of the author. Page 13 —
Tin Angel © 1966 Siquomb reserved. Page 58 —
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald © Moose Music Ltd.,
1976. Page 62— The Shooting of Dan McGrew from THE COLLECTED POEMS
Publishing Corporation. Used by permission. All rights reserved; Johnnie's Poem
from BETWEEN TEARS AND LAUGHTER by Alden Nowlan © 1971 by Clarke, OF ROBERT SERVICE. Reprinted by permission of McGraw-HUl Ryerson,
Limited, Reprinted by permission of DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, INC. from
Irwin & Company Limited. Used by permission; Thoughts on Silence reprinted
by permission of the author. Page 14 —
At Seventeen Copyright ©1974, 1975 THE COLLECTED POEMS OF ROBERT SERVICE. Copyright 1907,1909,1912 by
Mine Music Ltd., New York, N.Y. All Rights Reserved. Page 15 The Argument — Dodd, Mead & Company Copyright 1916,1921 by Dodd, Mead and Company,
for Ascending from HEADWATERS reprinted by permission of The Canadian
Inc. Copyright 1940 by Robert Service. Page 65 —
Kathleen Reprinted by per-

Publishers, McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto. Page 16— Provincial torn
mission of DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, INC. from MORE COLLECTED POEMS
DRIVING HOME by Miriam Waddington © Oxford University Press Canada; by Robert Service. Copyright 1949,1950,1951,1952,1953 by Dodd, Mead & Com-
Canoe Trip reprinted by permission of the author. Page 17 —
120 Miles North of pany Inc. Page 67 — Comfort from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF ROBERT SER-
Winnipeg by Dale Zieroth, from CLEARING POEMS FROM A JOURNEY VICE. Reprinted by permission of McGraw-Hill Ryerson Limited, Reprinted by

(Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 1973). Page 19 —

77ie Long Voyage Copyright
permission of DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, INC. from THE COLLECTED

1938, renewal 1966 by Malcolm Cowley. From BLUE JUNIATA: COLLECTED

POEMS OF ROBERT SERVICE. Copyright 1907,1909,1912 by Dodd, Mead &
POEMS (Viking, 1968); Toronto Crossing from POEMS by Robert Finch © Oxford Company Copyright 1916,1921 by Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc. Copyright
University Press Canada; Travel from COLLECTED POEMS, Harper & Row. 1940 by Robert Service. Page 71 — Riel An excerpt from Riel: A Poem for Voices

Copyright 1921, 1931, 1948, 1958 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay by Don Gutteridge. Reprinted with the permission of Nelson Canada. Page 73 —
Ellis. Page 20 —
The Sound of Silence © 1 964, 1 965 Charing Cross Music Inc. Page Crucifixion Lyrics and music by Phil Ochs © 1966 Barricade Music, Inc. (ASCAP)

21 - The Owl Faber & Faber Ltd., publishers of COLLECTED POEMS by .Ml rights administered by Almo Music Corp. (ASCAP) All rights reserved —
Edward Thomas and Myfanwy Thomas. Reprinted by permission of Myfanwy International Copyright Secured. Page 75— Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)© 1971

Tnomas. Page 22 —
Riverdale Lion from ABRACADABRA (1967), reproduced Mayday Music and The Benny Bird Co. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
by permission of John Robert Colombo; The Long Hill Reprinted with permission Page 80 — At the Cedars The work of Duncan Campbell Scott is reprinted with
of MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc. from COLLECTED POEMS by Sara Teasdale. the permission of John G Aylen, Ottawa. Page 81 — The Execution reprinted by

Copyright 1920 by MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc., renewed 1948 by Mamie T.
Wheless. Page 24 - Dust of Snow from CHIEF MODERN POETS OF BRITAIN
AND AMERICA, 5th Edition. ED. Gerald DeWitt Sanders, John Herbert Nelson,
& M.L. Rosenthal. MacMillan Company (Collier-MacMillan Ltd., London), 1970; A
Minor Bird from CHIEF MODERN POETS OF BRITAIN AND AMERICA, 5th
Edition. ED. Gerald DeWitt Sanders, John Herbert Nelson, and M.L. Rosenthal.
permission of the author. Page 83 —
Disembarking at Quebec, The Planters,
Death of a Young Son by Drowning from THE JOURNALS OF SUSANNA
MOODIE by Margaret Atwood © Oxford University Press Canada. Page 84 —
Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer from THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY by
Margaret Atwood © Oxford University Press Canada. Page 88 — Life Lesson,
Inevitability, Understanding from LIKE HAIKU by Don Raye, copyright by

MacMillan Company (Collier-MacMillan Ltd., London), 1970. Page 25 Birches, — Charles E. Turtle Co., Inc., Tokyo, Japan; New Year's Day, The Short Night, Giddy
Fire and ice From THE POETRY OF ROBERT FROST by Edward Con-
edited Grasshopper, Oh! I Ate Them All from TO WALK IN SEASONS by William H
nery Lathem. Copyright 1916,1923,1934 © 1969 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Cohen, copyright by Charles E. Turtle Co., Inc., Tokyo, Japan. Page 89 Adver- —
Copyright 1942,1944,1951 ©1962 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1970 by Lesley sity from LIKE HAIKU by Don Raye, copyright by Charles E. Tuttle Co., Inc.,

Frost Ballantine. Reprinted by permission of Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, Pub- Tokyo, Japan; 77je Warning from VERSE, by Adelaide Crapsey. Copy 1922 by
lishers. Page 46 —
Heather Ale Robert Louis Stevenson, "Heather Ale" in THE Algernon Crapsey and renewed 1950 by The Adelaide Crapsey Foundation.
COMPLETE POEMS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Copyright 1923 Charles Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Page 92 — On His Books
Scribner's Sons; copyright renewed (New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons, 1923) reprinted by permission of A.D. Peters & Co. Ltd.; Wit from THE COLLECTED
Reprinted with the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. Page 47 Waltzing — POEMS OF IRVING LAYTON by permission of The Canadian
reprinted
Matilda Copyright © 1936 by Allen & Co., Prop. Ltd. Melbourne, Australia. Publishers, McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto. Page 94 — cheerio my

Copyright © 1941 by Carl Fischer, Inc. New York, Copyrights renewed. deario Copyright 1927 by Doubleday & Company, Inc. from ARCHY AND
Reprinted by permission of Carl Fischer, Inc. Page 48 — The Highwayman by MEHfTABEL by Don MarquU. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
Alfred Noyes by permission of Hugh Noyes, for executor of the estate of Alfred (Acknowledgements continued on page 158.)
POETRY IN FOCUS
Bob Cameron
Margaret Hogan
Patrick Lashmar

« Globe/Modem Curriculum Press

Toronto
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Contents

Introduction to Poetry 10

1 Poetry Is for Everyone 12

1 Wonder How Many People in— Leonard Cohen

This City 12
The Sun Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend) — Cathleen McFarland
Is 12
Tin Angel — Joni Mitchell 1

Johnnie's Poem — Alden Nowlan 1

Thoughts on Silence — Mary Jane Sterling 13

At Seventeen — Janis Ian 14
Focus on Meaning 14

2 Prose and Poetry 15

The Argument for Ascending — Sid Marty 1

Provincial — Miriam Waddington 1

Canoe Trip — Douglas Le Pan 1

120 Miles North of Winnipeg — Dale Zieroth 1

Focus on Meaning 17

3 Emotion 18

Invictus— William Ernest Henley 1

The Long Voyage — Malcolm Cowley 19

Toronto Crossing — Robert Finch 19
Travel — Edna Vincent Millay
St. 1

The Sound of Silence — Paul Simon 20

Focus on Meaning 20

4 Purpose 2

The Owl — Edward Thomas 2

Riverdale Lion — John Robert Colombo 22
The Long Hill — Sara Teasdale 22
When Heard the
I Learn'd Astronomer — Walt Whitman 23
Focus on Meaning 23

Focus on Robert Frost 24

Dust of Snow 24
A Minor Bird 24
Birches 25
Fire and Ice 25

Tales from Long Ago 26

5 Tales of the Supernatural 28

The Unquiet Grave — Anonymous 28

Thomas the Rhymer — Anonymous 29
The Wife of Usher's Well — Anonymous 30
Focus on Meaning 30
 1 1

6 Tales of Love 3

Barbara Allan — Anonymous 3

Scarborough Fair — Anonymous 32
Lord Randall — Anonymous 32
The Gypsy Rover — Anonymous 33
Focus on Meaning 33

7 Tragic Tales of Treachery 34

Johnie Armstrong — Anonymous 34

The Golden Vanity — Anonymous 35
Whiskey in the Jar — Anonymous 36
Focus on Meaning 36

8 Tales from a Young North America 37

The Poor Little Girls of — Anonymous

Ontario 37
Come All You Bold Canadians — Anonymous 38
Jesse James — Anonymous 39
Nova Scotia: A New Ballad — Anonymous 39
Focus on Meaning 39

Focus on Sir Walter Scott 40

Hunting Song 41
Border March 41
Bonny Dundee 42

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 44

9 Outlaws or Heroes? 46

Heather Ale —
Robert Louis Stevenson 46
—
Waltzing Matilda A. B. Paterson 47
The Highwayman — Alfred Noyes 48
Focus on Meaning 51

10 Towards a Better World 52

Cats in the Cradle— Harry and Sandy Chapin 52

Ballad of Birmingham — Dudley Randall 53
The Universal Soldier — Buffy Sainte-Marie 54
The Times They Are A-Changin' — Bob Dylan 54
Focus on Meaning 55

1 The Cruel Sea 56

The Wreck of the Hesperus — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 56

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald — Gordon Lightfoot 58
The Ballad of the Bluenose — David Martins 59
The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante' — William Henry Drummond 60
Focus on Meaning 60

Focus on Robert Service 61

The Shooting of Dan McGrew 62

 3

Kathleen 65
Comfort 67

Other Narrative Poetry 68

12 In Praise of Famous People 70

Ulysses — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 70

Riel— Don Gutteridge 71
Crucifixion — Phil Ochs 73
Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) — Don McLean 75
Hymn to Diana — Ben Jonson 76
Focus on Meaning 76

1 Tales to Chill Your Bones 77

Porphyria's Lover — Robert Browning 77

The Raven — Edgar Allan Poe 78
At the Cedars — D. C. Scott 80
The Execution — Alden Nowlan 81

Focus on Meaning 81

Focus on Margaret Atwood 82

From the Journals of Susanna Moodie: 83

Disembarking at Quebec
The Planters
Death of a Young Son by Drowning
Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer 84

Shorter Lyric Poetry 86

14 Formula Poetry 88

The Haiku 88
Life Lesson— Don Raye 88
Inevitability — Don Raye 88
Understanding — Don Raye 88
New Year's Day — Basho 88
The Short Night — Buson 88
Giddy Grasshopper — Issa 88
Oh! Ate Them All — Shiki
I 88
B. The Tanka 89
Adversity — Don Raye 89
Papers — Anonymous 89
C. The Cinquain 89
— Anonymous
Similarities 89
The Warning — Adelaide Crapsey 89
D. The Diamante 90
Joy — Anonymous 90
Galaxies — Anonymous 90
E. The Limerick 90
Iremember a fellow named Louie ... — Anonymous 90
 A lady from near Lake Louise ... — Anonymous 91
I next the Duchess at tea ...
sat Anonymous — 91
There was an old grouch from Ontario ... Anonymous — 91
Focus on Meaning 91

15 Epigram and Epitaph 92

A. The Epigram 92
On His Books — Hilaire Belloc 92
Sir, Admit — Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I 92

B. The Epitaph 92
For King Charles — John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester
II 92
Wit — Irving Layton 92
Crossing the Bar — Alfred, Lord Tennyson 93
On Frank Pixley, Editor — Ambrose Bierce 93
Stop, Christian Passer-by! — Samuel Taylor Coleridge 93
Sacred to the Remains of — Anonymous 93
On the 22nd of June — Anonymous 93
Focus on Meaning 93

16 Nonsensical and Humorous Poetry 94

cheerio my deario (by archy the cockroach) — Don Marquis 94

nobody loses all the time — e.e. cummings 95
Waiter! . . . There's an Alligator in My Coffee — Joe Rosenblatt 96
Susan Simpson — Anonymous 96
Focus on Meaning 96

Focus on Raymond Souster 97

Flight of the Roller Coaster 98

The Top Hat 98
Orange Butterfly Lighting 98
Our Weeping- Willow 99
Minor Testament 99

Longer Lyric Poetry 100

17 Love 102

Those Winter Sundays Robert Hayden — 1 02

She Walks in Beauty —George Gordon, Lord Byron 102
The Taxi — Amy Lowell 1 02
Annabel Lee — Edgar Allan Poe 103
For Anne — Leonard Cohen 1 03
Psyche with the Candle — Archibald MacLeish 103
Love Not All — Edna
Is Vincent Millay St. 104
Shall Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? — William Shakespeare
I 104
Focus on Meaning 104

18 Time, Change, and Memory 105

Memory — David Helwig 105

Song for — Irving Layton
Naomi 105
Journey of the Magi — T. Eliot S. 1 06
 8
4
5
9
3
2
7
11

To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence — James Elroy Flecker 1 06

When You Are Old — William Butler Yeats 1 07
Jenny Kissed Me — Leigh Hunt 1 07

Remember — Christina Rossetti 1 07

The Circle Game — Joni Mitchell 107

Elegy: The Wood — Robert Bridges
Is Bare 1 08
Elegy for the South Valley — Pat Lowther 1 08

Focus on Meaning 109

19 Death 110

The Coffins — James Reaney 110

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night — Dylan Thomas 1 10
Erosion — E. PrattJ. 110
The — Rupert Brooke
Soldier 111
In Flanders Fields — John McCrae 1 1

A Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late Famous General — Jonathan Swift 111
The Fox — Kenneth Patchen 112
Elegy Written in the Tower — Chidiock Tichborne 1 1

Focus on Meaning 1 1

20 Nature 113

A Vagabond Song — Bliss Carman 113

The Blue Heron — Theodore Goodridge Roberts 1 1

Solitude— Archibald Lampman 113

A November Landscape — E. J. Pratt 114
Velvet Shoes — Elinor Wylie 1 1

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud — William Wordsworth 1 1

Snow — Louis MacNeice 114

A Bird Came Down the Walk — Emily Dickinson 1 1

The Cloud — Percy Bysshe Shelley 1 1

Focus on Meaning 116

21 Reflection 117

The Rock — Fred Cogswell

Pile 1 1

In the Street — Dorothy Livesay 117

The Plowman — Raymond Knister 117
Modern Ode to the Modern School — John Erskine 1 1

New Year's Poem — Margaret Avison 1 1

Wild Swans — Edna Vincent Millay

St. 1 1

To a Mouse — Robert Burns 1 1

Heirloom — A. M. Klein 119

Ode on Solitude — Alexander Pope 1 20
Focus on Meaning 120

Focus on John Keats 1 2

Junkets — Alden Nowlan 1 2

Hand
This Living 122
To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent 122
Ode to Autumn 122
La Belle Dame Sans Merci 1 23
 1

New Directions 124

22 Free Verse 126

the witch — Terrence Heath 126

anyone lived in a pretty how town — e.e. cummings 127
Lanterns — Andrew Suknaski 127
Billy the Kid — Michael Ondaatje 128
Ukrainian Church — Miriam Waddington 1 29
Mountain Lion — D. H. Lawrence 130
The Diver — W. W. E. Ross 1 3
The Future of Poetry in Canada — Elizabeth Brewster 132
constantly risking absurdity — Lawrence Ferlinghetti 1 33
Portrait of Marina — P. K. Page 1 34

Wild Horses — Pat Lane 1 34

The Sculptors — Alfred Purdy 135
th tomato conspiracy aint worth a whol pome — bissett bill 136
Focus on Meaning 136

23 Imagist Poetry 137

This Is Say — William Carlos Williams

Just to 137
Pear Tree — H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) 137
The Fish — Elizabeth Bishop 1 38
A London Thoroughfare, Two A.M. — Amy Lowell 139
Focus on Meaning 139

24 Experimental Poetry 140

A. Concrete Poems 140

astrological chart (for jan) — david uu 141
like attracts like — Emmett Williams 141
B. Picture Poems 142
Tie — Anonymous 142
A Christmas Tree — William Burf ord 1 42
Mirror — John Updike 1 42
Kite — Anonymous 142
Swan and Shadow — John Hollander 1 43
Pattern Poem with an Elusive Intruder — Reinhard Dohl 143
C. Found Poems 144
In Memoriam: Ingvald Bjorndal and His Comrade — Malcolm Lowry 144
This Is a— Paul Dutton
Poem 1 44
John F. Kennedy — Anonymous 144
Focus on Meaning 144

Focus on Earle Birney 1 45

The Bear on the Delhi Road 145

Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies 146
Winter Saturday 146

Index of Authors 1 48
Index of First Lines 1 52
Index of Titles 155
 "

f "

ink- *jfi'

Introduction to Poetry 10
 Introduction to Poetry

Poetry dates back in time to the misty beginnings of complicated world. Just as astronauts explore the
humanity. Even before there were established facts, immensities above us, poets explore the immen-
people have been interested in the day-to-day exist- sities within us. They bring back new knowledge
ence of themselves and their fellows — survival, about the self, new and superior ways of feeling, and
love, war, death, injustice, the universe. Throughout more accurate ways of seeing and interpreting the
the centuries, people have found poetry to be a suit- phenomena surrounding us. The fact of the matter is
able outlet for expressing these sensations, emo- that the great mass of the world's poetry has been
tions, and experiences. Whether in ballad, nursery readily understood and smooth-flowing. Since its
rhyme, jingle, anthem, or modern-day song, people beginnings, and throughout most of the centuries of
have found their intense and moving experiences to recorded time, poetry has been simple, easy to read
be most effectively expressed in poetry. and recite, and popular. It is hoped this book will
help its readers understand and enjoy poetry as
Advertisers, political campaign managers, and
much as people have from the earliest times.
athletic cheering sections know the value of verse
for catching on quickly, arousing enthusiasm, stim- Sometimes poetry is more difficult to understand
ulating the imagination, and becoming imprinted than prose. And certainly, the rhyme and rhythm play
indelibly on the mind. Verses learned at home, at an integral part in a person's understanding of the
school, and in the library become a life-long part of poem. Also, because of the compression of thought,
our lives. every word is important and must be understood.
Sometimes readers must go beyond the literal
Yet, despite its universal appeal over the cen-
meaning of words. They must be able to perceive the
turies, poetry today certainly is not the most popular
poem's meaning through suggested rather than
of literary genres. In school, itis too often intro-
direct statements. Therefore, what one person gets
duced on the scholar's level, each poem being an
out of a poem may be quite different from the inter-
intricate, sometimes inexplicable puzzle. When
pretation of his or her classmates or teacher.
students think of poetry, they often think of strict
rhyming patterns, difficult rhythmical conventions, In this individual aspect of poetry lies perhaps its
complicated vocabulary, hidden meanings. Secondly, greatest appeal. To share the experiences and feel-
poetry is often regarded as being more difficult than ings of another person, and to not have to find a
prose. "definitive" answer, is a great feeling. To be able to
intelligently decide what one thinks, likes, and
These arguments are reasonable and should be
dislikes is what makes each of us an individual.
dealt with. First of all, readers who enjoy poetry
know that sometimes poetry is difficult. But they Poems are as different as are the people who read
know that it is so only because involved
it is fully and who write them. Reading or writing a new poem
with the inescapable complexities and uncertainties is like meeting a new person —
the experience itself
of existence. Poetry is one of the few guides that makes the effort worthwhile.
show how meaning and order are possible in a very

11
o
Poetry
Poetry is for Everyone

a subject for analysis and study

isn't solely I Wonder How Many People in This City
— it an activity. You too can write poetry and
is Leonard Cohen
maybe even have fun doing it! To write poetry you
must let your natural responses, attitudes, and feel-
ings come out in words. The life you are living is as I wonder how many people in this city

meaningful to you as any "famous" person's life live in furnished rooms.

was or is to him or to her. Day in and day out, each of Late at night when I look out at the buildings
us is alternately fascinated and repelled by the I swear I see a face in every window
variety of life —
its sounds, colours, movements, looking back at me,
and shapes. We feel, smell, taste, connect, discover and when I turn away
— each of us is experiencing life. Therefore, each of I wonder how many go back to their desks
us is capable of producing something heartfelt, and write this down.
intense, even marvelous. Each of us can produce
one small phrase or many lines that are as perfect as
any written by the poets featured in Poetry in Focus.
The famous American poet, e. e. cummings, very
clearly states his opinion on what qualities con-
stitute a "poet."

A poet is somebody who feels, and who

expresses his feelings through words.
The Sun is Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend)
This may sound easy. It isn't.
Cathleen McFarland
A people think or believe or know
lot of
they feel —
but that's thinking or believing or
knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — Iwas young when
not knowing or believing or thinking. 17 was a number
Almost anybody can learn to think or
Too high to count
believe or know, but not a single human being
The sun was the miracle
can be taught to feel. Why? Because when-
Spinning sorcerer
ever you think or you believe or you know,
you're a lot of other people: but the moment That melted my crayons
you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself. Into bright wax rivers.
A golden-skinned princess lived there
Poetry, then, is For this reason,
for everyone.
— Nightly in my mind,
Poetry in present many diverse poems
Focus will
When stars and moon
poems written by people from different cultures,
were marginal connect-the-dots,
people of different nationality, age, education, and
historical era. Throughout the text and in this
everytime
different —
chapter, particularly, we will find that many people Beyond the realms of man.
have excelled in the writing of poetry. And perhaps
through the lessons and activities in this text, you Now I'm 17
will find that you yourself are capable of composing And even infinity is

something of which you are proud, something that A place I can define.
has meaning for you. Man has touched the moon —
Now stretching to the stars.
I know the sunburning gases
is

My princess long since turned to ashes.

Introduction to Poetry 12
Tin Angel Thoughts on Silence
Joni Mitchell Mary Jane Sterling

Varnished weeds in window jars What am I doing here

Tarnished beads on tapestries Among these strange people
Kept in satin boxes are Sitting in these funny desks
Reflections of love's memories Staring at this paper?
Oh yes, I am in school.
Lettersfrom across the seas These people are my classmates.
Roses dipped in sealing wax Though they chatter all the time
Valentines and maple leaves They are silent now.
Tucked into a paperback Now I can think.
I see a bird flying high in the air.
Guess I'll throw them all away Maybe it is flying south.
Found someone to love today My heart leaps with the bird
Taking a message to my mother.
Dark with darker moods is he My mind is heavy, thinking something sad has
Not a golden Prince who's come Happened at home.
To columbines and wizardry But the birds are singing
To talk of castles in the sun Everything is all right.
The breeze has whispered something in my ear.
Still take a chance and see
I'll
Ihope it whispers the same joyous words to my people.
found someone to love today
I
I my family and especially miss
get lonely for I my mother
But I them all soon.
shall see
There's a sorrow in his eyes
When we meet we won't even touch hands
Like the angel made of tin
But our hearts will leap with joy
What will happen if try I
And in our minds we will be glad.
To place another heart in him

In a Bleeker Street cafe

I found someone to love today
I found someone to love today

Johnnie's Poem
Alden Nowlan

Look! I've written a poem!

Johnnie says
and hands it to me
and it's about
his grandfather dying
last summer, and me
in the hospital
and want to cry,
I

don't you see, because it doesn't matter

if it's not very good:
what matters is he knows
and it was me, his father, who told him
you write poems about what
you feel deepest and hardest.

13 1 Poetry Is for Everyone

At Seventeen We all play the game and when we dare
Janis Ian To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone,
Repenting other lives unknown,
I learned the truth at seventeen
That call and say, "Come dance with me,"
That love was meant for beauty queens
— And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
And murmur vague obscenities

Who married young and then retired.

At ugly girls like me
At seventeen.
The valentines I never knew,
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful —
At seventeen I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces

Lacking in the social graces,
Focus on Meaning
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say, "Come dance with me," 1. From what you have learned of poetry in past
grades, discuss whether Cohen's poem "I
And murmured vague obscenities.
Wonder How Many People in This City" is in fact
It isn't all it seems,
a poem. What is the author trying to say?
At seventeen.
2. Discuss what you feel the poems "The Sun is
A brown-eyed hand-me-downs
girl in Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend)" and
Whose name I never could pronounce "Thoughts on Silence" are about. Are these
Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve,
poems specific to the girls in the poems or are

They only get what they deserve. they expressing common human experiences?
Explain.
The rich relationed home-town queen
Marries into what she needs 3. Accurate word-sketches of objects, people, and
A guarantee of company feelings occur frequently in Joni Mitchell's work.
And haven for the elderly." Write a short character description of the
speaker in "Tin Angel." How old is she, what
Remember those who win the game problem confronts her, what decision does she
Lose the love they sought to gain make regarding this problem?
In debentures of quality 4. What is the speaker of "Johnnie's Poem" reveal-

And dubious integrity. ing about life? Do you agree with this
Their small town eyes will gape at you philosophy?
In dull surprise when payment due 5. a) With the poem "Thoughts on Silence" in
Exceeds accounts received, mind, write an example of how you think a
At seventeen. government, perhaps with the best of inten-
tions, has oppressed a minority group,
To those of us who know the pain b) Write an example of how you or another indiv-
Of valentines that never came, idual, either with the best of intentions or
And those whose names were never called unknowingly, have oppressed some other
When choosing sides for basketball. individual.
It was long ago and far away, 6. Janis lan's poem "At Seventeen" shows many of
The world was younger than today, the problems and complexities of growing up.
And dreams were all they gave for free Do you find adolescence a particularly trying
To ugly duckling girls like me. time? Why or why not?

Introduction to Poetry 14
©
Generally,
Prose and Poetry

it is fairly easy to distinguish between The Argument for Ascending

prose and poetry. Sid Marty

Because poetry has a number of distinct and

most people can tell
definite forms, that a
is a poem Sidehill gouging
poem simply by There is a break at the
looking at it.
gives your ankles pain
end of each line in poetry; prose is constructed of
stiffkneed evenings
sentences. In poetry, a number of lines forms a
and arthritic old age
stanza; in prose, a number of sentences forms a
paragraph. A poem has other external signs that
Slabrock and ice
identify it: a rhyme scheme, a regular stanza pattern,
capital letters at the beginning of many lines. True,
have let so many down
some modern poetry does not conform to all of from an awkward balance
these standard conventions, but most poetry does. to their finger ends
The mystery of falling
Perhaps the most obvious distinguishing feature
between prose and poetry is rhythm. Rhythm can be
Gravity too, ismy domain
defined as the regular recurrence of stressed and
It turns you, swimmer, over
unstressed syllables in a line. A poem contains
words arranged in a rhythmic pattern. That is, in
I watch from the steep approaches
poetry (except for free verse), the accents of the
syllables the words fall at regular intervals.
in Would you be the man for the mountain?
Although most poets allow themselves some free- The skulls of goats, the skulls of sheep
dom in accents, they stay within a rhythmic pattern. foot my precipitous fences
It is not hard to find the regular poetic feet in the

structure of most poems. The prose line, on the Learn to fail sometimes, bear with me
other hand, almost always contains a mixture of
accented and unaccented syllables without any pat- Your body is the cross you carry
tern or regularity. Some many passages
prose (e.g. up to the high places
from the novels of D. H. Lawrence and James Joyce)
is fairly rhythmical. However, we do not ordinarily
And your reward
call such passages poems. a tearing wind
Another important difference between prose and a view
poetry is the use of imagery. When words are used to

cause us to see, hear, touch, taste, or smell some- of endless higher mountains
thing, they are creating an image. Since poetry is a
very compact mode of expression, concentrated
images or image patterns are often used to help the
reader form a total impression. Although not all
poetry relies heavily on the use of images, it is safe
to say that most poetry does. Much of the enjoyment
of poetry comes from responding to the visual and
aural suggestions in a poem, and to the imagery that
appeals to our other senses.

15 2 Prose and Poetry

Provincial Canoe Trip
Miriam Waddington Douglas Le Pan

My childhood What of this fabulous country

was full of people Now we have it reduced to
that a few hot hours
with Russian accents And sun-burn on our backs?
who came from On this south side the countless archipelagoes,
Humble Saskatchewan The slipway where titans sent splashing the last great
or who lived in Regina glaciers;
and sometimes And then up to the foot of the blue pole star
Winnipeg
visited A wilderness,
to bring regards The pinelands whose limits seem distant as Thule,
from their frozen The millions of lakes once cached and forgotten,
snowqueen city. The clearings enamelled with blueberries, rank silence
about them;
In those days And skies that rollday with cloud-chimeras
all

all the streetcars To baffle the eye with portents and unwritten myths,
in the world slept The flames of sunset, the lions of gold and gules.
in the Elmwood Into this reservoir we dipped and pulled out lakes and
car-barns and the rivers,
Indian moundbuilders We strung them together and made our circuit.
were still wigwammed Now what be our word as we return,
shall
across the river What word of this curious country?
with the birds
who sang in the bushes It is good,
of St. Vital. It is a good stock to own though it seldom pays dividends.
There are holes here and there for a gold-mine or a hydro-
Since then I have plant.
visited Paris But the tartan of river and rock spreads undisturbed,
Moscow London The plaid of a land with little desire to buy or sell.

and Mexico City The dawning light skirls out its independence;
Isaw golden roofs At noon the brazen trumpets slash the air;
onion domes and the Night falls, the gulls scream sharp defiance;
most marvellous Let whoever comes to tame this land, beware!
canals, saw people
I Can you put a bit to the lunging wind?
sunning themselves Can you hold wild horses by the hair?
inLuxembourg Gardens Then have no hope to harness the energy here,
and on a London parkbench It gallops along the wind away.

Isat beside a man But here are crooked nerves made straight,
who wore navy blue socks The fracture cured no doctor could correct.
and navy blue shoes The hand and mind, reknit, stand whole for work;
to match. The fable proves no cul-de-sac.
Now from the maze we circle back;
All kinds of miracles: The map suggested a wealth of cloudy escapes;
but would not trade
I
That was a dream, we have converted the dream to act.
any of them for the And what we now expect is not simplicity,
empty spaces, the No steady breeze, or any surprise,
snowblurred geography Orchids along the portage, white water, crimson leaves.
of my childhood. Content, we face again the complex task.

Introduction to Poetry 16
And yet the marvels we have seen remain.
We think of the eagles, of the fawns at the river bend,
The storms, the sudden sun, the clouds sheered downwards.
O so to move! With such immaculate decision!
proudly as waterfalls curling like cumulus!

120 Miles North of Winnipeg Focus on Meaning

Dale Zieroth
1. a) Both "The Argument for Ascending" and
My grandfather came here years ago,
"Canoe Trip" present individuals involved in
challenging themselves and nature. What is
family of eight. In the village,
the similarity of their experiences?
nine miles away, they knew him as
b) With Marty's poem "The Argument for
the German and they were suspicious, being
Ascending" in mind, present a brief argument
already settled. Later he was
in favour of some sport you enjoy, such as
somewhat liked; still later
hockey, water skiing, skiing, or horseback
forgotten. In winter everything riding. Be sure to include mention of the
went white as buffalo bones and dangers, the advantages, and the main
the underwear froze on the line reason you participate in this particular sport.
like corpses. Often the youngest
2. a) Discuss what the poet is saying in the poem
was he never thought
sick. Still
Do you have the same feelings
"Provincial."
of leaving. Spring was always greener
as those expressed by the speaker of this
than he'd known and summer had poem?
kid-high grass with sunsets big b) With this poem in mind, recreate in a para-
as God. The wheat was thick, graph or two an incident from your childhood
the log house chinked and warm. that is still charged with emotion.
The little English he spoke
3. a) Why was the grandfather in "120 Miles North
he learned from the thin grey lady
ofWinnipeg" made an alien in the year 1914?
in the one-room school, an hour away
b) Having read Zieroth's "120 Miles North of
by The oldest could hunt, the youngest
foot.
Winnipeg," discuss whether you feel that
could read. They knew nothing of people's reactions to newcomers have
the world he'd left, and forgotten, changed in the last seventy-five years.
until 1914 made him an alien and
4. In thinking back to our childhood days, each of
he left them on the land he'd come to,
us remembers some of the things that happened
120 miles north of Winnipeg.
and forgets others. What sorts of events do you
think people tend to remember? Why?
5. In many cultures there are coming-of-age
ceremonies that leave childhood behind and
declare a person an adult. How would you define
an adult in our society? The criteria may be
privileges, responsibilities, or physical
capacities. What happens when these do not
occur together but are spread out over a long
period of time and occur in random order?

17 2 Prose and Poetry

o Emotion

Genuine poetry is spontaneous. It springs from a Fields, a lifelong crusader against sentimentality in
deeper level of the self than we're aware of in daily life, to overreact with his famous pronouncement:

life. Every true poem is generated by the dynamo of
emotional experience, though it may take this emo-
tion a long time to break through into the world of
conscious thinking. Therefore, although a finished
poem is a combination of feeling and thinking, it
originates in the deep, inexplicable wells of emotion.
Emotional experience more than anything else is
what poetry gives us. And this is what we value as
much as anything in life. Our lives are afloat on seas
of emotion. We live there more richly than we live in
any geographical world. T.S. Eliot once commented,
"The poet who 'thinks' is merely the poet who can
express the emotional equivalent of thought."
We all know an emotion when we feel one.
know emotion has a marked and instant
that strong
physical effect on us. It influences our heartbeat,
our breathing, and the distribution of our blood flow
(we flush or grow pale). It is no wonder that poetry
affects sensitive readers in a physical way. Emily
Dickinson judged poetry by itsphysical effect:
If read a poem and it makes my whole body
I
so cold no fire can ever warm me I know that
Is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my
head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
These are the only ways I know it ... .
"Nobody who hates dogs and little children can be
all that bad."
Therefore the emphasis in a poem may not be its
hidden meaning, its ulterior purpose. Many poems
simply reflect the moods and thoughtful moments
that everyone has. Young people even more than
older people are subject to a wide variety of moods
— sometimes joyful, sometimes sad, sometimes
pensive. The thoughts that grow out of these moods
are often serious ones. Loneliness, for example, may
trouble you from time to time, and you might find
yourself trying to work out in your mind your relation-
ship with others. At other times, you might feel a
desire to travel, a need for freedom, a sense of
We
and many more, are a
jubilation. All these feelings,
combination of outward and inward influences,
often too complicated to explain but always very
real.
The poems book (and particularly in this
in this
chapter) reflect anumber of moods, and may cause
you to reflect upon things you perhaps haven't yet
had time to think about very much. Do not be sur-
prised, however, if you find that most of the poems
describe moods and emotions that you have already
felt but have never put clearly into words.

We do not have to believe in the ideas of a poem to

share its experience. But we do have to believe in its
emotions. Our emotions are so many and so com-
plex that we can hardly classify them. Yet these
emotions, though sometimes mixed, can remain
distinct.

It is quite possible for a poem to have too much

emotion. Emotion in excess of its object is called

"sentimentality." Run-of-the-mill poetry often is
guilty of sentimentality —
emotion gone out of con-
trol and taking over.

Emotion is healthy when it is of the kind and in the

amount that object deserves: when what we love
its
is really lovable, when what we fear is really fearful.
Sentimentalists are less concerned with the object
of their emotion than with the fact that they
themselves are feeling it. Writers of sentimental
poetry like to play on our stock responses those —
built-in automatic reactions we have to many things
we think dear and familiar: home, sweet home;
childhood; old rocking chairs; motherhood; the
fidelity of dogs. It was no doubt the sentimentalists'
doting views on children and dogs that led W. C.

Introduction to Poetry 18
Invictus Toronto Crossing
William Ernest Henley Robert Finch

Out of the night that covers me, The well-drest woman in the costly car
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, Stares at the busfolk waiting in the wet,
Ithank whatever gods may be The soldiers thumbing rides; her cigarette
For my unconquerable soul. Impeccably finds where lighter and ashtray are.

In the fell clutch of circumstance The well-drest car round the costly woman purrs
have not winced nor cried aloud.
I At its quiver of light shopping, its corner full
Under the bludgeonings of chance Of the new books, its driver a furred fruit on wool;
My head is bloody, but unbowed. The purr the car purrs is both its and hers.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears If she were those people waiting, she wouldn't, she'd walk.
Looms but the horror of the shade, This has been an unusually exhausting day.
And yet the menace of the years The lights have been against her all the way.
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. She flicks her unfinished smoke onto the sidewalk
As the change and the changed eyes of the starer
lights
It matters not how strait the gate, Release the crowd for a double glance at the mirror.
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
Iam the captain of my soul.

The Long Voyage Travel

Malcolm Cowley Edna St. Vincent Millay

Not that the pines were darker there, The railroad track is miles away,
nor mid-May dogwood brighter there, And the day is loud with voices speaking,
nor swifts more swift in summer air; Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
it was my own country, But I hear its whistle shrieking.

having its thunderclap of spring, All night there isn't a train goes by,
its long midsummer ripening, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
its corn hoar-stiff at harvesting, But I see its cinders red on the sky,
almost like any country, And hear its engine steaming.

yet being mine; its face, its speech, My heart is warm with the friends I make,
its hills bent low within my reach, And better friends I'll not be knowing;
its river birch and upland beech Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
were mine, of my own country. No matter where it's going.

Now the dark waters at the bow

fold back, like earth against the plow;
foam brightens like the dogwood now
at home, in my own country.

19 3 Emotion
The Sound of Silence Focus on Meaning
Paul Simon
1. In "Invictus," is the speaker's claim to being
Hello darkness my old friend,
"master" of his fate supported in the poem? In
what kind of life situations can people demon-
I've come to talk with you again,
strate that they are "masters" of their souls?
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while Iwas sleeping 2. What would you consider the theme of "The
And the vision that was planted in my brain Long Voyage" to be? Explain.
Still remains within the sound of silence. 3. Ina few seconds, the speaker of "Toronto Cross-
ing" observes and sums up the character of the
In restless dreams I walked alone, driver.From the moment the light turns red until
Narrow streets of cobble stone the car moves away with the next green light, the
'Neath the halo of a street lamp, poet has developed a negative picture of this
I my collar to the cold and damp
turned person. Supporting your answer with references
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light to the poem, write a character sketch of the
That split the night, and touched the sound of silence. driver.

4. The call of distant places sometimes can be very

And in the naked light I saw loud, especially when life seems to grow mono-
Ten thousand people maybe more, tonous. In "Travel," Edna St. Vincent Millay does
People talking without speaking, not say exactly where she would like to go she —
People hearing without listening, speaks only of the desire to see new places and
People writing songs that voices never share have new experiences. If you could travel
And no one dares disturb the sound of silence. wherever you wished, where would it be? Why do
you want to go there?
"Fools!" said I, "You do not know 5. a) What emotion is present in "The Sound of
Silence like a cancer grows Silence"? Have you ever experienced it? How
Hear my words that might teach you I did you deal with it?
Take my arms that might reach you."
I b) Find some poems
in this text in which some-
But my words like silent raindrops fell one uses emotion as an escape from a reality
And echoed, in the wells of silence. he or she cannot face. Discuss the ways in
which emotion is used.
And the people bowed and prayed 6. a) Sentimentality, which gives free access to
To the neon God they made, unearned emotions, is at home in the popular
And the sign flashed out its warning arts —
the movies, TV, best-selling fiction,
In the words that it was forming. advertising —
which show us not the world as
And the sign said: it but the world as magically transformed to
is

"The words of the prophets are written what we would like it to be. What objects do
on the subway walls and tenement halls" you think you yourself tend to be sentimental
And whispered in the Sounds of silence. about? Let yourself write a frankly sentimen-
tal prose paragraph about such an object,

b) Then rewrite your paragraph so that, while

still heartfelt, it has no traces of sentimen-

tality.

7. With the poems from this chapter in mind, write

a mood paragraph on one of the following: life,
death, love, hate, loneliness, destruction, faith,
doubt, people, courage, eternity, fear, or wishes.

Introduction to Poetry 20
o Purpose

The smallest meaningful part of the poem is the The Owl

word. But a single word already contains within Edward Thomas
itself more than an unwary reader might suspect.
The basic elements of a poem — image, sound, and
meaning — may all be found in the isolated word. Of Downhill came, hungry, and yet not starved;
I

course, these elements acquire richness and preci-
sion when the word is placed in the context of other
words. The study of poems is necessarily a close
examination of the surrounding words that modify
and influence any particular word. The fabric of
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn had food, fire, and rest,
I

words that is the poem depends on the strength, col- Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

our, and texture of each individual thread.

A word has a physical nature (its vowel and conso-
nant structure), a history (its origin and the later
changes in its usage), a "family life" (kinships and
affinities with other words), and a future (the new
and unpredictable life that the poet and others can
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what escaped
I

give to it). These are the conditions that affect the

And others could not, that night, as in I went.
word's power to radiate image, sound, and meaning.

All poetry has meaning. In the previous chapters And salted was my and my repose,
food,
we looked at poems with a fairly obvious surface Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice
meaning. However, many poems have deeper mean- Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
ings, meanings which the reader must search out. Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
The poems in this chapter all have hidden meanings
and you, the reader, must be prepared to read these
poems very carefully in order to derive this ulterior,
beneath-the-surface purpose.

21 4 Purpose
Riverdale Lion
John Robert Colombo

Bound lion, almost blind from meeting their gaze and popcorn
the Saturday kids love you. It is their parents
who would paint your mane with polkadots to match their
California shirts
and would trim your nails for tieclips.

Your few roars delight them. But they wish you would quicken
your pace
and not disappear so often into your artificial cave
for there they think you partake of secret joys and race
through the jungle-green lair of memory
under an African sun as gold as your mane.

But you fool them. You merely suffer the heat and scatter the
flies

with your tail. You never saw Africa.

The sign does not tell them that you were born here, in
captivity,
that you are as much a Canadian as they are.

The Long Hill

Sara Teasdale

I must have passed the crest a while ago

And now I am going down —
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown.

All the morning I thought how proud I should be

To stand there straight as a queen,
Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me —
But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.

It was nearly level along the beaten track

And the brambles caught in my gown —
But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down.

Introduction to Poetry 22
When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and
I

measure them,
When sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much
I

applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became
tired and sick,
Till risingand gliding out wander'd off by myself,
I

In the mystical moist night air, and from time to time,

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

Focus on Meaning

1. With Edward Thomas's poem "The Owl" in mind,

conduct an oral interview with someone you
know who has had an encounter with a wild
animal. If the storyteller uses vivid descriptions,
catchy phrases, dialogue, or dialect, try to retain
as many of the interesting descriptive words or
phrases as possible. Pretend that you are this
person and convert the experience into a short
story.

2. "Riverdale Lion" is ostensibly about a lion, but

the poem also contains a few veiled comments
about man. Taking this statement into account,
discuss what you feel the meaning of this poem
to be.

3. Sara Teasdale's poem also contains two levels

of meaning. Apparently, the speaker has climbed
a "long hill," realizes she has passed the crest,
and is now on her way down the hill.
With this surface meaning inmind, what is the
second level of meaning in "The Long Hill"?
4. No direct statement of the speaker's viewpoint
in "When Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" is
I

made, but his viewpoint is suggested. What do

you think the speaker is really implying in this
poem?
5. Discuss the presentation of reality in one of the
poems chapter. Do you agree with the
in this

ideas presented in the poem? Do these ideas

apply to "real life"? Why?

23 4 Purpose
Focus on Robert Frost (1874-1963)

bought more farmland in New England and lived

there, alternating his time on the farm with time
spent in teaching positions at various colleges and
universities. Above all, he kept on writing poetry. His
life continued in this way until his death.

Robert Frost received four Pulitzer Prizes for his

poetry — the only poet ever to achieve that distinc-
tion. Why is he praised so highly as a poet? His
poetry makes the truth understandable. He may criti-
cize the world, but it is very clear that he also loves
the world.

Dust of Snow

The way a crow

Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, but was A change of mood
really a displaced New Englander, for his family had And saved some part
lived in New England since 1632. By the time he was Of a day I had rued.
ten they moved to Massachusetts, and for most of
the rest of his life, Frost lived in the New England
area. It is this area which is the background or inspi-
ration for much of his poetry.

When Frost graduated from high school, he and a

young named Elinor White shared the honours of
girl A Minor Bird
the valedictory address. Far from being a situation
of jealousy or competition —
it was love. They were

married three years later, in 1895. For the first two

years of their marriage, Frost worked mainly as a
teacher, then entered Harvard but wasn't happy as a
student. He wanted to work and write poetry. With
this in mind, he bought a farm and supported his
Ihave wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if could bear no more.
I

family by farming and teaching until 1912. Little of

the poetry he wrote during this time was published. The faultmust partly have been in me.
In 1912, Elinor encouraged him to make a change. The bird was not to blame for his key.
They sold the farm and moved their four children to
England where they lived until 1915. Ironically, for And of course there must be something wrong
someone who would become the most famous of In wanting to silence any song.
American poets, his work was accepted first in
England. Critics there raved about his first two
books, A Boy's Will (1913) and North of Boston
(1914). By the time Frost returned to the United
States, he was famous at home as well. He then

Introduction to Poetry 24
Birches I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

When I see birches bend to left and right
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
And half grant what wish and snatch me away
I

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
I don't know where
it's likely to go better.

I'd like go by climbing a birch tree,

to
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
After a rain. They click upon themselves
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
That would be good both going and coming back.
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust —
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. Fire and Ice
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
Some say the world will end in fire,
So low for long, they never right themselves:
Some say in ice.
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
From what I've tasted of desire
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Ihold with those who favor fire.
Like on hands and knees that
girls throw their hair
But if it had to perish twice,
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
I think I know enough of hate
But was going to say when Truth broke in
I
To say that for destruction ice
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
Is also great
Ishould prefer to have some boy bend them
And would suffice.
As he went out and in to fetch the cows —
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone. Focus on Robert Frost
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again 1. Robert Frost says "makes you
that poetry
Until he took the stiffness out of them, remember what you know you knew." Do
didn't
And not one but hung limp, not one was left you think this statement fits any of the poems in
For him to conquer. He learned all there was this first unit? Does it fit Frost's poems?

To learn about not launching out too soon 2. a) In what kinds of ways do people escape from
And so not carrying the tree away the routine or the stress of daily life? Which of
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise these ways do you think are effective? for
To the top branches, climbing carefully others? for you? Do you think they would be
With the same pains you use to fill a cup effective for Robert Frost? Explain.

Up to the brim, and even above the brim. b) Frost says, "One could do worse than be a
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, swinger of birches." What is your comment
Kicking his way down through on this?
the air to the ground.
So was once myself a swinger of birches.
I 3. Robert Frost's poems reflect a minute observa-
And so dream of going back to be.
I tion of the landscape. Where do you especially
It's when I'm weary of considerations, see this in the poems here? Which poem best
And life is too much like a pathless wood shows his familiarity with and love of nature?
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs 4. Frost claims that a poem should begin in delight
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping and end wisdom. What does he mean? Which
in
From a twig's having lashed across it open. of the poems here do you think follow this plan?

25 Focus on Robert Frost

Tales from Long Ago
 Tales from Long Ago
Traditional ballads are songs that tell a simple story Eventually, many of these ballads were collected
or tale. They are one of the earliest forms of folk liter- and published by Bishop Thomas Percy in 1765 and
ature. These ballads were as popular in the four- Sir Walter Scott in the early nineteenth century.
teenth to sixteenth centuries as popular music is Many story poems were thus preserved in books for
today. Some modern poems and many modern future generations to enjoy. There is no way of know-
songs have much in common with traditional ing how many were lost.
ballads.
Traditional ballads are part of the early literature
The authorship of these old ballads is unknown of most countries. The early settlers in North
but there are many theories about how they were America from such countries as England, Scotland,
composed. It is believed that these story poems and Ireland brought a diverse collection of tradi-
were composed by ordinary people who could tional ballads with them. Soon they began to change
neither read nor write. It is likely that wandering some of them to fit their new situation. They also
singers and court minstrels composed many composed their own.
ballads. Others were probably composed by a group
English, Scottish, and North American tradi-
Irish,
of people. In any case, the authors of traditional
tional ballads are enjoyed today. Singers such
still
ballads were people with very little formal educa-
as Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Ian Tyson, and Peter,
tion.
Paul, and Mary recorded many of these during the
Traditional ballads were in the oral tradition. This early 1960s and many of these recordings are still
means they were not written down but rather were available today. Most recently, traditional ballads
passed from one area to another and from one have been recorded by Ryan's Fancy and numerous
generation to the next by word of mouth. Due to the others.
imagination of the individual balladeer, lapses in
All of the poems in this unit are traditional
memory, and local differences, a ballad frequently
ballads. They all have a story to tell. They provide us
had numerous versions.
with insights into the lives of our ancestors.

27
o Tales of the Supernatural

The modern world is fascinated with the super- The Unquiet Grave
natural. Weenjoy the mystery and the strong emo- Anonymous
tional response elicited by supernatural stories and
events. Evidence of strong interest and outright
belief in things supernatural is all around us. Many "The wind doth blow today, my love,
sports coaches believe in good luck charms such as And a few small drops of rain;
particular hats or specific ties. We can have our Inever had but one true-love,
palms read or, if we prefer, have our tea leaves read In cold grave she was lain.
by numerous "psychic professionals."
"I'll do as much for my true-love
Did you ever stop to think how often the theme of
As any young man may;
the supernatural appears in modern novels and
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
movies? Look at the movie and television listings in
your local newspaper to note how often this theme For a twelvemonth and a day."
occurs. At your favourite bookstore, note the number
of modern novels built around supernatural themes. The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The supernatural has a market. The dead began to speak:
"0 who sits weeping on my grave,
For all our sophistication, we still are drawn to the
supernatural. The mystery, the curiosity, the hidden
And will not let me sleep?"

power, and the potential for greater knowledge that

all lurk in the frightening depths of night still are very
"Tis I, my
on your grave,
love, sits

much with us. And not you sleep;

will let

For crave one kiss of your clay-cold

I lips,
This strong attraction to the supernatural is an
And that is all I seek."
important theme running through the literature of
every age.
"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
The novel Frankenstein terrified readers in the But my breath smells earthy strong;
nineteenth century. Some of the most memorable as If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
well as chilling moments in Shakespearean drama
Your time will not be long.
are the witches' scenes in Macbeth and the ghost
and graveyard scenes in Hamlet. The terrible one-
"Tis down in yonder garden green,
eyed Cyclops was but one of a wide array of
Love, where we used to walk,
monsters, gods, and goddesses that dominated
The finest flower that e'er was seen
Greek and Roman mythology.
Is withered to a stalk.
Perhaps the was a time when
Middle Ages
people's belief in the power of the supernatural was "The stalk is withered dry, my love,
strongest. This period is also known as the Dark
So will our hearts decay;
Ages, a time when most people were very poor, illi-
So make yourself content, my love,
terate peasants. For these people, ghosts and devils
Till God calls you away."
were real; medieval peasants burnt witches. As a
result, it is natural to see evidence of a strong belief
in magic and the supernatural in the literature of this
period. Many traditional ballads from this period —
and all of the ballads in this chapter —
are myster-
ious tales of the supernatural.

Tales from Long Ago 28

Thomas the Rhymer 'O see ye not yon narrow road,
Anonymous So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.
True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e; 'And see ye not yon braid, braid road,
And there he saw a ladye bright
That lies across the lily leven?
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven.
Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
'And see ye not yon bonny road
At ilka tett o' her horse's mane,
That winds about the fernie brae?
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
That is the Road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.
True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low down on his knee:
'But,Thomas, ye sail haud your tongue,
'Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven!
Whatever ye may hear or see;
For thy peer on earth could never be.'
For speak ye word in Elfyn-land,
Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie.'
'O no, no, Thomas,' she said,
'That name does not belang to me;
they rade on, and farther on,
I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland,
And they waded rivers abune the knee;
That am hither come to visit thee.
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she said;
'Harp and carp along wi' me;
Itwas mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
And ye dare to kiss
if my lips,
They waded thro' red blude to the knee;
Sure of your bodie I will be.'
For a' the blude that's shed on the earth
Rins through the springs o' that countrie.
'Betide me weal, betide woe,me
That weird shall never daunten me.'
Syne they came to a garden green,
Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
'Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;
It will give thee the tongue that can never lee.'
'Now ye maun go wi' me,' she said,
'True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
'My tongue is my ain,' true Thomas he said;
And ye maun serve me seven years,
'A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be.'
1neither dought to buy or sell
At fair or tryst where might be. I
She's mounted on her milk-white steed,
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
'Idought neither speak to prince or peer,
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
—
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!'
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
'Now haud thy peace, Thomas,' she said,
'For as say, so must it be.'
I
they rade on, and farther on,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
Until they reach'd a desert wide,
And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green,
And living land was left behind.
And till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.
'Light down, light down now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three.

29 5 Tales of the Supernatural

The Wife of Usher's Well The cock he hadn't crow'd but once,
Anonymous Nor clapped wings that day,
his
When the youngest to the eldest said,
"Brother, we must away."
There lived a wife at Usher's well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
"The cock does crow, the day does dawn,
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
The channerin' worm does chide;
And sent them o'er the sea.
If we be miss'd out of our place,
A sore pain we must bide."
They hadn't been a week from her,
A week but barely one, "Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,
When word came to the aged wife Lie still but if we may;
That her three sons were gone.
If my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day."
They hadn't been a week from her,
A week but barely three, "Fare you well, my mother dear!
When word came to the aged wife
Farewell to barn and byre!
That her sons she'd never see.
And fare you well, the bonny lass

wish the wind may never cease,

That kindles my mother's fire!"
"I

Nor troubles from the flood,

Till my three sons come home to me
In earthly flesh and blood!"
Focus on Meaning
It about the Martinmas,
fell

When nights are long and dark,

1. Many traditional ballads contain elements of the
The aged wife's three sons came home, What unnatural things occurred in
supernatural.
And their hats were made of bark. each poem? List several modern stories you
know of that contain similar supernatural
It neither grew in marsh nor jntch, elements.
Nor yet in any slough;
2. Literature dealing with supernatural events often
But at the gates of Paradise
is "spooky" words and phrases from
in tone. List
That bark full freely grew.
the poems chapter that help develop the
in this
effect of "spookiness."
"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well! 3. Ballads often make heavy use of dialogue. Who
are the speakers in the imagined conversation in
For at my house we'll feast tonight
each poem?
Since my three sons are well."
4. There are many different versions of each tradi-
And she has made for them a bed, tional ballad. Modern versions
use of ballads
She's made it large and wide; modern words
English. Older versions contain
And she's taken her mantle her about, no longer used in modern English. Rewrite one
Sat down at the bedside.
of the poems in this chapter using modern-day
English.

Up then crew the red, red cock, 5. A ballad only gives a very brief outline of the
And up and crew the gray; story being told. The details are left to the
The eldest to the youngest said, reader's or listener's imagination. List the main
"Tis time we were away." eventsin one of the poems in this chapter. Now

add some details to each of the main events on

your list. Compare your list with that of a partner.

Tales from Long Ago 30

o Tales of Love

The art of falling in love is not a recent phenomenon. Barbara Allan

The theme of romantic love is the most common Anonymous
theme running through literature. The various love
themes are so familiar, one wonders what more can
be said about love. Listen to the radio, watch televi- It was in and about the Martinmas time,
sion, play the albums in your collection, or read any When the green leaveswere a-falling,
poetry anthology and you will see how common is That Sir John Graeme in the west country
the theme of romantic love in its various forms. Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
Lovers are imprisoned by love, enchanted by love,
made complete by love, and made lonely by love. He sent his man down through the town,
Love in these poems, stories, and songs can mean To the place where she was dwelling,
passion or pain, contentment or despair. It can be a "O haste and come to my master dear,
promise for tomorrow or be the stuff that memories Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
are made of.

The new poets and songwriters continue to O hooly, hooly rose she up
rework the well-known love themes, bringing fresh To the place where he was lying,
understanding and delight to the reader or listener. And when she drew the curtain by —
They employ modern images and ideas but the "Young man, I think you're dying."
results are the same. Love has made the world "go
'round" for as long as people can remember and "0 it's I am
and very, very sick,
sick,
such is still the case today. And Barbara Allan,"
'tis a' for

You have loved and do love so you know a great "O the better for me ye's never be,
deal about it already. Through you can
literature Tho' your heart's blood were a-spilling.
experience the love of others and thus gain for
yourself new insights into its mysteries. Characters "O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
in literature delight in love, despair in love, give all "When ye was in the tavern a-drinking,
for love, and even die for love. Many traditional That ye made the healths gae round and round,
ballads, like many modern songs, are love stories.
And slighted Barbara Allan?"
Many of them are tragic tales of love gone wrong
while others tell of love ending in bliss. Read the
He turned his face unto the wall,
love stories from long ago in this chapter. Note that
the joys and perils of loving are no different today And death was with him dealing:
from those of the past. "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,

And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up,

And slowly, slowly left him;
And sighing, said she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She was not gane a mile but two,

When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
It cry'd, "Woe to Barbara Allan!"

"O mother, mother, make my bed,

O make it soft and narrow,
Since my love died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."

31 6 Tales of Love
 Scarborough Fair Lord Randall
, Anonymous Anonymous

Are you going Scarborough Fair?

to "Where have you been all the day, Randall, my son?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; Where have you been all the day, my pretty one?"
Remember me to one that lives there, "I'vebeen to my sweetheart's, mother;
For once she was a true love of mine. I'vebeen to my sweetheart's, mother;
Please make my bed soon.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt, For I'm sick to the heart and fain would
I lie down."
Parsley, sage,rosemary and thyme;
Without any seam or fine needlework, "What have you been eating there, Randall, my son?
And then she'll be a true love of mine. What have you been eating there, my pretty one?"
"Eels and eel's broth, mother;
Tell her to wash yonder dry well,
it in Eels and eel's broth, mother;
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; Now make my bed soon,
Where water ne'er sprung, nor drop of rain fell, For I'm sick to the heart and I fain would lie down."
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
"What was the color of their skins, Randall, my son?
Tell her to dryon yonder thorn,
it What was the color of their skins, my pretty one?"
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; "Spickle and sparkle, mother;
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born, Spickle and sparkle, mother;
And then she'll be a true love of mine. Now make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart and I fain would lie down."
O, will you find me
an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; "Where did she get them from, Randall, my son?
Between the sea foam and the sea sand Where did she get them from, my pretty one?"
Or never be a true lover of mine. "From hedges and ditches, mother;
From hedges and ditches, mother;
Oh, you plough it with a lamb's horn,
will Now make my bed soon,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; For I'm sick to the heart and fain would
I lie down."
And sow it all over with one peppercorn,
Or never be a true lover of mine. "What will you leave your family, Randall, my son?
What will you leave your family, my pretty one?"
Oh, you reap it with a sickle of leather,
will "My gold and my silver, mother;
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; My gold and my silver, mother;
And tie it all up with a peacock's feather, Please make my bed soon,
Or never be a true lover of mine. For I'm sick to the heart and I fain would lie down."

And when you have done and finished your work, "What will you leave your sweetheart, Randall, my son?
Parsley, sage,rosemary and thyme; What will you leave your sweetheart, my pretty one?"
Then come to me for your cambric shirt, "A rope to hang her, mother;
And you shall be a true love of mine. A rope to hang her, mother;
Now make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart and I fain would lie down."

Tales from Long Ago 32

The Gypsy Rover Focus on Meaning
Anonymous
1. As you know, ballads are also songs. Look for
The gypsy rover come over the hill, recorded arrangements of the ballads in this
chapter. Learn to sing some of them. Perhaps
Bound through the valley so shady;
you might set the other ballads in this chapter to
He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang,
music of your own. In groups, you might want to
And he won the heart of a lady.
perform these ballads for the class.

Chorus: 2. Because ballads are simple stories they often

Ha di do, ah dido da day, leave out details. Readers or listeners can only
Ah di do, day dee;
ah di imagine what these details might be.
He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang, a) Read the poem "Barbara Allan" and list at

And he won the heart of a lady. least three questions that are left
unanswered in the poem. Now, using your
imagination and the facts from the poem,
She left her father's castle gate,
compose answers to these questions.
She left her own true lover;
b) In the poem "Lord Randall," we are not told
She left her servants and her estate,
why Lord Randall has been poisoned by his
To follow the gypsy rover.
sweetheart. Write a story telling why you
think she poisoned him.
Her father saddled his fastest steed,
Roamed the valley all over; 3. What the mood in "The Gypsy Rover"? List
is

Sought his daughter at great speed,

several words or phrases which suggest this
feeling in the poem. How does it compare with
And the whistling gypsy rover.
the mood of the other poems in this chapter?

He came at last to a mansion fine, 4. With a group, prepare a dramatic presentation of

Down by the river Clayde; one of the scenes from one of the ballads in this
And there was music, and there was wine, unit. You might like to use choral speaking,

For the gypsy and his lady. movement, dialogue, simple props, and sound
effects. Your group could write a short script,
rehearse, and present the scene to the class or
He's no gypsy, my father, said she,
another class in the school. The dialogue used in
My lord of freelands all over;
the poem may help you write the dialogue in your
And I will stay till my dying day,
script.
With my whistling gypsy rover.
5. List the name of a modern novel, movie, or televi-
sion program that tells of a tragic story of two
lovers. In what ways is the story similar to the
one in the poem? How is it different?

33 6 Tales of Love
o Tragic Tales of Treachery

What do William Lyon MacKenzie and Benedict The king he writt a letter then,
Arnold have in common? For one thing, both men A letter which was large and long;
were considered traitors to their countries. William He signed it with his owne hand;
Lyon MacKenzie gained notoriety by leading the ill- And he promised to doe him no wrong.
fated Rebellion in Upper Canada in 1837 while
Benedict Arnold became known as a traitor by When this letter came Johnie untill,
"selling out" to the British during the American
His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree:
Revolutionary War. Such treachery to one's country
"Never was I sent for before any king,
is known as treason. Historically, traitors have been

punished more severely than enemies for their faith-

My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee.

lessness, usually by death.

"And if wee goe the king before,
Treachery is a part of our lives. Being "turned in" Iwould we went most orderly;
by a friend when one has done something wrong is Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak,
often considered a treacherous act by the friend.
Laced with silver laces three.
The betrayal of our trust wounds us most when the
traitor is a close friend or a relative. At one time or
"Every won of you shall have his velvett coat,
another we have all been let down by friends or
Laced with silver lace so white;
relatives. Treachery is not surprising coming from
enemies but such acts by trusted friends and kin are O the golden bands about your necks,
rarely anticipated and hurt deeply. Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke."

Treachery is a common theme in traditional

By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock,
ballads. The ballads chapter tell of several
in this
Towards Edenburough gon was hee,
tragic tales of treachery. As you study these poems,
And with him all his eight score men;
try to think of similar modern-day examples of
treachery.
Good Lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!

When Johnie came befower the king,

He fell downe on his knee;
"O pardon, my soveraine leige," he said,
"O pardon my eight score men and mee!"

"Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong,

For thy eight score men nor thee;
Johnie Armstrong
For tomorrow morning by ten of the clock,
Anonymous
Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree."

There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, But Johnie looke'd over his left shoulder,
Johnie Armstrong men did him call, Good Lord, what a grievous look looked hee!
He had nither lands nor rents coming in, Saying, "Asking grace of a graceless face —
Yet he kept eight score men in his hall. Why there is none for you nor mee."

He had horse and harness for them all, But Johnie had a bright sword by his side,
Goodly steeds were all milke-white; And it was made of the mettle so free,
O the golden bands about their necks, That had not the king stept his foot aside,
And their weapons, they were all alike. He had smitten his head from his faire bodde.

Newes then was brought unto the king Saying, "Fight on, my merry men all,

That there was sicke a won as hee, And see that none of you be taine;
That lived lyke a bold out-law, For rather then men shall say we were hange'd,
And robbed all the north country. Let them report how we were slaine."

Tales from Long Ago 34

Then, God wott, faire Edenburough rose, Then the boy made ready and overboard sprang he,
And so besett poore Johnie rounde, And swam alongside of the Turkish enemy,
That fowerscore and tenn of Johnie's best men And with his auger sharp in her side he bored
Lay gasping all upon the ground. holes three,
And he sunk her in the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
Then like a mad man Johnie laid about, He sunk her in the Lowland sea.
And like a mad man then fought hee,
Untill came Johnie behinde,
a falce Scot Then the boy swam around, and back again swam he,
And runn him through the faire bodde. And he "The Golden Vanity."
called to the captain of
But the captain mocked, "You can drown for all of me!'
Saying, "Fight on, my merry men all, And he left him in the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
And see that none of you be taine; He left him in the Lowland sea.
For I will stand by and bleed but awhile,
And then will I come and fight againe." The boy swam around, he came to the port side,
He looked up at his messmates, and bitterly he cried:
Newes then was brought to young Johnie Armstrong, "Oh, messmates, take me up, for I'm drifting
As he stood by his nurse's knee, with the tide,
Who vowed if ere he live'd for to be a man, And I'm sinking in the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
On the treacherous Scots reveng'd hee'd be. I'm sinking in the Lowland sea."

Hismessmates took him up, but on the deck he died,

And they sewed him in a hammock that was so
large and wide.
They lowered him overboard, but he drifted
with the tide,
The Golden Vanity
And he sank beneath the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
Anonymous
He sank beneath the Lowland sea.

There was a gallant was she,

ship, a gallant ship
And the name was "The Golden Vanity,"
of the ship
And they feared she would be taken by the
Turkish enemy
As she sailed upon the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
As she sailed upon the Lowland sea.

Then up came a little cabin boy, and thus spoke he,

Speaking to the captain, "What will you give to me

If I swim alongside of the Turkish enemy

And sink her in the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,

And sink her in the Lowland sea?"

"I'll give you an estate in the North Countrie,

And my one and only daughter your lovely bride
shall be,
If you'll swim alongside of the Turkish enemy
And sink her in the Lowland, Lowland, Lowland,
And sink her in the Lowland sea."

35 7 Tragic Tales of Treachery

Whiskey in the Jar Focus on Meaning
Anonymous
1. Like many traditional ballads, "Johnie Arm-
As was a-goin' over Gilgary Mountain,
I
strong" is based on historical fact. The Border
Imet Colonel Pepper and his money he was countin'. country between England and Scotland was an
area of constant fighting between the Scots and
Idrew forth my pistol and rattled out I

the English in the sixteenth century. Johnie Arm-

my sabre saying:
strong was an English Border raider who was
"Stand and deliver for I am a bold deceiver."
tricked into visiting King James V of Scotland
and who was subsequently slain.
Chorus:
a) In groups of four, discuss whether King
Mush-a-rig-gum dur-um dye.
James V acted correctly in tricking and killing
Whack fol di dad-dy-o,
the "outlaw" and his men. Take just ten
Whack fol di dad-dy-o, minutes to discuss this and to record your
There's whiskey in the jar. ideas.
b) Select one member of the group to present
Those gold and silver coins they sure did your ideas to the rest of the class.
look inviting;
2. Since traditional ballads were passed down
So picked up the money and took it home to Molly.
I I
through the oral tradition, there are many ver-
She promised and she swore that she never sions of traditional ballads. Many of the versions
would deceive me; of "The Golden Vanity" have different endings.
But the Devil's in the women and they never In one, the captain awards the estate but refuses
can be easy. to give up his daughter. Think of another way
this ballad could have ended.
When awoke, 'twas between six and seven,
I
many
3. "Whiskey in the Jar" has been recorded
The guards they were around me, in numbers times. Bring a recording of this ballad to class
odd and even. and listen to the beat and melody. Note how
Isprang for my pistols, but alas was mistaken; I
these conform to the rhythm of the poem.
For Molly took my pistols and prisoner was taken. I
a) Try to set one of the other ballads in this
chapter to music. Do this individually or in
They threw me in jail, without a judge or writin', small groups. Begin by reading the ballad
For robbin' Colonel Pepper on that damn aloud. Get the feel of the rhythm. Experiment
Gilgary Mountain. with various melodies until you come up with
But they didn't take my fists, so I knocked one to fit stanza one. Use that melody for the
the sentry down, other stanzas.
And bid a fond farewell to that jail in Salem town. b) Share your musical version of the ballad you
chose with others in your class.
Now, some take delight in fishing and in bowling, 4. Treachery is still common today. Examine a
Others take delight in the carriages a-rolling. recent newspaper and list several examples of
But I take delight in the juice of the barley, modern-day treachery that are reported there.
And courtin' pretty maidens in the morning, Share and discuss your examples with a partner.
bright and early. Do you always agree on whether some action is
treacherous or not? How does point of view
affect one's interpretations of what is and is not
treacherous?

Tales from Long Ago 36

o Tales from a Young North America

The early settlers to North America brought with The Poor Little Girls of Ontario
them far more than just axe blades and ploughs, Anonymous
traps and fishing nets. The main component of their
baggage was their culture. The newcomers brought
with them their political, social, and religious beliefs I'll you a song of that plaguey pest,
sing
It goes by the name of the Great North-West.
and institutions. With them also came their art, their
music, and their literature. And so, a rich collection I cannot have a beau at all,
of traditional ballads was transplanted in the New They all skip out there in the fall.

World.
Refrain: One by one they all clear out,
Because this folk literature was in the oral tradi-
numerous new versions of old Scottish, Thinking to better themselves, no doubt,
tion,
English, Welsh, French, and Irish ballads were devel- Caring little how far they go
oped in the widely disparate pockets of western From the poor little girls of Ontario.
civilization that emerged all across North America.
Naturally the new situations in the New World gave First got mashed on Charlie Brown,
I

rise to many new story songs. Soon there were thou- The nicest fellow in all the town.
sands of ballads indigenous to North America that He tipped his hat and sailed away,
were sung by the common folk as they had been And now he's settled in Manitobay.
sung by their ancestors in their homeland. These
early North American songs were sung in the fishing Then Henry Mayner with his white cravat,
villages, on the farms, in the logging camps, and in
His high stiff collar and his new plug hat,
the mills, the mines, and the factories. These early
He said if he stayed he'd have to beg,
ballads told of the adventures of loggers, the perils
And now he's settled in Winnipeg.
of a life at sea, the ruggedness of the wild west, and

the troubles of the worker.

Then my long-legged druggist with his specs
on his nose,
I really thought he would propose,
But he's sold his bottle-shop and now he's gone
Clear out to little Saskatchewan.

I'll pack my clothes in a carpet sack,

I'll go out there and I'll never come back,
I'll find me a husband and a good one, too,
If I have to go through to Cariboo.

Last refrain: One by one we'll all clear out,

Thinking to better ourselves, no doubt,
Caring little how far we go
From the old, old folks of Ontario.

37 8 Tales from a Young North America

Come All You Bold Canadians
Anonymous

Come all you bold Canadians, I'd have you lend an ear

Concerning a fine ditty that would make your courage cheer,

Concerning an engagement that we had at Sandwich town,
The courage of those Yankee boys so lately we pulled down.

There was a bold commander, brave General Brock by name,

Took shipping at Niagara and down to York he came,
He says, "My gallant heroes, if you'll come along with me,
We'll fight those proud Yankees in the west of Canaday!"

'Twas thus that we replied: "Along with you we'll go,

Our knapsacks we will shoulder without any more ado.
Our knapsacks we will shoulder and forward we will steer;
We'll fight those proud Yankees without either dread or fear."

We travelled all that night and a part of the next day,

With a determination to show them British play.
We travelled all that night and a part of the next day,
With a determination to conquer or to die.

Our commander sent a flag to them and unto them did say:
"Deliver up your garrison or we'll fire on you this day!"
But they would not surrender, and chose to stand their ground,
We opened up our great guns and gave them fire a round.

Their commander sent a flag to us, for quarter he did call.

"Oh, hold your guns, brave British boys, for fear you slay us all.

Our town you have at your command, our garrison likewise."

They brought their guns and grounded them right down before our eyes.

And now we are all home again, each man is safe and sound.
May the memory of this conquest all through the Province sound!
Success unto our volunteers who did their rights maintain,
And to our bold commander, brave General Brock by name!

Tales from Long Ago 38

Jesse James Nova Scotia: A New Ballad
Anonymous Anonymous

It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was Let's away to New Scotland, where Plenty sits queen
shining bright, O'er as happy a country as ever was seen;
They robbed the Glendale train. And blesses her subjects, both little and great,
And the people they did say, from near and far away, With each a good house, and a pretty estate.
Twas the outlaws Frank and Jesse James. Derry down, (down, down, derry down).

Refrain:
There's wood, and there's water, there's wild fowl
and tame;
Jesse had a wife to mourn all her life,
In the forest good ven'son, good fish in the stream,
The children they are brave.
Twas a dirty little coward shot Mister Howard,
Good grass for our cattle, good land for our plough
And laid Jesse James in his grave.
Good wheat to be reap'd, and good barley to mow.
Derry down, etc.

Itwas Robert Ford, the dirty little coward, No landlords are there the poor tenants to teaze,
wonder how he does feel,
I
No lawyers to bully, nor stewards to seize:
For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
But each honest fellow's a landlord, and dares
Then he laid Jesse James in his grave. To spend on himself the whole fruit of his cares.

Derry down, etc.

It was Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,
his brother
And carried the money from the town. They've no duties on candles, no taxes on malt,
It was in this very place that they had a little race, Nor do they, as we do, pay sauce for their salt:
For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground. But all is as free as in those times of old,
When poets assure us the age was of gold.
They went to the crossing not very far from there, Derry down, etc.
And there they did the same;
And the agent on his knees he delivered up the keys Focus on Meaning
To the outlaws Frank and Jesse James.

1. a) In Little Girls of Ontario," why were

It was on a Saturday night, Jesse
Talking to his family brave,
When the thief and the coward,
Laid Jesse James in his grave.
How people held their breath when they heard
of Jesse's death,
And wondered how he ever came to die
Twas one of the gang, dirty Robert Ford,
That shot Jesse James on the
Jessewent to his rest with his hand on his breast.
The devil will be upon his knee.
He was born one day in the county of Clay,
And came from a solitary race.
"The Poor
was at home
the young men of Ontario moving to the
North-West? Why do young people today
little Robert Ford,
often move from one part of Canada to
another?
b) Write a newspaper ad for the Canadian
government in 1890, encouraging young peo-
ple to settle in the North-West.
2. The courage of Canadian and British soldiers
under the leadership of General Brock is re-
sly.
counted in this ballad. Are the facts in this
ballad presented in an unbiased way? Was there
a clear victor in the War of 1812?
3. Write a newspaper account of the murder of
Jesse James or of the battle in "Come All You
Bold Canadians." Make sure your news story
answers the 5 W's of good report writing.
4. The ballad "Nova Scotia: A New Ballad"
appeared in England around 1750 just after the
new pioneer town of Halifax had been estab-
lished. The author had a purpose for composing
this ballad. What do you think it was?

39 8 Tales from a Young North America

Focus on Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

hence Scott is credited with preserving, for future

generations, a wealth of traditional ballads that
might otherwise have been lost.

Scott also translated some German ballads and

composed ballads of his own imitating the tradi-
tional balladform he had learned. "Lochinvar" is
one well-known example of Scott's ballads.
Scott is better known for his metrical romances.
These are long complex narrative poems of which
"Lady of the Lake" is an example. This one-hundred-
page poem, composed in 1809, is considered one of
the best metrical romances in English literature.
Scott was also well known for his criticism and
review.

Scott's greatest success came as a writer of

popular historical romance. He wrote nearly thirty of
these novels in his lifetime. Ivanhoe is one of his
novels that is still widely read today.

At the height of his career, Sir Walter Scott was

the most renowned writer of his day. He enjoyed
tremendous popularity all through Europe and in the
United States. Through his works, Scott presented
his country, its people and its history, to the world.
He became a national hero.
Writing brought Scott wealth as well as great
renown. He was able to live a comfortable life on his
estate at Abbotsford for many years. He is known to
have worked on his writing in the morning before his
family awoke. His afternoons were taken up with his
family, with riding and hunting. In 1825, during a
SirWalter Scott was born in Edinburgh, Scotland in
serious economic depression in England, Scott was
1771. He spent many of his boyhood years living on
financially ruined. He wrote feverishly to pay his
his grandparents' farm at Sandyknowe in Border
debts and repaid most of them before his death in
country. There he became immersed in the history,
1832. In spite of his financial failure, Scott retained
the legends, and the poetry of the colourful Border
his good humour and dignity to the end.
area between Scotland and England. He spent many
a day learning Border ballads from his grandparents.
His passion for the romance of the Border country
never left him. As a student at Edinburgh University
and later, as a young lawyer, he made many trips to
Border country absorbing the history and folk litera-
ture of the area. It is said that he became familiar
with every ruin and every battleground in the region.

Scott, after turning his back on law to pursue a

literary career, became known as a collector of
ballads. His first literary success, Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border, was published in 1802. This book
was one of the first collections of traditional ballads
many of which related the tales of the Border coun-
try Scott had heard as a boy. Most of these ballads
were published for the first time in this book, and

Tales from Long Ago 40

Hunting Song Border March

Waken, and ladies gay!

lords March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
On the mountain dawns the day, Why the deil dinna yemarch forward in order?
All the jolly chase is here, March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear; All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Hounds are in their couples yelling, Many a banner spread,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Fluttersabove your head,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, Many a crest that famous in story.
is

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Waken, lords and ladies gay! Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming, II

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;

And foresters have busy been Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
To track the buck in thicket green; Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Now we come to chant our lay, Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,
Waken, lords and ladies gay! War-steeds are bounding,
To the green-wood haste away; Stand to your arms and march in good order,
We can show you where he lies, England shall many a day
Fleet of foot, and tall of size; bloody fray,
Tell of the
We can show the marks he made, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay, —
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,

Waken, lords and ladies gay!

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk?
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

41 Focus on Sir Walter Scott

Focus on Sir Walter Scott

Bonny Dundee As they watch'd for the bonnets of

Bonny Dundee.
To the Lords of Convention 'twas
Come fill up my cup, &c.
Claver'se who spoke,
'Ere the King's crown shall fall there
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits
are crowns to be broke;
and had spears,
So let each Cavalier who loves honour
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;
and me,
But they shrunk to close-heads, and
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny
the causeway was free,
Dundee.
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny
Dundee.
Chorus:
'Come fill up my cup, come fill up
Come fill up my cup, &c.
my can,
Come saddle your horses, and call
He spurr'd to the foot of the proud
up your men; Castle rock,
Come open the West Port, and let And with the gay Gordon he gallantly
me gang free, spoke;
And room for the bonnets
it's of
'LetMons Meg and her marrows
Bonny Dundee!' speak twa words or three,
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up
Dundee.'
the street,
The bells are rung backward, the
Come fill up my cup, &c.
drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said, The Gordon demands of him which
'Just e'en let him be, way he goes —
The Gude Town weel quit of that
is
'Where'er shall direct me the shade
Deil of Dundee.
of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear
Come fill up my cup, &c.
tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny
As he rode down the sanctified bends
Dundee.
of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her
Come fill up my cup, &c.
pow;
But the young plants of grace they
'There are hills beyond Pentland, and
look'd couthie and slee,
lands beyond Forth,
Thinking, 'Luck to thy bonnet, thou
If there's lords in the Lowlands,
Bonny Dundee!' there's chiefs in the North;
There are wild Duniewassals, three
Come fill up my cup, &c.
thousand times three,
Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of
With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-
market was cramm'd
Bonny Dundee.
As if half the West had set tryst to
Come fill up my cup, &c.
be hang'd;
There was spite in each look, there
was fear in each e'e,

Tales from Long Ago 42

There's brass on the target of Focus on Sir Walter Scott
barken'd bull-hide;
There's steel in the scabbard that
1. Scott was a romantic, proud of his Scottish
dangles beside; heritage and history. Make a list of words and
The brass shall be burnish'd, the steel phrases used in the poems in this collection
shall flash free, which reveal Scott's sense of pride.
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny
2. Organize a "Sir Walter Scott Day" for your class
Dundee.
or for your school. Become involved in one or
more of the following activities that could be
Come fill up my cup, &c.
presented to the class or other classes.
• recitals of traditional Border ballads
'Away to the hills, to the caves, to
• recitals of Scott's shorter poems
the rocks — • a dramatization of one scene from one of
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with Scott's ballads
the fox; • a folk concert of traditional Border ballads
And tremble, false Whigs, in the • an oral presentation on one of Scott's metrical
midst of your glee, romances
You have not seen the last of my • an oral presentation on one of Scott's novels
bonnet and me!' • a book display of Scott's works

Come fill up my cup, &c. 3. Much of Scott's writing is based, at least in part,
on historical fact. Research the wars between
England and Scotland and the history of the
He waved proud hand, and the
his
Border country. Select one incident or one battle
trumpets were blown,
in this long struggle and write a one-page
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the
summary of it.
horsemen rode on,
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on

Clermiston's lee,
Died away the wild war-notes of
Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up

my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up
the men,
Come open your gates, and let me
gae free,
For it's up with the bonnets of
Bonny Dundee!

43 Focus on Sir Walter Scott

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 44
 Literary Tales in Ballad Form

The literary ballad has its roots in the traditional legendary Woodie Guthrie was in the forefront of a
ballad, sharing many characteristics with this earlier new group of composers whose songs commented
form. The literary ballad is different in that it is com- on the social issues of the day. During the fifties,
posed by a person who considers himself or herself groups such as The Weavers, The Kingston Trio, The
to be a poet. Poets such as Keats, Tennyson, Auden, Chad Mitchell Trio, The Travellers, and The Brothers
Longfellow, Sandburg, and Noyes are well known for Four were popular as performers of both traditional
their literary ballads. Being more artistic than the and modern ballads. In the early sixties, folk ballads
traditional ballad, the literary ballad is also known again became very popular. This new generation of
as the art ballad. ballads are carefully
Literary literary ballads commented strongly on social
planned, highly polished, contain more detail than justice issues related especially to civil rights, the
the traditional ballad, and use carefully chosen peace movement, and environmental concerns.
literary devices. They are not usually composed to Some of the best known of the modern balladeers
be sung. While being more "poetic," literary ballads are Bob Dylan, Gordon Lightfoot, Judy Collins, Pete
lack the stark realism and simplicity of the original Seeger, Phil Ochs, Ian Tyson, Buffy Saint-Marie,
form. Harry Chapin, Chris de Burg, and Roger Whittaker.

In modern form of literary ballad

recent years, a All of the poems in this unit are literary ballads.
modern folk song has gained in popularity.
called the Some have more literary merit than others, yet they
These modern ballads are often simpler than the all have a story to tell. As you read or listen to the
earlier literary ballads and have become popular as following ballads, notice how the simple story is

songs. During the Depression of the thirties, the enriched by the literary skills of the poet.

45
o
The story
Outlaws or Heroes ?

of Robin Hood ismany. As you

familiar to Heather Ale
may recall in band of
this story, the leader of a Robert Louis Stevenson
thieves and his followers are considered to be the
heroes. Though Robin and his band live outside the
law, they are "heroes" because they take from the From the bonny bells of heather
evil, unjust rich and give to the needy, downtrodden They brewed a drink long-syne,
poor. The villains of the story are the protectors of Was sweeter far than honey,
established law and order, the Sheriff of Nottingham Was stronger far than wine.
and his force. These early "police officers" are seen They brewed it and they drank it,

as the villains in this famous story because the And lay in a blessed swound
existing social order which they police is described For days and days together
as corrupt and unjust. Is Robin Hood an outlaw or a In their dwellings underground.
hero? It all depends on point of view on the side—
one supports.
There rose a king in Scotland,
The main characters the ballads in this chapter
in A fell man to his foes,
are gallant heroes or common outlaws, depending He smote the Picts in battle,
on one's point of view. All defy the established He hunted them like roes.
authority of the time. As you read these poems, try to Over miles of the red mountain
develop your own point of view. Are these people
He hunted as they fled,
heroes, outlaws, or something else?
And strewed the dwarfish bodies
Of the dying and the dead.

Summer came in the country,

Red was the heather bell;
But the manner of the brewing
Was none alive to tell.
In graves that were like children's
On many a mountain head,
The Brewsters of the Heather
Lay numbered with the dead.

The king in the red moorland

Rode on a summer's day;
And the bees hummed, and the curlews
Cried beside the way.
The king rode, and was angry,
Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather
And lack the Heather Ale.

It fortuned that his vassals,

Riding free on the heath,
Came on a stone that was fallen
And vermin hid beneath.
Rudely plucked from their hiding,
Never a word they spoke:
A son and his aged father —
Last of the dwarfish folk.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 46

The king sat high on his charger, 'Truewas the word told you; I

He looked on the little men; Only my son feared; I

And the dwarfish and swarthy couple For doubt the sapling courage
I

Looked at the king again. That goes without the beard.

Down by the shore he had them; But now in vain is the torture,
And there on the giddy brink — Fire shall never avail:
will give you life, ye vermin,
'I Here dies in my bosom
For the secret of the drink.' The secret of Heather Ale.'

There stood the son and father

And they looked high and low;
The heather was red around them
The sea rumbled below.
And up and spoke the father,
Shrillwas his voice to hear:
'I have a word in private,
A word for the royal ear.

'Life is dear to the aged,

And honour a little thing;
Waltzing Matilda
I would glady sell the secret,'
A.B. Paterson
Quoth the Pict to the King.
His voice was small as a sparrow's,
And shrill and wonderful clear; Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
'I would gladly sell my secret, Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
Only my son fear. I And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"
'For life is a little matter,
And death is nought to the young; Chorus:
And dare not sell my honour
I Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
Under the eye of my son. come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
You'll
Take him, O king, and bind him, And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
And cast him far in the deep; (stowed that jum-buck in his tucker bag)
And it's I will tell the secret "You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"
That I have sworn to keep.'
Down came a jumbuck to drink at the billabong,
They took the son and bound him, Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
Neck and heels in a thong, And he sang as he stowed that jum-buck in his tucker bag,
And a lad took him and swung him, "You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"
And flung him far and strong,
And the sea swallowed his body, Up rode the mounted on his thoroughbred,
squatter,
Like that of a child of ten; — Down came the troopers, one, two three:
And there on the cliff stood the father, "Where's that jolly jumbuck
Last of the dwarfish men. You've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"

Up jumped the swagman, sprang into the billabong.

"You'll never catch me alive," said he.
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"

47 9 Outlaws or Heroes?
The Highwayman
Alfred Noyes

Part 1

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding —
Riding — riding —
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin:
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,

And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred:
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim, the ostler, listened; his face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair likemoldy hay;
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter:
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say —
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight:
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand;

But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight)
Then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the
West.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 48

Part 2

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
the road
A came marching —
red-coat troop
Marching — marching —
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead;

said
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And Hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest:

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her
breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say —
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years;
now, on the stroke of midnight,
Till,

Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!

Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing: she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her Love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! The horse-hoofs ringing clear —

Had they heard it?

Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still!

49 9 Outlaws or Heroes?
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him — with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the Westward; he did not know who stood

Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her Love in the moonlight; and died in the darkness
there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when

wind is in the
the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding —
Riding — riding —
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;

And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred:
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 50

Focus on Meaning

1. How do the heroes in each poem defy estab-

lished authority?

2. What forces are in conflict in each poem? How

was the conflict in each resolved?
3. Write a descriptive paragraph. Use one of the
major characters from one of the poems in this
chapter as your subject. Use details from the
poem. Remember that your task is to describe
one of these subjects and not to narrate.
4. With a small group, select one of the poems from
this chapter and prepare to read it aloud. Plan
your interpretation and your arrangement of the
parts in the poem. Rehearse your presentation.
Add sound effects, if you like. Play a tape record-
ing of your poem or present it live to the class.
Compare your arrangement with that of another
group which selected the same poem.

5. All ofthe main characters in these poems are

outlaws yet they are presented as heroes. List
modern 'good guys' from television or the
movies that usually find themselves on the other
side of the law. Would you consider them
heroes? Why or why not?

6. Hold a debate around one of the following

resolutions:
• The highwayman was nothing more than a
common thief.
• It was not worth dying to keep the secret of
Heather Ale.

7. Dramatize "The Highwayman" in the form of a

radio play. You will need an announcer, a nar-
rator, and actors. You may want to use a chorus,
music, and sound effects. It will be necessary to
write a script and to rehearse your drama. Tape
your radio play or do it live for the class.

51 9 Outlaws or Heroes?
©
Bob
Towards a Better World

Dylan, one of the most influential folk poets of
the early sixties tells us, "And the times, they are
a'changin'." The twentieth century has been one of
great transition. 1900 many travelled by horse and
In
buggy. In 1982 we have flown spaceships into space
and brought them back again. Change has become a
central theme in literature. While we are aware of
rapid change, we more and more want to influence
the direction of change. Society today is more
aware, more knowledgeable, and more outspoken
about change. It is more committed to having some
influence over change. If we don't like what we see
in society, we are better prepared to speak out or to
make protest to effect changes we believe to be
desirable.
writers of this form of literary ballad are Woodie
Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Judy Collins, Phil
Ochs, John Prine, Buffy St. Marie, Paul Simon, Neil
Young, Joni Mitchell, and Harry Chapin. As you
study the song poems with a message in this
chapter, decide whether you agree or disagree with
the points of view put forward. Seek out other exam-
ples of this form composed by the writers listed
above and discuss the social-justice statements
made.

Although particularly alive in the early sixties, pro-

test movements have always been with us and
always will be. The tradition of protest is not new. Cats in the Cradle
During the Middle Ages, university students were Harry and Sandy Chapin
outspoken protestors of the existing social order.
Protestantism has, as its root, the word protest.
Blake and Shelley were writers of protest poetry in A child arrived just the other day.
their day. They were both appalled and outraged by He came into the world in the usual way.
war and would have been in the forefront of the But there were planes to catch and bills to pay.
Peace Marches of the sixties. William Butler Yeats He learned to walk while was away. I

was an ardent protestor of the evils in society. Like And he was talking 'fore knew it I

the modern American folk poet, Phil Ochs, Yeats And as he grew he'd say,
became a predictor of doom for a society that was "I'm gonna be like you, Dad.
beyond saving. Walt Whitman, an outspoken critic
You know I'm gonna be like you."
of conventionalism, and Henry David Thoreau, who
protested materialism, had much in common with
the "flower power" generation and would have felt
And the cats in the cradle,

quite at home at Woodstock. Poets have always

and the silver spoon
been protestors. They have always worked towards a Little Boy Blue
better world. And the Man in the Moon.
"When you comin' home, Dad?
As a reader of protest poetry one does not neces-
"I don't know when, but we'll get together then,
sarily have to believe in the point of view being
son.
presented to enjoy the poem. Reading a poem which
cries out against the horrors of war can help us
You know we'll have a good time then."
experience what the poet is describing, and share
the feelings evoked. To enjoy and appreciate the Well, my son turned ten, just the other day.
poem does not mean that we must also whole- He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad.
heartedly embrace the ideas being presented. Come on, let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?"
Some literary ballads are written to comment on
I said, "Not today. I've got a lot to do."
some believed truth about life or to persuade the
listener of the justice of some moral point of view. In
He said, "That's okay."

recent times, these ballads have often taken the And he walked away, but his smile never
form of the folk song. Such songs were most popular dimmed.
during the Great Depression and again during the And he said, "I'm gonna be like him.
sixties. These song poems comment on topics such You know I'm gonna be like him."
as war, civil rights, poverty, unionism, alienation,
injustice, and ecology. Some of the most successful

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 52

And the cats in the cradle, Ballad of Birmingham
and the silver spoon, Dudley Randall
Little Boy Blue
And the Man in the Moon.
Mother dear may I go downtown
"When you comin' home, Dad?"
Instead of out to play
"I don't know when, but we'll get together then,
and march the streets of Birmingham
son.
In a freedom march today?
You know we'll have a good time then."
No baby no, you may not go
Well, he came from college just the other day,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
So much like a man I just had to say,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
"Son, I'm proud of you.
Aren't for a little child.
Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head But mother won't be alone,
I

And he said with a smile,

Other children will go with me
"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car
And march the streets of Birmingham
keys.
To make our people free.
See you later.

Can I have them, please?" No baby you may not go

no,
I guns will fire,
fear the
And the cats in the cradle,
But you may go to church instead and sing in the
and the silver spoon,
children's choir.
Little Boy Blue
And the Man in the Moon. She's combed and brushed her night dark hair
"When you comin' home, son?" And bathed rose petal sweet,
"I don't know when, but we'll get together then, And drawn white gloves on small brown hands,
Dad. White shoes on her feet.
You know we'll have a good time then."
Her mother smiled to know her child
Well, I've long since retired. Was in that sacred place,
My son's moved away. But that smile was the last
I called him up just the other day. Smile to come to her face.
I said, "I'd like to see you, if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time For when she heard the explosion
You see, my new job's a hassle and the kids have Her eyes grew wet and wild,
the flu. She raced through the streets of Birmingham
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad. Yelling for her child.
been sure nice talking to you."
It's

And as he hung up the phone, it occurred to me She dug in bits of glass and brick,
He had grown up just like me. Then pulled out a shoe —
My boy was just like me. here is the shoe my baby wore
But baby where are you?
And the cats in the cradle,
and the silver spoon,
Little Boy Blue
And the Man in the Moon.
"When you comin' home, son?"
"I don't know when, but we'll get together then,
Dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

53 10 Towards a Better World

The Universal Soldier Come writers and critics
Buffy Sainte-Marie Who prophesy with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again.
He's five foot two and he's six feet four,
And don't speak too soon
he fights with missiles and with spears,
For the wheel's still in spin
He's all of thirty-one and he's only seventeen,
And there's no tellin' who
he's been a soldier for a thousand years.
That it's namin'
For the loser now
He's a Catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jain,
Will be later to win
a Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew,
For the times they are a-changin'.
And he knows he shouldn't killand he knows he always will
kill you for me, my friend, and me for you;
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
And he's fighting for Canada, he's fighting for France,
Don't stand in the doorway
he's fighting for the U.S.A.,
Don't block up the hall.
And he's fighting for the Russians and he's fighting for Japan,
For he that gets hurt
and he thinks we'll put an end to war that way.
Will be he who has stalled
And he's fighting for democracy, he's fighting for the Reds,
There's a battle

he says it's for the peace of all, Outside and it's ragin'

He's the one who must decide who's to live and who's to die, It'll soon shake your windows
and he never sees the writing on the wall. And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
But without him how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau,
without him Caesar would have stood alone, Come mothers and fathers,
He's the one who gives his body as a weapon of the war,
Throughout the land
and without him all this killing can't go on. And don't criticize
What you can't understand.

He's the Universal Soldier and he really is to blame, Your sons and your daughters
his orders come from far away no more, Are beyond your command
They come from him and you and me, and, brothers can't you see, Your old road is
This is not the way we put an end to war. Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you your hand
can't lend
For the times they are a-changin'.
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Bob Dylan The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now will
Come gather 'round people
Later be fast.
Wherever you roam
As the present now
And admit that the waters
Will later be past
Around you have grown
The order is rapidly fadin'
And accept soon
it that
And the first one now
You'll be drenched to the bone,
Will later be last
If your time to you
For the times they are a-changin'.
Is worth savin'

Then you better start swimmin'

Or you'll sink like a stone,
For the times they are a-changin'!

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 54

 :

Focus on Meaning Buffy Sainte-Marie, Paul Simon, and Bob Dylan

have had their song poems recorded by
numerous singers. Research records in your own
1. Make a collection of poems on the theme of war.
collection or in record stores and make as com-
Some poems to look for might be:
plete a list as possible of the various artists that
"Dulce Et Decorum Est" —
Wilfred Owen
have recorded their songs. List the artist with the
"I Ain't Marching Anymore" —
Phil Ochs
song recorded. Note how many different singers
"The Battle of Blenheim" —
Robert Southey
have recorded these writers' most popular song
"The Man He Killed" —
Thomas Hardy poems. Make a brief report to the class on your
"In Flanders Fields" — John McCrae findings.
"The Charge of the Light Brigade" — Alfred Lord
Tennyson Organize an evening of folk singing and poetry
Some of these poems celebrate past glories reading for your school. Set up a section of your
while others comment strongly against war. gymnasium as a coffee house with tables,
Many points of view may be represented in your chairs, and a small stage at the front. Individuals
collection. Write a one-page paper on the theme can take turns singing or reading story poems
of war in poetry based on the poems you have that make some social comment. You may invite

gathered. a local folksinger to perform. You may wish to

serve coffee, soft drinks, and snacks at your
2. Select one poet referred to in this chapter and do "coffee house."
a detailed study of his or her life and works.
Refer to anthologies, records, biographies, and
other sources to collect your information.
Prepare a written or oral report that
• deals with the life of the poet
• comments on his or her major poems with
regard to theme
3. Many song poems in commented on
the sixties
the American civil rights movement and later on
the peace movement. Listen to a variety of song
poems recorded by such singers as Joni Mit-
chell, PhilOchs, Joan Baez, Paul Simon, Judy
Collins, and Peter, Paul and Mary that deal with
one of these issues. Prepare an oral report on the
movement you selected to study as it was
recorded in these song poems. Newspaper
articles from the period and other resources
could be used to support your presentation.

4. Harry Chapin was well known during the seven-

ties as a singer/composer of what he called story
songs. All of Chapin's song poems tell a detailed
story and at the same time attempt to point out
to us some truth about life. Study several of
Chapin's story songs and prepare an oral report
for the class that focusses on the messages he
presents to his listeners.

55 10 Towards a Better World

o The Cruel Sea

Seafarers throughout history have been married to The Wreck of the Hesperus
the sea and this bond between seafarer and sea is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
many faceted. It is a love-hate relationship. The sea
as provider is described in loving terms. It is the
parent that generously gives so that the seafarer can It was the schooner Hesperus,
enjoy the pleasures of home and family. The sea as That sailed the wintry sea;
destroyer is described in violent terms. It is the And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
hungry dog or raging devil that attacks ships and To bear him company.
batters them against reefs and rocky shores. Sea-
farers have always had to respect the great power of Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
the sea to bring home a good catch, to deliver an Her cheeks like the dawn
of the day,
important cargo, or to transport travellers. And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
Even in modern times, those who fish or sail for a That ope in the month of May.
living many hazards when they go to sea.
face
Modern technology has made the sea a safer place The skipper he stood beside the helm,
on which to work but from time to time even the His pipe was in his mouth,
most sophisticated of ships and oil rigs fall victim to And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
the power of the sea. In spite of these risks many The smoke now West, now South.
men and women in Atlantic Canada, British Colum-
bia, and the Great Lakes region make fishing and Then up and spake an old Sailor,
sailoring a way of life.
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
The awesome power of the sea and its effect on "I pray thee, put into yonder port,
humanity has made it a popular theme in literature. For I fear a hurricane.
Great and perilous sea voyages were often major
components of Greek and Roman myths. Numerous "Last night, themoon had a golden ring,
other stories and poems have been composed since And no moon we see!"
to-night
these that attempt to capture this daring, rugged
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
lifestyle. In Canada we have a rich heritage of sea
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
ballads that recount distressing
brave tales of
sailors, bold captains, powerful gales, and spec-
Colder and louder blew the wind,
tacular shipwrecks.
A gale from the Northeast,
All of the poems in this chapter tell the tale of a The snow fell hissing in the brine,
ship lost at sea. Two of these accounts are based on And the billows frothed like yeast.
true stories. As you read or listen to these poems, try
to develop an appreciation of the seafarer's unique Down came the storm, and smote again
way of life.
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat

Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 56

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, At daybreak, on a bleak sea-beach,
Oh what may it be?"
say, A fisherman stood aghast,
"Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" To see the form of a maiden fair,
And he steered for the open sea. Lashed close to a drifting mast.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
Oh say, what may it be?" The salt tears in her eyes;
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
In such an angry sea!" On the billows fall and rise.

"O see a gleaming light,

father! I Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
Oh what may it be?"
say, In the midnight and the snow!
But the father answered never a word, Christ save us all from a death like this,
A frozen corpse was he. On the reef of Norman's Woe.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed

That saved she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between

A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,

She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves

Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

57 11 The Cruel Sea

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the big lake
they called Gitche Gumee.
The lake it is said never gives up her dead, when the skies of
November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore 26,000 tons more than the Edmund Fitzgerald
weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed when the gales of
November came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side, comin' back from some
mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most, with a crew
and good captain well seasoned,
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms, when they
left fully loaded for Cleveland,
And later that night when the ship's bell rang, could it be the
north wind they's bin feelin'.

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound and a wave broke over
the railing,
And every man knew as the captain did too, 'twas the witch of
November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait, when the gales
of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain, in the face of a hurricane
west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck saying, "Fellas
too rough to feed ya."
it's

At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in he said, "Fellas it's bin

good to know ya."
The captain wired in he had water comin' in and the good ship and
crew was in peril,
And later that night when its lights went out of sight came the
wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn
the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay — if they'd
more miles behind 'em.
put fifteen
They might have split up or they might have capsized, they may have
broke deep and took water,
And all that remains is the faces and the names of the wives and
the sons and the daughters.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 58

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings, in the rooms of her ice water
mansion,
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams, the islands and
bays are for sportsmen,
And farther below Lake Ontario takes in what Lake Erie can send
her,
And the Iron boats go as the mariners all know, with the gales
of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed in the maritime

sailors' cathedral,
The church bell chimed 'til it rang 29 times for each man on
the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the big lake
they called Gitche Gumee.
Superior they said never gives up her dead when the gales of
November come early.

The Ballad of the Bluenose

David Martins

In the town Lunenburg down Nova Scotia way,

of
In nineteen twenty-one on a windy day,
A sailing ship was born —
the Bluenose was her name,
You'll never see her kind again.

Refrain: Bluenose! The ocean knows her name,

Sailors know how proud a ship was she.
Bluenose! Leaning in the wind,
Racing ev'ry wave on the sea.

Her sails were snowy white, they strained against the mast,
Her spray flew high as she went racing past,
And from the very first, the Bluenose loved to run,
She loved the smell of sea and of sun.

For twenty-five long years she ruled the Northern sea,

Riding like a queen on the tide,

But in the Caribbean one dark and stormy day,

She ran into a reef and died.

Now just the other day, down Nova Scotia way,

In Lunenburg they christened a ship,
Just like the old Bluenose down to the very name,
The Bluenose lives and sails again.

59 11 The Cruel Sea

The Wreck of the "Julie Plante" Moral
William Henry Drummond
Now all good wood scow sailor man
Tak' warning by dat storm
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, An' go an' marry some nice French girl
De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' leev on wan beeg farm.
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante" De win' can blow lak' hurricane
Got scar't an' run below — An' s'pose she blow some more,
For de win' she blow lak' hurricane You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre
Bimeby she blow some more, So long you stay on shore.
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre
Wan arpent from de shore. Focus on Meaning

De captinne walk on de fronte deck,

An' walk de deck too
hin' — 1. Memorize "The Wreck of the Hesperus" or "The
He call de crew from up de hole Wreck of the "Julie Plante'" and prepare it for
recitation. In groups of four, take turns reciting
He call de cook also.
your poems. You may want to present your inter-
De cook she's name was Rosie,
pretation of your poem to the class.
She come from Montreal,
Was chambre maid on lumber barge, 2. The freighter Edmund Fitzgerald did sink in Lake
On de Grande Lachine Canal. Superior on a stormy November day in 1975 with
the loss of all hands. Like many ballads, the

De win' she blow from nor'/eas'/wes'
De sout' win' she blow too,
W'en Rosie cry "Mon cher captinne,
Mon cher, w'at I shall
Den de captinne t'row de big ankerre,
But still the scow she dreef,
De crew he can't pass on de shore,
— Lightfoot account of this tragedy is based on
historical fact. In the public library, research
newspaper articles which reported on the event.
From these articles, piece together as complete
do?"
a story as possible of this shipwreck and prepare
an oral presentation for the class.
3. As a crew member on the Edmund Fitzgerald,

Becos' he los' hees skeef.

you have kept a diary for many years. Only hours
before the freighter sinks in the violent November
gale, with little hope of rescue, you make your
De night was dark lak' wan black cat,
final entry in this diary. Write that entry.
De wave run high an' fas',
W'en de captinne tak' de Rosie girl 4. The story Bluenose is one celebrated in
of the

An' tie her to de mas'. Canadian Evidence for this is seen in the
history.

Den he also fact that the Bluenose has been commemorated

tak' de life preserve,
on the Canadian dime. Research the facts about
An' jomp off on de lak',
the famed Nova Scotian schooner and prepare a
An' say, "Good-bye, ma Rosie dear,
concise one-page report. Compare your report
I go drown for your sak'."
with that of a partner.

Nex' morning very early 5. "The Ballad of the Bluenose" has been recorded.
two — free — four —
'Bout ha'f-pas' Listen to a recording of this ballad in class.

De captinne — scow — an' de poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore,
For de win' she blow lak'
Bimeby she blow some more,
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
Wan arpent from de shore.
Listen to other albums containing sea ballads
from Atlantic Canada. Compare differences in
renditions, if possible.
hurricane
6. Write an imagined interview between you and
William Henry Drummond that focusses on his
life in Quebec, his love for French Canadians,
and the humour in his poetry. To prepare to write,
you will need to study more Drummond poetry
and learn something of his life. When it is com-
plete, dramatize your interview with a partner for
your group or the class.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 60

Focus on Robert Service (1874-1958)
Robert William Service was born in England but
spent his boyhood in Ayrshire, Scotland where he
became fascinated by the romantic stories and
poems of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Steven-
son. He was known as an imaginative, shy child who
displayed a gift for rhyming at an early age. Service
attended high school in Glasgow and apprenticed in
the Commercial Bank of Scotland. During these
years, he read widely and experimented with writing.
Being captivated by rhyming, Service came to enjoy
the work of poets such as Edgar Allan Poe.
Service came to Canada 1886 in search of
in
adventure and freedom. His early years in Canada
were disappointing. He worked for two years as a
farm labourer. He then tried his luck in San Fran-
cisco but, out of money, he lived most of his time
there with bums and hobos. He travelled to Mexico
and into the American South-West. For a period of
several months in 1898, he took up singing and play-
ing a guitar as he travelled through Colorado,
Nevada, and Arizona. The loss of his guitar made
him think of finding better paying work and, hence,
he returned to British Columbia in 1899 to work on a
large ranch.
61
Service found himself in the Yukon quite by acci-
dent. He had always wanted white-collar employ-
ment and so, in 1903, he took a position with the
Canadian Bank of Commerce in Victoria, British
Columbia. In 1904, he was transferred to
Whitehorse. It was here that the bank teller Robert
Service became the poet Robert Service of interna-
tional renown.
In the Yukon, Service was surrounded by absorb-
ing tales and all kinds of adventurous people. By
applying to these tales and characters his love of
romance and his skills as a rhymer and as an astute
observer of human behaviour, Service produced the
kind of poetry that he is still remembered for today.
By 1909, he was a great literary triumph. His Songs
of a Sourdough written at Whitehorse was the most
successful book of poetry of its time. This collection
contains such well-known ballads as "The Spell of
the Yukon," "The Cremation of Sam McGee," and
"The Shooting of Dan McGrew." Service travelled all
through the North after this early success. He com-
pleted Rhymes of a Rolling Stone in Dawson. This
book is a collection of ballads of the Mackenzie
River basin and of the Arctic.
After he left the Yukon, Service worked briefly as a
war correspondent for the Toronto Star. In 1916, Ser-
vice enlisted as an ambulance driver for the Cana-
dian Army Medical Corps. Another very successful
collection of verse, Rhymes of a Red Cross Man,
was written as a direct response to his experiences
during the war years.
In went to Hollywood where his "The
1921, Service
Shooting of Dan McGrew" was being made into a
movie. During the twenties, he wrote several novels
which were later scripted for Hollywood movies.
Service spent many of his subsequent years in
France. In 1940, he escaped the Nazi occupation and
again lived in the United States. After the war, Ser-
vice returned to France where he spent most of his
remaining years.
In addition to his poetry and novels, Service wrote
two autobiographies, Ploughman of the Moon and
Harper of Heaven. In all, he completed thirteen
books of poetry and six novels. Service is best
remembered for his dramatic ballads of the Yukon
Gold Rush. His verses made him a household word
in Canada, the United States, and Britain and earned
him the wealth that afforded him the leisure to con-
tinue writing throughout his life. These ballads gave
Service a public image as a rough burly old codger.
In fact, he was a sensitive, romantic adventurer and
a careful observer of human behaviour.
Focus on Robert Service
Focus on Robert Service

The Shooting of Dan McGrew

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;

The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din
and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and
loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the
strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and called for drinks
for the house.
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we
searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous
Dan McGrew.

There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them
hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived
in hell;
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day
is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one
by one.
Then got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd
I

do,
And I turned my head — and there watching him was the lady
that's known as Lou.

His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a

kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on
the stool,
So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there
like a fool.
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw
him sway;
Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands — my God! but
that man could play.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 62

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was
awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most
could hear,
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there
in the cold,
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the
muck called gold;
While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights
swept in bars? —
Then you've a hunch what the music meant hunger and . . .

night and the stars.

And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon
and beans,
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that
it means;

For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof
above;
But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's
love —
A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true -

(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge, — the lady
that's known as Lou.)

Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce

could hear;
But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it

once held dear;

That someone had stolen the woman you loved; that her love
was a devil's lie;

That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl
away and die.
Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you
through and through —
"I guess I'll make it a spread misere," said Dangerous Dan
McGrew.

The music almost died away . . . then it burst like a pent-up

flood;
And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind
with blood.
The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a
frozen lash,
And the lust awoke to kill, to kill . . . then the music stopped
with a crash,
And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most
peculiar way;

63 Focus on Robert Service

Focus on Robert Service

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw
him sway;
Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his
voice was calm,
And "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you
care a damn;
But want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my
I

poke they're true,

That one of you is a hound of hell and that one is Dan . . .

McGrew."

Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns
blazed in the dark,

And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men
lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous
Dan McGrew,
While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the
lady that's known as Lou.

These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to
know.
They say that the stranger was crazed with "hooch," and I'm
not denying it's so.
I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us
two —
The woman that kissed him and — pinched his poke — was the
lady that's known as Lou.

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 64

Kathleen

It was the steamer Alice May that sailed the Yukon foam,
And touched atevery river camp from Dawson down to Nome.
It was her builder, owner, pilot, Captain Silas Geer,

Who took her through the angry ice, the last boat of the year;
Who patched her cracks with gunny sacks and wound her pipes with wire,
And cut the spruce upon the banks to feed her boiler fire;
Who headed her into the stream and bucked its mighty flow,
And nosed her up the little creeks where no one else would go;
Who bragged she had so small a draft, if dew was on the grass,
With gallant heart and half a start his little boat would pass.
Aye, ships might come and ships might go, but steady every year
The Alice May would chug away with Skipper Silas Geer.

Now though Cap Geer had ne'er a fear the devil he could bilk,
He owned a gastric ulcer and his grub was mostly milk.
He also owned a Jersey cow to furnish him the same,
So soft and sleek and mild and meek, and Kathleen was her name.
And as his source of nourishment he got to love her so
That everywhere the Captain went the cow would also go;
And though his sleeping quarters were ridiculously small,
He roped a section of them off to make Kathleen a stall.
So every morn she'd wake him up with mellifluous moo,
And he would pat her on the nose and go to wake the crew.
Then when he'd done his daily run and hitched on to the bank.
She'd breathe above his pillow till to soothing sleep he sank.
So up and down the river seeded sourdoughs would allow,
They made a touching tableau, Captain Silas and his cow.

Now as the Captain puffed his pipe and Kathleen chewed her cud,
There came to him a poetess, a Miss Belinda Budd.
"An epic would write," said she, "About this mighty stream,
I

And from your gallant bark 'twould be romantic as a dream."

Somewhat amazed the Captain gazed at her and shook his head:
"I'm sorry, Miss, but we don't take she passengers," he said.
"My boat's a freighter, we have no accommodation space
For women-folk — my cabin is the only private place.
It's eight foot small from wall to wall, and
I have anyhow,
No room to spare, for half share with Kathleen, that's my cow."
I

The lady she sighed, then soft replied: "I love your Yukon scene,
And for its sake your room I'll take, and put up with Kathleen."

65 Focus on Robert Service

Focus on Robert Service

Well, she was so dead set to go the Captain said: "By heck!
I like your spunk; you take my bunk and I'll go camp on the deck."
So days went by then with a sigh she sought him out anew:
"Oh, Captain Geer, Kathleen's a dear, but does she have to moo?
In early morn like motor horn she bellows overhead,
While all the night without respite she snorts above my bed.
I know it's true she dotes on you, your smile she seems to miss;
She leans so near live in fear my brow she'll try to kiss.
I

Her fond regard makes it so hard my Pegasus to spur . . .

Oh, please be kind and try to find another place for her."

Bereft of cheer was Captain Geer; his face was glazed with gloom:
He scratched "There ain't," he said, "another inch of room.
his head:
With freight we're packed; it's stowed and stacked —
why even on the deck.
There's seven salted sourdoughs and they're sleeping neck to neck.
I'm sorry, Miss, that Kathleen's kiss has put your muse to flight;
I amber eyes abstract you when you write.
realize her
I them orbs above a-shining down on me,
used to love
And when she'd chew my whiskers you can't calculate my glee.
I ain't at all poetical, but gosh! I guess your plight,
So I will try to plan what I can fix up for to-night."

Thus while upon her berth the wan and weary Author Budd
Bewailed her fate, Kathleen sedate above her chewed her cud;
And as he sought with brain distraught a steady course to steer,
Yet find a plan, a worried man was Captain Silas Geer.
Then suddenly alert was he, he hollered to his mate:
"Hi, Patsy, press our poetess to climb on deck and wait.
Hip-hip-hooray! Bid her be gay and never more despair
My search is crowned — by heck! I've found an answer to her prayer."

To Patsy's yell like glad gazelle come bounding Bardess Budd;

No more forlorn, with hope new-born she faced the foaming flood;
While down the stair with eager air was seen to disappear,
Like one inspired (by genius fired) exultant Captain Geer.
Then up he came with eye aflame and honest face aglow,
And oh, how loud he laughed, as proud he led her down below.
"Now you may write by day or night upon our Yukon scene,
For he cried, "have clarified the problem of Kathleen.
I,"

Ithought a lot, then like a shot the remedy I found:

Ijest unhitched her rope and switched the loving creature round.

No more her moo will trouble you, you'll sleep right restful now.
Look, Lady, look! —
I'm giving you —
the tail end of the cow"

Literary Tales in Ballad Form 66

Comfort Focus on Robert Service

Say! You've struck a heap of trouble — 1. "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" is a vivid tale
Bust in business, lost your wife; based on the theme of the love triangle. Who are
No one cares a cent about you, the members of the love triangle in this poem?
How do you think they are related? How is the
You don't care a cent for life;
conflict generated by this love triangle resolved?
Hard luck has of hope bereft you,
Health is failing, wish you'd die — 2. Plan and present a dramatization of "The
Why, you've still the sunshine left you, Shooting of Dan McGrew." Prepare a script. Con-
And the big, blue sky. sider the use of costumes, props, and sound
effects. Perhaps you will want to use a narrator

Sky so blue it makes you wonder
If it's heaven shining through;
Earth so smiling 'way out yonder,
Sun so bright it dazzles you;
Birds a-singing, flowers a-flinging
All their fragrance on the breeze;
Dancing shadows, green, still meadows
and/or a chorus to tell parts of the tale.
3. Help organize and participate in a Klondike Days
Celebration in your class. What different kinds of
activities might you undertake? Consider poetry
readings, performing the "Can-Can," dramatiza-
tions of Service poems, playing music, and sing-
— ing songs of the era. Consider dressing in

Don't you mope, you've still got these. costumes of the period and setting the room up
as the Malamute Saloon.
These, and none can take them from you;
These, and none can weigh their worth.
What! you're tired and broke and beaten? —
Why, you're rich — you've got the earth!
Yes,if you're a tramp in tatters,

While the blue sky bends above,

You've got nearly all that matters,
You've got God, and God is love.

67 Focus on Robert Service

 +M wMmTi
:

fk.

Other Narrative Poetry 68

 Other Narrative Poetry
The writer of narrative poetryis both a storyteller memorable long narratives are "The Titanic,"
and a poet varying degrees. The authors of tradi-
in "Towards the Last Spike," and "Brebeuf and His
tional ballads are more concerned with telling a Brethren."
story than with poetic decoration. Literary ballad
In this unit, you will study short narrative poems
writers tend to balance the story elements in their
that are more concerned with poetic qualities than
work with carefully crafted poetic elements. Both
storytelling. These poems tend to be freer in struc-
types of narrative poetry usually conform to some
ture than the traditional ballads or literary ballads. In
set rules regarding their form.
many poems will not use ending rhyme
cases, the
Among the greatest poetry ever written is nar- and sound more like the way people speak in
will
rative poetry that does not fit the ballad mold. conversation. These poems often are concerned
Poems such as the "Iliad," "Beowulf," and "The with getting across some abstract idea.
Canterbury Tales" are long narrative poems. These
The narrative poems in this unit, however, have a
are evidence of the fact that many of our greatest
story to tell. As you read the story in each poem, look
early poets wrote stories in verse. Some twentieth-
for the abstract idea being communicated by the
century poets, such as E. J. Pratt, are also noted as
poet and compare the form of the poem to the form
writers of long narrative verse. Some of Pratt's most
of traditional and literary ballads.
© In Praise of Famous People

There is something about those who are famous that Ulysses

captures the imagination and the attention of ordi- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
nary people. The route to fame usually involves great
struggle and unusual strength of character resulting
in great accomplishment. Great people are often ad-
It little profits that an idle king,

mired and their lives idealized. We sometimes By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
forget, however, the effort, the sacrifice, and the Matched with an aged wife, mete and dole I

pain that is usually involved in attaining fame.
Famous people are immortalized by their contri-
bution to society but they can also live on in liter-
ature. Biography is the literary craft of making good
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; will drink I
Life to the lees. All time have enjoyed I

literature out of the lives of famous people. Great Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
people often live on in poetry as well. The poems in That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
this chapter all tell tales of famous people. As you Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
read these poems, note the price that each has paid Vext the dim sea. am become a name; I

for achievement. Try to determine whether the price For always roaming with a hungry heart
was worthwhile from the point of view of the person Much have seen and known, — cities of men
I

involved and humanity in general.

And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all;

And drunk delight of battle with my peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met:

Yet all an arch wherethro'

experience is

Gleams world whose margin fades

that untraveled
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rest unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains; but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my
mine own Telemachus,
son,
To whom leave the scepter and the isle —
I

Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil

This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my
household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, mine. I

Other Narrative Poetry 70

 There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled and wrought, and thought with me —
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads —
you and are old; I

Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.

Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes, the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
Itmay be that the gulfs will wash us down;
Itmay be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Riel
Don Gutteridge

Like an elk they had pursued him, driven him

From the closeness of brush, the nearness of water,
From the sun that was his own because it came through
Branches and over leaf and lake with the same slant
Each day; they had hunted him down in his own wood,
And he had fled (and Lepine with him) through darkness,
The moon bright on their cowardice, but what could they do
With wolves marauding through the Fort and St. Boniface,
Poking cold eyes into the corners of his house
(His mothers and sisters frightened, and Louis fled)
And Metis blood was spilled: an old man hounded
Into the Red and stoned from shore until he dared
Not come up again, and let the waters bear his death;
And there were women too violated by that pack
From Canada, and Louis scurried into
Minnesota, with one eye out for the shadow
Of hawks . . .

71 12 In Praise of Famous People

He had come back, of course, with cover of darkness
And many friends, had stood for election,
And taken the seat at Provencher (a Metis' gift
To Cartier), and then had taken it again,
Though he would never return to homeland even his
Under cover of friends (couldbe that hawks had eyes
it

For this moon, wings whirring through boughs, night-wind

Breathing fear), and one Louis Riel, M.P.
Alone in a room, on a street in St. Cloud,
Terror in every corner, with eyes, Schultz seen from one
Window, four conspirators caught in Montreal,
Secret oaths sworn on every Orange sword, and
Overcoats bulging with hidden guns, every glance
Concealing murder.

And Louis Riel fleeing

Across a continent: the contained loneliness
Of trains, of depots, of cities (Chicago,
Washington, New York, Montreal, strangers
In stone; and Ottawa, a last flight
To the shadow of the gray towers, the chambers
Of justice, the mahogany bar of law before
Which his ancestors had trembled, tongues
Unable to speak their fear, their confusion,
Had signed his name in the book of law, had not
Trembled, though darkness was welcome as they slipped
Back to Hull. He knew then that wilderness
Was more than Moses wandering the desert-land,
And more than heart-ache or separation or
Longing for home and the soul of his lost people.
For he would endure other humiliations,
And worse: Macdonald's agents with their dollars,
And he before them: shame in his upturned palms
Lifting to dollars, to the coin of banishment
(And marvelling when no lightning came, no earth
Moved in trepidation . . .)

Then the wandering

With the prairie still in him and the voices
Of his people weaving a dark and sinister
Current through the seams of his flesh, breaking,
Cataracts, at last, in caverns the mind
Would not confront . . .

and they said he was mad.

Other Narrative Poetry 72

Crucifixion
Phil Ochs

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky,

The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie

Til the universe explodes as a falling star is raised

The planets are paralyzed, the mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.

In the green fields of turning a baby is born

His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sign is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence of distance they're sworn!

Chorus:
So dance, dance, dance, teach us to be true
Come dance, dance, dance, 'cause we love you.

Images of innocence charge him to go on

But the decadence of history is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
A blinding revelation is served upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.

So he stands on the sea and he shouts to the shore

But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Til the giant is aware that someone's pulling at his leg
And someone is tapping at the door.

Chorus

Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads across the land
The rewarding of the fame is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
And success isan enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches who knows what they pray
And blood is the language of the band.

73 12 In Praise or Famous People

The Spanish bulls are beaten, the crowd is soon beguiled
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is ecstatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows
to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles.

Chorus

Then the overflow of life is crushed into a liar

The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire

First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night

Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
The heavens are horrified, they stagger from the sight
And the cross is trembling with desire.

They say they can't believe it, "It's a sacrilegious shame

Now who would want to hurt such a hero of the game
But you know predicted it, knew he had to fall
I I

How did it happen? hope his suffering was small

I

Tell me every detail, I've got to know it all

And do you have a picture of the pain?"

Chorus

Time takes her and the memory fades

toll

But his glory is growing in the magic that he made

Reality is ruined, there is nothing more to fear
The drama is distorted into what they want to hear
Swimming in the sorrow in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for the new thrill parade.

The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind

To the safety of sterility the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogies are read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
As the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.

Chorus

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky

The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie

'Til the universe explodes as a falling star is raised

The planets are paralyzed, the mountains are amazed
But they glow brighter from the
all brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.

Other Narrative Poetry 74

Vincent
Don McLean

your palette blue and grey,

Starry, starry night, paint
Look out on a summer's day, with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills, sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Chorus:
And now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how, —

Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night, flaming flow'rs that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue, morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Chorus:
And now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how, —
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,

But still your love was true,
And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do;
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,

Frameless heads on nameless walls, with eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met, the ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

And now I think I know what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen,
They're not list'ning still, —
Perhaps they never will.

75 12 In Praise of Famous People

Hymn to Diana Focus on Meaning
Ben Jonson
1. Organize a class debate around the resolution,
and "Louis Riel was one of Canada's greatest men".
Queen and huntress, chaste fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep, 2. "Crucifixion" is a highly symbolic poem relating
Seated in thy silver chair, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy
State in wonted manner keep: to the depths of evil in America. Research the
Hesperus entreats thy light, events surrounding this assassination and the
Goddess excellently bright. problems facing America at that time. In a short
paper, comment on the soundness of Och's
assessment.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose; 3. Do artists, such as Vincent Van Gogh, make real
Cynthia's shining orb was made contributions to society? Write a concise one-
Heaven to clear when day did close: page report outlining your point of view using
Bless us then with wished sight, illustrations of Van Gogh's work to support your

Goddess excellently bright. position. Present your report to your group or

class.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 4. Write a character sketch of one of thefamous peo-
And thy crystal-shining quiver; ple described in this chapter.
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

Other Narrative Poetry 76

o Tales to Chill Your Bones

Grisly tales of brutal events have been very popular She put my arm about her waist,
in the literature of every culture throughout time. As And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
with literature based on the supernatural, humanity And all her yellow hair displaced,
seems to be at the same time shocked and delighted And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
by tales of the unspeakable. Many people seem to And spread o'er all her yellow hair,
have a fascination with horrible, unnatural deaths
Murmuring how she loved me — she
and the mystery and suspense that often surrounds
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
such events. This fascination finds expression in all
forms of art.
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
Since these terrible tales often involve unnatural And give herself to me for ever.
but seldom supernatural elements, the effect on the
But passion sometimes would prevail,
reader can be more profound than that brought
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
about by the basic ghost story. The belief that the
story is possible makes it all the more dreadful. One
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
knife-wielding Jack the Ripper can be more terrify-
ing than a dozen misty ghosts. So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure looked up at her eyes
I

The poems chapter all tell horrifying tales

in this
Happy and proud; at last knew I

of ghastly events. As you read or listen to these

Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
poems, note the techniques the poets use to achieve
their bone-chilling effects.
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While debated what to do.
I

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

Perfectly pure and good: found I

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string wound I

Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
Porphyria's Lover
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
Robert Browning
warily oped her lids: again
I

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

The rain set early in to-night, And I untightened next the tress
The sullen wind was soon awake, About her neck; her cheek once more
It tore the elm-tops down for spite, Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
And did its worst to vex the lake: I propped her head up as before,

I listened with heart fit to break, Only, this time my shoulder bore
When glided in Porphyria; straight Her head, which droops upon it still:

She shut the cold out and the storm, The smiling rosy little head,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate So glad it has its utmost will,
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; That all it scorned at once is fled,
Which done, she rose, and from her form And I, its love, am gained instead!
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her darling one wish would be heard.
Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And thus we sit together now,
And, last, she sat down by my side And all night long we have not stirred,
And called me. When no voice replied, And yet God has not said a word!

77 13 Tales to Chill Your Bones

The Raven Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there
Edgar Allan Poe wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared
to dream before;
Once upon a midnight dreary, while pondered, I
But the silence was unbroken, and the
stillness gave
weak and weary,
no token,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten
And the only word there spoken was the whispered
lore,
word, 'Lenore!'
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the
came a tapping,
word, 'Lenore!'
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my
Merely this and nothing more.
chamber door.
"Tis some visitor,' muttered, I 'tapping at my
Back into the chamber my
chamber door —
turning, all soul within
me burning,
Only this and nothing more.'
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
before.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak
December,
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my
window lattice;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery
upon the floor.
— vainly had sought
explore —
Eagerly I wished the morrow; I

borrow
to
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
— explore —
From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the
lost Lenore —
'Tis the wind and nothing more.'

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels

Open here flung the shutter, when, with many a
name Lenore —
I

flirt and flutter,

Nameless here for evermore.
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days
of yore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute
purple curtain
stopped or stayed he;
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
before;
felt
chamber door —
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber
stood repeating,
door —
"Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber Then ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into
door; — this
smiling,
That it is and nothing more.'
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance
it wore,
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I
no longer,
said, 'art sure no craven,
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from

implore;
the Nightly shore —
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's
came rapping,
Plutonian shore!'
And you came tapping, tapping
so faintly at my
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
chamber door,
That I scarce was sure heard you' — here I I opened
Much
door —
I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear
wide the
discourse so plainly,
Darkness there and nothing more.
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy
bore;

Other Narrative Poetry 78

 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight
being gloating o'er,
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his She shall press, ah, nevermore!
chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed
chamber door — from an unseen censer
With such name as 'Nevermore.' Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the
tufted floor.
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, 'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee — by these
spoke only angels He hath sent thee
That one word, as if his soul in that one word Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories
he did outpour, of Lenore!
Nothing further then he uttered not a feather then — Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this
he fluttered — lost Lenore!'
Till scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have
I
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! — prophet still, if

flown before.' bird or devil! —

Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.' Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee
here ashore,
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land
spoken, enchanted —
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I

and store, implore —

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerci- Is there — there
is balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me,
ful Disaster I implore!'
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil — prophet still, if

bore bird or devil!

Of "Never — nevermore.'" By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God
we both adore,
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant
smiling, Aidenn,
Straight wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird,
I It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels
and bust and door; name Lenore —
Then, upon the velvet sinking, betook myself to I Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
linking name Lenore!'
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 'Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,'
bird of yore I shrieked, up starting —
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.' 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's
Plutonian shore!
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy
expressing soul hath spoken!
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above
bosom's core; my door!
This and more I sat divining, with my head at Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
ease reclining from off my door!'
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
gloated o'er

79 13 Tales to Chill Your Bones

 And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still He leaped on a log in the front of the rush,
is sitting And shot out from the bind
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber While the jam roared behind;
door; As he floated along
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that He balanced his pole
is dreaming, And tossed us a song.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his But just as we cheered,
shadow on the floor; Up darted a log from the bottom,
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating Leaped thirty feet square and fair,

on the floor And came down on his own.

Shall be lifted — nevermore!
He went up like a block
With the shock,
And when he was there
In the air,
At the Cedars
Kissed his hand
D. C. Scott
To the land;
When he dropped
YOU had two girls — Baptiste — My heart stopped,
One is Virginie — For the first logs had caught him
Hold hard —
Baptiste! And crushed him;
Listen to me. When he rose in his place
There was blood on his face.
The whole drive was jammed
In that bend at the Cedars, There were some girls, Baptiste,
The rapids were dammed Picking berries on the hillside,
With the logs tight rammed Where the river curls, Baptiste,
And crammed; you might know You know — on the still side
The Devil had clinched them below. One was down by the water,
She saw Isaac
We worked three days — not a budge, Fall back.
"She's as tight as a wedge, on the ledge,"
Says our foreman; She did not scream, Baptiste,
"Mon Dieu! boys, look here, She launched her canoe;
We must get this thing clear." It did seem, Baptiste,

He cursed at the men That she wanted to die too,

And we went for it then; For before you could think
With our cant-dogs arow, The birch cracked like a shell
We just gave he-yo-ho; In that rush of hell,
When she gave a big shove And I saw them both sink —
From above.
Baptiste! —
The gang yelled and tore He had two girls,
For the shore, One is Virginie,
The logs gave a grind What God calls the other
Like a wolf's jaws behind, Is not known to me.
And as quick as a flash,
With a shove and a crash,
They were down in a mash,
But and ten more,
I

All but Isaac Dufour,

Were ashore.

Other Narrative Poetry 80

The Execution Focus on Meaning
Alden Nowlan
1. a) Who is the speaker in "Porphyria's Lover"?

On the night of the execution What do we learn about him as he tells his
tale?
a man at the door
b) In pairs, write an interview between Por-
mistook me for the coroner.
phyria's lover and a police inspector investi-
'Press,' I said.
gating Porphyria's death. Then, with your
partner, dramatize this interview for a small
But he didn't understand. He led me group or the class.
into thewrong room
where the sheriff greeted me: 2. In what ways have the authors built and main-
'You're late, Padre.' tained suspense in "The Raven" and in "Por-
phyria's Lover"?
'You're wrong,' I told him. 'I'm Press.'
3. Memorize "The Raven" or "Porphyria's
either
'Yes, of course, Reverend Press.'
Lover" and, groups of four, recite your poem.
in
We went down a stairway. You may want to recite it for the class as well.

'Ah, Mr. Ellis,' said the Deputy. 4. In "At the Cedars," the storyteller must describe
me to a father the tragic death of his daughter. Have
'Press!' I shouted. But he shoved
you ever had to tell a friend or a relative tragic
through a black curtain.
news? Do you know anyone who has been in that
The lights were so bright
situation? How does it feel to be the bearer of
couldn't see the faces
tragic news? How does one say the "right
I

of the men sitting

opposite. But, thank God,
they can see me!
'Look!' I cried. 'Look at
Doesn't anybody know
Then a hood covered
'Don't make it harder
thing"? Tell the same sad story, as an eye-
I thought witness, in a letter to the father.
5. Setting in literature can be active, controlling to
some extent the characters, or passive, simply
my face!
enriching the action. How does setting con-
me?'
tribute to the effect of "At the Cedars," "Por-
phyria's Lover," and "The Raven"?
my head.
for us,' the hangman whispered. 6. In groups of four, prepare one of the poems from
the unit or another narrative poem on the same
theme for reading aloud. Consider the effects of
mood and rhythm as you plan your interpreta-
tion. Use sound effects and tape your poem if
you like. Share your interpretation with another
group or with the entire class.

81 13 Tales to Chill Your Bones

Focus on Margaret Atwood (1939- )

Atwood has gained a reputation as one of

Canada's most celebrated poets. One of her many
volumes of poetry, The Circle Game, earned for her
the Governor-General's Award in 1966. The subjects
in her poems are frightened, isolated, alienated
people. An insurmountable barrier always exists
between her subjects and that for which they are
striving.Her subjects tend to be pioneers, immi-
grants, or explorers who expend all their energies
trying to survive in the hostile wilderness. They
never seem to be able to master the power of nature
and are left defeated and alone.

The style of Atwood's poetry is often prosaic and

matter of fact. She shifts back and forth between
rugged reality and fantasy and her line lengths seem
haphazard.

A poem that is representative of Atwood's style is

"Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer." In this poem,
a pioneer struggles to establish himself, to bring
order to a piece of wilderness and, despite his
greatest efforts, is defeated by nature. There is a
sense in this poem that no matter how hard the char-
acter strives, there is no key that will allow him to
bring order to this confusion. Such are the themes
that run through much of Atwood's work.

More recently, Atwood has written several novels,

including The Edible Woman, Surfacing, and Lady
Oracle. The themes and style of these works have
much in common with those evident in her poetry.
Atwood presently lives in Toronto where she pur-
sues her writing on a full-time basis.

Margaret Atwood was born of Nova Scotian parents

in Ottawa in 1939. Her father was an entomologist
who specialized in forest insects and hence Atwood
spent much of her early life in the bush country of
Northern Ontario and Quebec. She came to know the
magnitude, the power, and the dominance of nature
during these early years, influences that signifi-
cantly affected her later writing.

Atwood graduated from the University of Toronto

in 1961 and from Harvard in 1962. She taught English
literature at the University of British Columbia in
Vancouver, Sir George Williams University in Mont-
real, the University of Alberta in Edmonton, and York
University in Toronto. She has also spent periods in
her life in Boston and has travelled in England,
France, and Italy. She served as Writer-in-Residence
at the University of Toronto from 1972 to 1973.

Other Narrative Poetry 82

From the Journals of Susanna Moodie: unbright earth. I see them: I know
none of them believe they are here.
They deny the ground they stand on,
Disembarking at Quebec
pretend this dirt is the future.
Is it my clothes, my way of walking, And they are right. If they let go
the things carry in my hand
I of that illusion solid to them as a shovel,
— a book, a bag with knitting —
the incongruous pink of my shawl open their eyes even for a moment
to these trees, to this particular sun
this space cannot hear they would be surrounded, stormed, broken

or is it my own lack in upon by branches, roots, tendrils, the dark

of conviction which makes side of light
these vistas of desolation, as I am.
long hills, the swamps, the barren sand, the glare
of sun on the bone-white
driftlogs, omens of winter,
the moon alien in day-
time a thin refusal
Death of a Young Son by Drowning
The others leap, shout

He, who navigated with success

Freedom!
the dangerous river of his own birth
once more set forth
The moving water will not show me
my reflection.
on a voyage of discovery
into the land I floated on
The rocks ignore.
but could not touch to claim.

I am a word
His feet slid on the bank,
in a foreign language.
the currents took him;
he swirled with ice and trees in the swollen water

and plunged into distant regions,

his head a bathysphere;
through his eyes' thin glass bubbles
The Planters
he looked out, reckless adventurer
They move between the jagged edge on a landscape stranger than Uranus
and the jagged river
of the forest we have all been to and some remember.
on a stumpy patch of cleared land

my husband, a neighbour, another man

weeding the few rows
of string beans and dusty potatoes.

They bend, straighten: the sun

lights up their faces and hands, candles
flickering in the wind against the

83 Focus on Margaret Atwood

Focus on Margaret Atwood

Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer IV

By daylight he resisted.
I
He said, disgusted
with the swamp's clamourings and the outbursts
He stood, a point
of rocks,
on a sheet of green paper
This is not order
proclaiming himself the centre,
but the absence
of order.
with no walls, no borders
anywhere; the sky no height
He was wrong, the unanswering
above him, totally un-
forest implied:
enclosed
It was
and shouted:
an ordered absence.

Let me out!

II
For many years

He dug the soil in rows,

he fished for a great vision,
dangling the hooks of sown
imposed himself with shovels
roots under the surface
He asserted
of the shallow earth.
into the furrows, I

am not random.
It was like
enticing whales with a bent
The ground
replied with aphorisms:
pin. Besides he thought

in that country
a tree-sprout, a nameless
weed, words only the worms were biting.

he couldn't understand.
VI

Ill
If he had known unstructured
The house pitched space is a deluge

the plot staked

and stocked his log house-

in the middle of nowhere. boat with all the animals

At night the mind even the wolves,

inside, in the middle
he might have floated.
of nowhere.

But obstinate he
The idea of an animal
patters across the roof.
stated, The land is solid
and stamped,
In the darkness the fields
watching his foot sink
defend themselves with fences
in vain:
down through stone
up to the knee.
everything
is getting in.

Other Narrative Poetry 84

VII Focus on Margaret Atwood

Things
1. The poems in this chapter show a progression in
refused to name themselves; refused
the lives of two different pioneers. To what does
to let him name them. each pioneer progress? How do they feel about
where they end up at the end of these poems?
The wolves hunted
outside.
2. Have you ever experienced feelings similar to
those expressed in these Atwood poems? Com-
ment.
On his beaches, his clearings,
by the surf of under- 3. Organize a panel discussion about Atwood's
growth breaking poetry. The four or five students who join the
at his feet, he foresaw panel should each read one of Atwood's poetry
disintegration books and be prepared to discuss the work they
and in the end selected in terms of subject, form, tone, diction,
and imagery. A moderator could then be
through eyes
selected to facilitate the discussion.
made ragged by his
effort, the tension 4. To what extent does setting control the char-
between subject and object, acters in these poems? Use specific examples
from the poems to support your answer.
the green vision,
the unnamed
whale invaded.

85 Focus on Margaret Atwood

Shorter Lyric Poetry 86
 Shorter Lyric Poetry

A lyric poem the most popular form of poetry

is — Poets experience sharply. They are acutely
feel
short and emotional. Such a poem is the most direct aware in: the beauty of a sum-
of the world they live
statement of a poet's deepest feeling; it grows out of mer's day, the horrors of war, the love of one person
his or her conviction that an experience — whether for another, and the angers, sorrows, and pleasures
beautiful or painful —
is worth expressing. The lyric of everyday living. Their art lies in their ability to
was originally written to be sung and one of its translate these experiences into words, to experi-
prevailing characteristics is its melody. What was ment with the sounds and rhythms of language until
once achieved by the accompaniment of a musical they achieve their poems.
instrument is now accomplished by a poet's skilful
This unit will deal with short lyric poems, poems
use of the sounds and rhythms of language.
written according to a certain formula, and poems
meant to be humorous or nonsensical.

87
©
A. The Haiku
Formula Poetry

Understanding
William Wordsworth, the famous English poet, once
Don Raye
defined poetry as "emotion recollected in tranquil-
ity." Japanese haiku fulfill that definition with signif- A warm smile from you
icance and beauty. Anyone who has ever observed Gleamed on me as a new moon
anything with a sense of wonder can write haiku. straightened things out.
It

Haiku is a form of verse invented in Japan cen-

turies ago. The English interpretation of the
Japanese haiku is three short lines of five, seven,
and five syllables respectively. Translation of the
New Year's Day
Japanese haiku into English may result in more lines
Basho
and syllables. The words speak of a mood, a strong
feeling, or an atmosphere. Although the poem is
usually about nature, a person's thoughts and emo- The first day of the year:
tions are often included. thoughts come — and there is loneliness;
The magic of good haiku lies in the power of sug- the autumn dusk is here.
gestion. The general purpose of a haiku is to present
one simple observation, and no more. But this one
visual image creates a tension designed to make the
reader think. This tension is usually produced by
The Short Night
presenting a contrast and forcing the reader to make
Buson
the connections between the seemingly disjointed
parts of the image.

The impact of a haiku is like that of a pebble Night that ends so soon:
tossed into a stream. As you read the poem, it rip- in the ford there still remains
ples your imagination, expanding and developing as one sliver of the moon.
you sense and share the experience of the poet.

Giddy Grasshopper
Issa

Life Lesson
Don Raye Giddy Grasshopper
Take care ... Do not
The fierce wind rages Leap and crush
And I see how trees survive These pearls of dew-drop
They have learned to bend.

Oh! I Ate Them All

Inevitability Shiki
Don Raye
Oh! I them all
ate
Homing geese, still winged, And what a
oh!
Sliding down shafts of sunset Stomach-ache . . .

To join their shadows. Green Stolen Apples

Shorter Lyric Poetry 88

B. The Tanka C. The Cinquain
Tanka isanother Japanese form of poem, and is A cinquain is a short poem whose form was invented

almost an extension of the haiku. The tanka

like
adds two lines to the haiku, each of seven syllables.
Thus it has five lines of thirty-one syllables used in
the following way: 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7. Although the five
lines of the Japanese tanka conform strictly to this
breakdown in syllables, a tanka in English may con-
sist of five lines without any specific number of
syllables.
Tanka, like haiku, typically deal with a season of
the year. Depth of meaning and striking imagery are
of great importance in the tanka. Although these
poems usually express serious ideas, it is possible
to use humour if one wishes.
by Adelaide Crapsey, an American poet. A cinquain
may be considered an English form of haiku or
tanka, more suited to the rhythms of English.
Crapsey developed the form for a five-line poem, in
which the first line has two syllables, the second
line has four, the third line has six, the fourth line
has eight, and the fifth line ends the poem with two
syllables. This form offers more than a simple
syllabic arrangement. There is an elastic effect to it.
The first four lines stretch; the final line snaps and
releases. This startling factor throws the poem into
harsh relief — the short last line with only two
syllables makes noticeable impact.
A cinquain's lines can run on and it is often better
ifthey do. A strong word ending each line gives the
cinquain its balance and dignity. Its form is ideal for
reflective thought.

In Adelaide Crapsey's skilled poet's hands, the

Adversity
cinquain became a subtle, sophisticated form.
Don Raye

Debris in the wind

Indiscriminately blinds
Eyes searching a path.
Similarities
To turn one's back to the wind
Reveals but where one has been. Anonymous

I touch
Two curving things:
Papers The barrel of this pen,
Anonymous The slow uncertain windings of
This verse.

The pile of papers

Sprawled across this office desk
Are but memories
Of random skittery thoughts The Warning
Flitting past my vacant gaze. Adelaide Crapsey

Just now,
Out of the strange
Still dusk ... as strange, as still . . .

A white moth flew. Why am grown

I

So cold?

89 14 Formula Poetry
D. The Diamante
The diamante, a poetry pattern invented by Iris M.
Tiedt, is a simple diamond-shaped poem expressing
contrast. It may have any number of lines. The first
line contains one word, the second two, the third
three, and so on until the middle line, which intro-
duces an idea opposite to the idea developed in the
lines up to that point. Each line following the middle
line decreases by one word until the last line, which
consists of the direct opposite of the opening word.
In a seven-line diamante each of the following
steps represents one line of the poem.
• one noun
• two adjectives describing the noun
• three participles (words that end in -ing or -ed) per-
taining to the noun
• four nouns related to the subject (The second two
nouns may have meanings opposite to the first
two.)
• three participles indicating change or develop-
ment of the subject noun
• two adjectives carrying on the idea of change or
development
• a noun that is opposite to the original noun
The result is a seven-line contrast poem that has
changed in meaning from beginning to end.
E. The Limerick
Another form of folk verse is the limerick. Like most
forms of poetry, its specific origin remains baffling.
The limerick supposedly began as a kind of song
which was passed around orally. Although there
were limericks in print as early as 1821, it was not
until Edward Lear published his Book of Nonsense
in 1846 that they achieved popularity. People today
enjoy the limericks in Lear's The Complete
Nonsense Book as well as the ones in William Jay
Smith's Typewriter Town and Sara and John
Brewton's Laughable Limericks. This favourite form
of light verse, often nonsensical, frequently con-
cerns people's actions, manners, and eccentricities.
The writer of limericks must be willing to follow a
definite form of rhyme arrangement. To write verse
with a definite rhythm to it, the writer must be sure
that the accented or stressed beats in a poetic line
fall on words or parts of words which are normally
accented when they are pronounced. There must be
just the right number of unaccented sounds be-
tween each accented sound so that the rhythm is
right and natural, and forms a standard limerick line.
The first, second, and fifth lines must have three
accented beats to them. The third and fourth lines
have two accented beats.
Besides the rhythmical pattern, a limerick must
also have a definite rhyme scheme. The most com-
mon rhyme scheme is aabba.

Generally, in writing a limerick, a poet follows a

specific pattern of thought. Each of the following
steps represents one line of a limerick.
Joy — • Tell about the subject and where he or she is from.
Frisky, buoyant
• Tell something about the person or describe him
Warming, sparkling, reveling
or her.
Nonsense, comedy — witchery, absurdity
• Build up (in lines 3 and 4) the peculiarity men-
Haunting, piercing, confusing
tioned in the second line.
Doubtful, lonely • Round off the limerick with an unexpected and
Grief. funny conclusion, based on whatever has been
talked about in the first four lines.

Galaxies —
Distant, huge
Glowing, turning, going
Space, mystery —
energy, life
I remember a fellow named Louie
Growing, circling, building
Who ate seventeen bowls of chop-suey;

Tiny, basic
When
the eighteenth was brought,

Atoms.
He became overwrought
And we watched as poor Louie went blooie!

Shorter Lyric Poetry 90

A lady from near Lake Louise Focus on Meaning
Declared she was bothered by fleas.

She used gasoline 1. Some people feel that there arepoems that are
And later was seen better left uninterpreted. Choose one of the
Sailing over the hills and the trees. types of poetry in this chapter and argue this
point.

2. Which of the five types of poetry in this chapter

are best for expressing the following: a feeling of
being separate, a feeling of belonging, trans-
forming from feelings of alienation to brother-
I sat next the Duchess at tea. hood, identity fears, humour, contrast, depth of
would emotion, love? Explain your answers.
It was just as I feared it be:
Her rumblings abdominal
Were simply abominable,
And everyone thought it was me.

There was an old grouch from Ontario

Who purchased a thousand-watt stereo.
When he turned it up loud
He collected a crowd
And they strangled him with his own aerial.

91 14 Formula Poetry
©
A. The Epigram
Epigram and Epitaph

An epigram is a brief, witty statement, usually in the
form of a poem. This saying may be merely clever or
it may be thought-provoking. This type of terse and
witty poem ("Men seldom make passes/At girls who
wear glasses." —
Dorothy Parker) or statement
("Life is much too important a thing ever to talk
seriously about." —
Oscar Wilde) usually ends with
an ingenious turn of thought.
reading an epigram, one immediately notices
In
that a lot of meaning and a great deal of experience
and wisdom have been condensed into a compact,
memorably balanced, expression.
Epigrams aim at rapping out a tough thought by a
flash of wit within a tightly closed form.
B. The Epitaph
An epitaph is an elegy for inscription on a monu-
ment. Because an epitaph originally was inscribed
on a tombstone, it is brief. This short statement in
memory of a dead person, usually put on his or her
tombstone, is meant to sum up the life or outlook of
the deceased. At its best, the epitaph is a moving
expression of grief. In verse, however, many are light
or even cynical. As can be seen in "For King Charles
II," it is sometimes very difficult to distinguish
between epigram and epitaph.
There are many examples of epitaphs in a number
emphatic of poetry anthologies and many of them are amus-
ing. They either comment on a person's life,
character, profession, or manner of death, and often
incorporate a play on words.

On His Books
Hilaire Belloc For King Charles II

John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester

When I am dead, I hope it may be said:
His sins were scarlet, but his books were read. Here lies our sovereign lord, the King,
Whose promise none relies on;
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.
Sir, I Admit
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Sir, I admit your general rule, Wit

That every poet is a fool. Irving Layton

But you yourself may serve to show it,

That every fool is not a poet. O you who read my epitaph,

Approve this final jest and laugh;
For if stood where now stand you,
I

Believe me, friend, would laugh too.

I

Shorter Lyric Poetry 92

Crossing the Bar Sacred to the Remains of
Alfred, Lord Tennyson Anonymous

Sunset and evening star, Sacred to the remains of

And one clear call for me! Jonathan Thompson
And may there be no moaning of the bar, A pious Christian and
When I put out to sea, Affectionate husband
• • •

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, His disconsolate widow

Too full for sound and foam, Continues to carry on
When which drew from out the boundless deep
that His grocery business
Turns again home. At the old stand on
Main Street; cheapest
Twilight and evening bell, And best prices in town
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
On the 22nd of June
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place Anonymous
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
On the 22nd of June
Jonathan Fiddle
Went out of tune

On Frank Pixley, Editor

Ambrose Bierce

Here lies Frank Pixley, as usual.

Stop, Christian Passer-by! Focus on Meaning

Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Why do you think wit is better preserved in

Stop, Christian passer-by! — Stop, child of God, epigram form rather than in prose?
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod See if you can find the epitaphs of three famous
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he. or infamous people.
O, lift one thought in prayer for S.T.C.;

That he who many a year with toil of breath

Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy for praise — to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hope, through Christ. Do thou the same!

93 75 Epigram and Epitaph

©
A great
Nonsensical and Humorous Poetry

many poems are written just for fun. A poem see here mehitabel
which is both funny and a good poem is a tricky com- i said i thought
bination, for a good joke is funniest the first time it is you told me that
heard, whereas a good poem gets better each time it is it was cleopatra
reread. Nevertheless, the humorous mode may well be
you used to be
the vehicle for poetry as serious, as intelligent, as beau-
before you
tiful, and as profound as poetry written in other, more
transmigrated into
"respectable" modes. In this chapter, you will find a few
the carcase of a cat
of the thousands of humorous poems that exist in
English. where do you get
this tut
Often writers with a sense of humour like to play with
ankh
words and ideas, even though the results do not seem
amen stuff
to mean very much. This type of writing is called
"nonsense," because it has little or no significance
question mark
beyond the funny ideas presented.
i was several
ladies my little

insect says she

being cleopatra was
only an incident
in my career
and i was always getting
the rough end of it
cheerio my deario
always being
(By archy the cockroach)
misunderstood by some
Don Marquis strait laced
prune faced bunch
well boss i met of prissy mouthed
mehitabel the cat sisters of uncharity
trying to dig a the things that
frozen lamb chop have been said
out of a snow about me archy
drift the other day exclamation point

a heluva comedown and all simply

that is for me archy because i was a
she says a few live dame
brief centuries the palaces i have
ago one of old been kicked out of
king in my time
tut exclamation point
ankh
amens favourite but wotthehell
queens and today little archy wot
the village scavenger thehell
but wotthehell its cheerio
archy wotthehell my deario
its cheerio that pulls a
my deario that lady through
pulls a lady through exclamation point

Shorter Lyric Poetry 94

framed archy always nobody loses all the time
framed that is the e. e. cummings
story of all my lives
no chance for a dame
nobody loses all the time
with the anvil chorus
ifshe shows a little ihad an uncle named
motion it seems to Sol who was a born failure and
me only yesterday nearly everybody said he should have gone
that the luxor local
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
number one of
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell itself which
the ladies axe
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
association got me in

dutch with king tut and Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
he slipped me the of all to use a highfalootin phrase
sarcophagus always my luxuries that is or to
luck yesterday an empress wit farming and be
and today too it needlessly
emaciated to interest added
a vivisectionist but
toujours gai archy my Uncle Sol's farm
toujours gai and always failed because the chickens
a lady in spite of hell ate the vegetables so
and transmigration my Uncle Sol had a
once a queen chicken farm till the
always a queen skunks ate the chickens when
archy
period my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
one of her the skunks caught cold and
feet was frozen died and so
but on the other three my Uncle Sol imitated the
she began to caper and skunks in a subtle manner
dance singing its

cheerio my deario or by drowning himself in the watertank

that pulls a lady but somebody who'd given my Uncle Sol a Victor
through her morals may Victrola and records while he lived presented to
have been mislaid somewhere him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
in the centuries boss but scrumptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
i admire her spirit tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and

archy
iremember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol

and started a worm farm)

95 16 Nonsensical and Humorous Poetry

Waiter! . . . There's an Alligator in My Coffee Susan Simpson
Joe Rosenblatt Anonymous

Waiter! . . . there's an alligator in my coffee. Sudden swallows swiftly skimming,

Are you trying to be funny? Sunset's slowly spreading shade,
he said: Silvery songsters sweetly singing,
what do you want for a dime . . .? Summer's soothing serenade.
... a circus?
but sir! I said, Susan Simpson strolled sedately,
he's swimming Stifling sobs, suppressing sighs.

around Seeing Stephen Slocum, stately

and around She stopped, showing some surprise.
in my coffee
and he might "Say," said Stephen, "sweetest sigher;
jump out on the table . . .
Say, shall Stephen spouseless stay?"
Feed him a lump of sugar! he snarled - Susan, seeming somewhat shyer,
no! . . . make it two; Showed submissiveness straightaway.
weigh him down
it'll

and he'll drown. Summer's season slowly stretches,

Idropped two blocks of sugar Susan Simpson Slocum she —
into the swamp So she signed some simple sketches —
two grist jaws snapped them up Soul sought soul successfully.

and the critter - 4c*******

he never drowned.
Waiter! . . . there's an alligator in my coffee.
Six Septembers Susan swelters;
Kill him! Kill him!
he said:
Six sharp seasons snow supplied;
Susan's satin sofa shelters
BASH HIS BRAINS OUT
WITH YOUR SPOON . . .!
Six small Slocums side by side.

By this time
considerable attention had been drawn:
around my coffee
the waiters, the owner,
and customers gathered.
What seems to be the trouble?
the owner inquired,
and I replied:
Focus on Meaning
There's an alligator in my coffee!
. . . But the coffee's fresh, he said
and raised the cup up to his nose . . .
1. Using the poems in this chapter for ideas,
Careful! I said.
choose some incidents for a humorous skit or
for a cartoon illustration.
he'll bite it

off 2. After you've finished reading e.e. cummings's

and he replied: unusual poem "nobody loses all the time,"
How absurd, decide on what kind of a person the speaker's
and lowered the cup uncle Sol was. Write a short character sketch of
this man who is not easily defeated.
level to his mouth and
swallowed 3. What is humorous about the poem "Waiter! . . .

the evidence. There's an Alligator in my Coffee"?

Shorter Lyric Poetry 96

Focus on Raymond Souster (1921- )

is intended to do just one job: to make us see our-

selves and the everyday world we live in —
just as
we are, just as it is — more clearly, more honestly
than ever before.

Raymond Souster was born and raised in Toronto,

the son of a bank clerk. He graduated from high
school in 1939 and started work with the old Imperial
Bank, which later merged with the Commerce. Apart
from four years in the wartime RCAF (four crucial
years in Souster's development as an adult and as a
poet), he has worked there ever since. After the war
he met and married a girl who was working in the
bank. It was at this point that Souster turned his
attention to writing. He soon became a leading
figure in Canadian poetry.
Souster began writing poems before the war, but
itwasn't until the fifties, back home in Toronto, that
he developed the style he has since made his own.
His concise, witty poems are often based on a single
everyday incident. These poems, often in the form of
short vignettes or lyrical portraits, champion the vic-
tims of impersonality and injustice. There is a
peculiar importance of such figures as birds and
flowers, beggars and cats (but never dogs), and
above all, love and friendship. Souster's verses often
present a simple experience; however, his gift for
observation and his unique, briefly-stated style
create a powerful image of truth.

Other than his own poetry, Raymond Souster —

as editor and anthologist —
has made many contri-
butions to Canadian writing. He has been instru-
Poets commonly either are or pretend to be different
mental in the publishing of works by new Canadian
from other people. They see things more clearly,
poets. His two magazines, turned out on "a $35
they feel things more intensely, they are "unique."
hand-operated mimeograph machine," focussed
Raymond Souster isn't at all like that. Though he's
important developments in contemporary poetry.
recognized by most critics as one of Canada's most
These magazines, Contact and Combustion, have
significant poets, he's hard to distinguish from the
made 28 Mayfield Avenue an internationally-known
man on the next stool at the neighbourhood restaur-
address. As one of the editors (Louis Dudek and
ant. He wears suits, his hair is short, and he works
Irving Layton were the others) of Contact Press,
every day at a Toronto Bank of Commerce at the cor-
Souster provided practically the only outlet for
ner of King and Bay. He has a wife and a home in
young Canadian poets during the fifties. As Presi-
Toronto's west end, where he grew up. He played
dent of the League of Canadian Poets, Souster has
organized baseball from his youth until he was forty-
worked to develop programs of poetry reading and
five— until his fastball started "hanging" and his
writing throughout Canada.
curveball started "floating."

These are the facts it is wise to begin with, with

Souster. They are central to all his poems. In these
poems he shows us things that are already familiar.
He is himself familiar — we can see him (or a
reasonable facsimile) any day on any downtown
street in Toronto or in Edmonton or Saskatoon or
Winnipeg or Ottawa or Halifax. Every poem he writes

97 Focus on Raymond Souster

Focus on Raymond Souster

Flight of the Roller Coaster Orange Butterfly Lighting

Once more around should do it, the man confided . . . Orange butterfly lighting
on the lowest branch
and sure enough, when the roller-coaster reached the peak of my
weeping-willow tree,
of the giant curve above me, screech of its wheels and hanging there motionless
almost drowned out by the shriller cries of the riders, for a moment's rest,

instead of the dip and plunge with its landslide of screams, your time will be over
it rose in the air like a movieland magic carpet, when those green leaves you clutch
some wonderful bird, turn to yellow and fall.

and without fuss or fanfare swooped slowly across Yet you flutter away
the amusement park, with such bounce in your wings,
over Spook's Castle, ice-cream booths, shooting-gallery. as if summer had arrived
And losing no height only yesterday,

made the last yards above the beach, where the cucumber-cool that you make me ashamed
brakeman in the last seat saluted of my life-to-death thoughts,
a lady about to change from her bathing-suit. turn my face again to catch
the warm living heat
Then, as many witnesses reported, headed leisurely of the August sun.
out over the water,
disappearing all too soon behind a low-flying flight of clouds.

The Top Hat

Whether it's just a gag or the old geezer's

a bit queer in the head, it's still refreshing
to see someone walking up Bay Street
with toes out of shoes, patched trousers, frayed suit-coat,
and on his head the biggest, shiniest top hat
since Abe Lincoln,
and walking as if the whole
damn street belonged to him:
which at this moment for my money
it does.

Shorter Lyric Poetry 98

Our Weeping-Willow Focus on Raymond Souster

When we moved here, twelve years ago, 1. Do you like the poem "Flight of the Roller
you were little more than a sapling, Coaster"? What aspect of the poem do you like

a struggling one at that. I remember or dislike? Have you ever been in a situation
how that first winter I despaired of your life,
where you let your imagination run away with
you? Explain.
especially that night of the ice-storm,
when you ended up face-down, icicle-frozen, 2. "The Top Hat" describes one of society's
in the snow. If I hadn't lashed you upright "misfits." Yet the speaker seems to look upon
to a stake you would have died this individual in a much different light. Do you
right then, I'm sure of it.
agree with the poet's perception of the man in
the top hat? What do you think of people who are
society's outcasts?
Still, you somehow survived that winter, then another,
grew at first wrong directions,
slowly in all the 3. In "Orange Butterfly Lighting,"the butterfly
a skinny, knock-kneed child. Then suddenly affects the speaker in quite a profound way.
you'd reached young manhood, threw out branches What do you think of his response to the butter-
more confidently, reaching out and up, fly? Have you ever been in a situation where
but always toward the sun. And just today I've noticed some aspect of nature has made you sit back
now and think? Explain.
you're even taller than the house,
and I find it's all can do
I 4. Why do you think the tree in "Our Weeping-
to stretch my arms around your trunk. Willow" is so important to the poet? Do you
agree with this outlook on nature?
Well, there's no doubt of it,
5. What conclusions can you draw from the poet's
you'llalways be that much more
comparison of his life and that of Solzheni-
than just another tree to us, tsyn? Why do you think Souster wrote "Minor
for you're the sapling Testament"?
I pulled up from death beneath the snow,
then coaxed back to life;

our love for you given back

in ten thousand leaves,
in a hundred swaying branches.

Minor Testament

Solzhenitsyn, as I learn
more and more about the miracle
of your life, its heights,
its utter desolations,

I grow more and more ashamed

of my own life, its pitiful

evasions, pretences, easy courage,

follow even further behind

the brilliance of your shadow.

99 Focus on Raymond Souster

Longer Lyric Poetry 100
 Longer Lyric Poetry
The two words, "lyric poetry," cover a wide range of
poems to longer ones, from light
poetry from shorter
and humorous poems to deeper and more serious
ones. Even as the length and content vary, so too do
the forms. For lyric poetry includes the precise and
specific forms of haiku or sonnet, as well as forms
which have no specific definitions and which are as
original as each individual poet.
A lyric poem presents personal emotion. Often
this is joyful emotion, such as an expression of the
joys of friendship, of love, or of reflection on the
beautiful aspects of nature. However, not all of life's
happenings are beautiful. Similarly, lyric poetry also
deals with painful emotion —
with the pain of
friends parting and the resulting loneliness, with the
pain of love gone amiss, with fears of the passage of
time and the inescapable reality of death.
Some of the poems in this unit you will find quite
easy to understand. For example, Pratt's meaning
and emotion are straightforward in his poem "Ero-
sion." It may take more imagination to feel as the
poet feels in reading other poems, for example, to
understand why the poet is so thrilled in "Jenny
Kissed Me," or to pretend, with Shelley, that he is a
cloud.
Many aspects of life are touched by the following
poems, for lyric poetry confronts emotion and ideas
which need to be confronted, which need to be
expressed. The lyric poet touches all of us in such a
way as to make us feel the depths and intensities of
both real and imagined life's experience.
© Love

Poets write of love in many ways. Sometimes they She Walks in Beauty
express sadness, sadness for love that is over, for George Gordon, Lord Byron
lovers who are parted, for love that is not realized
until itis too late. Sometimes the poet's mood is one

of the most intense joy, arising from the fulfillment She walks in beauty, like the night
of deep and timeless love. Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
The poems in this chapter represent the great
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
variety of lyrics written on the theme of love. Some
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
of these lyric poems use images of startling beauty;
others are ordinary, even plain. Some speak of en-
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
chantment; others are definitely realistic. And,
although we usually associate the word "love" with One shade the more, one ray the less,

romantic love, some of the poems go beyond mere Had half impair'd the nameless grace
conventional ideas we may have of love. Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Whatever their words, whatever their moods, an
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
expression of the emotion of a love experience is
captured in the poets' lines. How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell ofdays in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Those Winter Sundays

Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

The Taxi
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
Amy Lowell
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. When go away from you
I

The world beats dead

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. Like a slackened drum.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call, I call out for you against the jutted stars
and slowly would rise and dress,
I And shout into the ridges of the wind.
fearing the chronic angers of that house, Streets coming fast,

One after the other,

Speaking indifferently to him, Wedge you away from me,
who had driven out the cold And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
and polished my good shoes as well. So that I can no longer see your face.
What did I know, what did know I Why should leave you, I

of love's austere and lonely offices? To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

Longer Lyric Poetry 102

Annabel Lee For Anne
Edgar Allan Poe Leonard Cohen

Itwas many and many a year ago, With Annie gone,

In a kingdom by the sea, whose eyes compare
That a maiden there lived whom you may know With the morning sun?
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought Not that did compare,
I

Than to love and be loved by me. But do compare

I

Now that she's gone.

/ was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love —
and my ANNABEL LEE —
I

With a love that winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, Psyche with the Candle
In this kingdom by the sea, Archibald MaeLeish
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE,
Love which is the most difficult mystery
So that her high-born kinsmen came
Asking from every young one answers
And bore her away from me,
And most from those most eager and most beautiful -
To shut her up in a sepulchre
Love is a bird in a fist:
In this kingdom by the sea.
To hold it hides it, to look at it lets it go.
It will twist loose if you lift so much as a finger.
The happy in heaven,
angels, not half so
Went envying her and me —
It will stay if you cover it — stay but unknown and
invisible.
Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know,
Either you keep it forever with fist closed
In this kingdom by the sea)
Or let it fling
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Singing in fervor of sun and in song vanish.
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
There is no answer other to this mystery.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we —
Of many far wiser than we —
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea —
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

103 1 7 Love
Love Is Not All Focus on Meaning
Edna St. Vincent Millay
1. a) What does each of the following words —
daylight, sunlight, starlight, moonlight, night
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink — suggest to youin terms of beauty or lack of
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; beauty? What feelings does each suggest to
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink you?
And rise and sink and rise and sink again; b) Re-read the poems in this section. How have
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, the poets used these various images? What
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; could you say to any of these poets in a
Yet many a man is making friends with death discussion of their ideas? What suggestions
Even as speak, for lack of love alone.
I could you make for possible changes in their
It may be that in a difficult hour,
well images?
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, 2. How does "Those Winter Sundays" differ from
Or nagged by want past resolution's power, the other poems section? Express, in your
in this
I might be driven to sell your love for peace, own words, what this poem says about love.
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
3. Edgar Allan Poe defined poetry as "the rhyth-
It well may be. do not think would.
I I
mical creation of beauty." After reading and
studying his poem "Annabel Lee," what do you
think he meant by this?

4. "Psyche with the Candle" can be understood

without knowing the story from Greek mythology
of Psyche. But that story is a fascinating one
about a beautiful young girl, two jealous older
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? sisters, the even more jealous goddess Venus
William Shakespeare and, in the midst of all this, a tender love. To
know the story of Psyche is to understand more
fully what MacLeish is saying.
Shall compare thee to a summer's day?
I
a) Find and read the story of Psyche. Make
Thou art more lovely and more temperate. notes on the characters involved, and on the
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, basic outline of the plot of the story.
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b) Using your notes, work in groups to prepare
Sometime too hot the eye heaven shines,
of storyboards for a contemporary version of the
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; story for a television movie.
And every fair from fair some time declines,
5. a) In the sonnet "Love is Not All," Millay sug-
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
gests that there are a lot of important things
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
that love is not, or that love cannot do. What
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; are some of these? Overall, what are Millay's
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, ideas about the importance of love?
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. b) Create your own statement of your own ideas
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, of the importance of love. Gather pictures and
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. words and titles from old magazines, and
assemble, in pictorial rather than sonnet
form, your own expression of the importance
of love. Show, as you see them, two sides of
love — the important things love cannot do,
and the important things love can do.
6. William Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets. Do
research to find other sonnets he wrote. Read a
few of them until you find one that you like. Bring
it to class, and be ready to present it orally, and

to discuss what you feel Shakespeare is saying

in his sonnet.

Longer Lyric Poetry 104

© Time, Change, and

Time has concerned people since earliest history.

Memory

Song for Naomi

They wonder, how can time be measured? How can Irving Layton
time be stopped? Why can't time be hurried or
slowed? What will happen in my future? These are
often the poet's concerns as well. Who is that in the tall grasses singing
By herself, near the water?
Sometimes a poem looks back, recalling the past
Ican not see her
with countless different associations and emotions.
But can it be her
Or, a poem may focus on through the past and pre-
sent to the future. For the poet, perhaps more than Than whom the grasses so tall

any of us, realizes and can express the idea that in Are taller,
the larger scope of things, all time is one. My daughter,
My lovely daughter?
The poet writes of time as it is related to change,
to growing, to growing up, togrowing old. With time
Who is that in the tall grasses running
and change come the things that memories are
Beside her, near the water?
made of, and the poet writes of these as well.
She can not see there
Time that pursued her
In the deep grasses so fast

And faster
And caught her,
My foolish daughter.
Memory
David Helwig What is the wind in the fair grass saying
Like a verse, near the water?
In the first evenings Saviours that over
when we walked together All things have power
spring had taken the city Make Time himself grow kind
by the hand. And kinder
That sought her,
We would walk silent or speaking My little daughter.
down a dozen unknown streets
of clustered houses Who is that at the close of the summer
while the night was soft as lips Near the deep lake? Who wrought her
upon our skin. Comely and slender?
Time but attends and befriends her
As we walked through the dark, Than whom the grasses though tall
lighted windows Are not taller,
made mysteries, made My daughter,
a hundred private worlds. My gentle daughter.

Now in a house
where children sleep
we live within the light
and from our window
see sometimes
the shapes of lovers in the evening streets.

105 18 Time, Change, and Memory

 '

Journey of the Magi To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence

T. S. Eliot James Elroy Flecker

"A cold coming we had of it, I who am dead a thousand years,

Just the worst time of the year And wrote this sweet archaic song,
For a journey, and such a long journey: Send you my words for messengers
The ways deep and the weather sharp, The way shall not pass along.
I

The very dead of winter."

And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, I care not if you bridge the seas,

Lying down in the melting snow. Or ride secure the cruel sky,
There were times we regretted Or build consummate palaces
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, Of metal or of masonry.
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling But have you wine and music still,

And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And foolish thoughts of good and ill,

And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly And prayers to them who sit above?
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it. How shall we conquer? Like a wind
At the end we preferred to travel all night, That eve our fancies blow,
falls at

Sleeping in snatches, And old Maeonides the blind

With the voices singing in our ears, saying Said it three thousand years ago.

That this was all folly.

friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Then dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
at Student of our sweet English tongue,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; Read out my words at night, alone:
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, was a poet, was young.
I I

And three trees on the low sky,

And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. Since I can never see your face,

Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,

And never shake you by the hand,

Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, 1 send my soul through time and space
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
To greet you. You will understand.

But there was no information, and so we continued

And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. had seen birth and death,
I

But had thought they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
Ishould be glad of another death.

Longer Lyric Poetry 106

When You Are Old The Circle Game
William Butler Yeats Joni Mitchell

When you are old and gray and full of sleep, Yesterday a child came out to wander,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, Caught a dragonfly inside a jar,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; And tearful at the falling of a star.

How many loved your moments of glad grace, Chorus:

And loved your beauty with love false or true; And the seasons they go 'round and 'round,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, Painted ponies they go up and down,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face. We're captive in a carousel of time,
We can't return, we can only look
And bending down beside the glowing bars, Behind from where we came
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game.
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. Then the child moved ten times 'round the seasons,
Skated over ten clear frozen streams.
Words like "When you're older" must appease him
And promises of "Someday" make his dreams.
Jenny Kissed Me
Leigh Hunt Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now,
Cartwheels carwheels through the town,
lost to

Jenny kissed me when we met, And you tell him "Take your time, it won't be long now
Jumping from the chair she sat in; 'Til you drag your feet to slow the circle down."

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in! So the boy who dreamed tomorrow now is twenty,
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, And his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true;
Say that health and wealth have missed me, There'll be new dreams maybe better dreams and plenty
Say I'm growing old, but add, Before the last revolving year is through.
Jenny kissed me.

Remember
Christina Rossetti

Remember me when am gone away,

I

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It be late to counsel then or pray.
will
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once had, I

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

107 18 Time, Change, and Memory

Elegy: The Wood Is Bare Elegy for the South Valley
Robert Bridges Pat Lowther

The wood is bare: a river-mist is steeping 1

The trees that winter's chill of life bereaves: South Valley Dam is silted up,
Only their stiffened boughs break silence, weeping the slid scree of a whole mountain
Over their fallen leaves; is leaning there; some year
when the rains keep
That lie upon the dank earth brown and rotten, on and on as they do
Miry and matted in the soaking wet: it will go, and the wind seethe

Forgotten with the spring, that is forgotten in the trees,

By them that can forget. the cedars toss and toss
and the creek froth
Yet was here we walked when ferns were springing,
it
over broken banks
And through the mossy bank shot bud and blade: — and the work of men
Here found in summer, when the birds were singing, will be all undone
A green and pleasant shade.

'Twas here we loved in sunnier days and greener; We have no centuries

And now, in this disconsolate decay, here a few generations
I come to see her where most have seen her,
I
do for antiquity:
And touch the happier day. logging camps hidden
around the backs of mountains
For on this path, at every turn and corner, shacks falling without sound
The fancy of her figure on me falls:
canyons with timber trestles
Yet walks she with the slow step of a mourner, rotting to shreds
Nor hears my voice that calls.
likebroken spiderwebs
straight scarsand planks
So through my heart there winds a track of feeling,
collapsed on the walls
A path of memory, that is all her own: of improbable mountains
Whereto her phantom beauty ever stealing mountains mountains
Haunts the sad spot alone.
and the dam that served
a mine that serviced empire
About her steps the trunks are bare, the branches
crumbling slowly deep
Drip heavy tears upon her downcast head;
deep in the bush
And bleed from unseen wounds that no sun stanches,
for its time
For the year's sun is dead.
for this country
it's a pyramid
And dead leaves wrap the fruits that summer planted:
it's Tenochtitlan going back
And birds that love the South have taken wing.
to the bush and the rain
The wanderer, loitering o'er the scene enchanted,
Weeps, and despairs of spring.

Longer Lyric Poetry 108

 Focus on Meaning
The gravel pit is eating
South Valley, the way you'd 1. Read "Memory" carefully.What establishes the
eat a stalk of asparagus, mood of Helwig's poem? What is your emotional
end to end, saving the tender response to it? Does your response differ from
tip for last. It starts others in your class? How?

at thehighway end 2. a) How has time affected Naomi in Layton's

gouging alder and huckleberry
off the creek banks;
dust loosed in the air
precipitates slowly
and smooth wet stones.
Each year the tooth marks
go deeper along the valley
higher into the green
poem? How does the poet express these
changes? Explain, in your own words, what
he is saying about time,
on water b) Pretend you are Naomi. In a creative composi-
tion, reflect on or show the changes of time
as they affect your father.
3. a) What is the central event of Eliot's poem?
What are the clues which tell you this?

overhanging and terraces

falls b) The speaker of this poem has undergone a
of water, shearing toward
great change in his lifetime. What is that

the head of the south fork

change? Find lines which show how it has
affected him and how it has affected those
where the dam leans
around him.
between time's jaws
waiting for either
4. a) What kindsof change does Flecker not care
about "To A Poet a Thousand Years
in
the weight of its past
Hence"? What does he care about knowing?
or the hard bite of the future
What message does he have for his reader?
to bring it down unmade How does it differ from that in "The Circle
and original gravel Game"?
bury its shards at last. b) Make a list of specific changes there have

been in the world in the past thousand years.

If you were to leave a message for someone

to find "a thousand years hence," which of

these changes would you want to tell about?
Explain your answer.
5. In the poem "When You Are Old," Yeats reveals
a little about the person to whom he addresses
the poem. a paragraph, characterize her
In try- —
ing to determine what she is like when young,
and what she is like when old.

6. What is your impression of the poem "Jenny

Kissed Me"? What impression does it give you of
the poet?
7. The poem "Remember" begins with a very
strong opening statement. "Remember me when
I am gone How does
the poet want to be
away."
remembered? Do you agree with her, or would
you want to be remembered in another way?
Why?
8. What Robert Bridges remembering in his
is

elegy? How does he use imagery from nature in

his poem? Do you think the setting of his poem
is effective? Why?
9. Express the theme of "Elegy for the South
Valley"in a sentence or two.

109 18 Time, Change, and Memory

o
Death is
Death

a frequent theme in lyric poetry. Why? Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
Because a poet is never afraid to write about those Dylan Thomas
feared or mighty themes that touch us all. A poet
has the uncanny ability to take our inexpressible
thoughts and express them in a way that ordinary Do not go gentle into that good night,
language cannot. Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
The deaths that poets write of may be personal
and private, or they may be more general, even
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
universal. For example, a poet may explore the emo-
Because their words had forked no lightning they
tion evoked by the death of a special person, or else
explore the implications of the deaths of many, as in Do not go gentle into that good night.
a wartime setting. Frequently, the dead person may
be the speaker of the poem, and this can lead the Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
poetic imagination to some startling effects. Their deeds might have danced in a green bay,
frail

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Trying to understand the awesomeness of death
is part of every person's life. The poet, in writing of
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
death, speaks to us of life.
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Coffins And you, my father, there on the sad height,

James Reaney Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
These coffins are submarines Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

That will sail beneath the slopes

Of gray-green old graveyards.

One white lone sailor to each

Submarine that navigates
Erosion
The wormy seas of earth.
E. J. Pratt

With shrouds for uniforms

Stitched by weeping tailors It took the sea a thousand years,
These bony sailors A thousand years to trace
Shall sail deep field and morass The granite features of this cliff,

Without periscope or compass In crag and scarp and base.

They'll only dimly know
That someday they must flow It took the sea an hour one night,
Into the final harbor An hour of storm to place
On some high gray shore The sculpture of these granite seams
Where the Lord shall weigh Upon a woman's face.
Men's wicked souls on Doomsday.

Longer Lyric Poetry 110

The Soldier A Satirical Elegy on the
Rupert Brooke Death of a Late Famous General
Jonathan Swift
If should die, think only this of me:
I

That there's some corner of a foreign field

His Grace! impossible! what, dead!
That is forever England. There shall be Of old age too, and in his bed!
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, And could that Mighty Warrior fall?
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, And so inglorious, after all!
A body of England's, breathing English air, Well, since he's gone, no matter how,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. The last loud trump must wake him now:

And think, this heart, shed away,

all evil And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less He'd wish to sleep a little longer.
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; And could he be indeed so old
Her sights and sound; dreams happy as her day; As by the newspapers we're told?
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, Threescore, I think, is pretty high;
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. 'Twas time in conscience he should die.
This world he cumbered long enough;
He burnt his candle to the snuff;
And that's the reason, some folks think,
He left behind so great a stink.

Behold his funeral appears,

Nor widow's sighs, nor orphan's tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
In Flanders Fields
Attend the progress of his hearse.
John McCrae But what of that, his friends may say,
He had those honors in his day.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow True to his profit and his pride,
Between the crosses, row on row, He made them weep before he died.
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly Come hither, all ye empty things,

Scarce heard amid the guns below. Ye bubbles raised by breath of Kings;
Who upon the tide of state,
float

We are the Dead. Short days ago Come hither, and behold your fate.
We dawn, saw sunset glow,
lived, felt Let pride be taught by this rebuke,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie, How very mean a thing's a Duke;
In Flanders fields. From all his ill-got honors flung,
Turned to that dirt from whence he sprung.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Ill 19 Death
The Fox Focus on Meaning
Kenneth Patchen
1. Think about yourself, your attitudes, your goals,
Because the snow is deep and your priorities in life. Into which category of
Without spot that white falling through white air Thomas' poem —
wise, good, wild, grave do —
you best fit? What additional categories could
Because she limps a little — bleeds he have used?

Where they shot her 2. Both "In Flanders Fields" and "The Soldier"
were written by wartime poets. What ideas or
Because hunters have guns techniques do these poems share? How do they
And dogs have hangmen's legs differ from each other? Which do you think is the
better poem? Why?
Because I'd like to take her in my arms 3. a) What would a conventional elegy about the
And tend her wound death of a famous warrior or general stress?
b) What ideas or statements do you think are the
Because she can't afford to die most effective in Swift's satirical elegy?
Killing the young in her belly Why?

know what to say of a soldier's dying

4. What does Kenneth Patchen say of death in his
I don't
poem "The Fox"? In your own words, write a
Because there are no proportions in death.
statement he might make to either John McCrae
or Rupert Brooke.

5. a) Chidiock Tichborne was put to death in 1586

for conspiring against Queen Elizabeth I. Do
some research on this exciting but often very
Elegy Written in the Tower bloody time in history to look up the stories of
Chidiock Tichborne Queen Elizabeth and her cousin Mary Queen
I

of Scots. Try to find stories of others who

were put to death for similar conspiracies,
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, b) Tichborne's elegy was written approximately
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, four hundred years ago. Is there anything in
My crop of corn is but a field of tares, the poem which you think dates it? If so,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain; what? What ideas seem modern and fresh?
The day is past, and yet saw no sun,
I Why?
And now I live, and now my life is done.
6. Even though a poem about death, it should
is

still make one life. Discuss this

think about
My tale was heard and yet was not told, it
statement, on the basis of your reactions to the
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green, poems in this chapter.
My youth is spent and yet am not old, I

I saw the world and yet was not seen; I

My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,

And now live, and now my life is done.
I

I sought my death and found it in my womb,

I looked for and saw it was a shade,
life

I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,

And now die, and now was but made;
I I

My glass is full, and now my glass is run,

And now live, and now my life is done.
I

Longer Lyric Poetry 112

^% Nature
The poems in this chapter are varied, but all are The Blue Heron
drawn from moods in nature. Nature, of course, sug- Theodore Goodridge Roberts
gests different things to different people. It may
mean expanses of mountains, of forests seemingly
untouched by human hands —
but it may also mean In a green place lanced through
a small walled garden in the centre of a city, a park With amber and gold and blue;
at the edge of the road, or even a blade of grass A place of water and weeds
struggling for life in a parking lot. And roses pinker than dawn,
Nature provides the poet with descriptive images, And ranks of lush young reeds,
but the poet may choose to move beyond descrip- And grasses straightly withdrawn
tion to deeper reflection. Inspiration from nature From graven ripples of sands,
may come from the extraordinary, but more fre- The still blue heron stands.
quently it comes from familiar or reliable occur-
rences in nature. These provide insights about life, Smoke-blue he is, and grey
but also speak of constancy or stability in an ever- As embers of yesterday.
changing world. Still he is, as death;

One would have to search for a long time to find Like stone, or shadow of stone,

someone who does not feel even the slightest lift in Without a pulse or breath,
spirits in response to beauty in nature. A sunrise, a Motionless and alone
sunset, the changes of the seasons, the majesty of a There in the lily stems:
granite mountain, the calm of a still lake all these — But his eyes are alive like gems.
and more speak to us of something greater than our-
selves. Small wonder, then, that much of the Still as a shadow; still
mightiest lyric poetry is inspired by nature. Grey feather and yellow bill:
Still as an image made

Of mist and smoke half hid

By windless sunshine and shade,
Save when a yellow lid
A Vagabond Song
Slides and is gone like a breath:
Bliss Carman
Death-still — and sudden as death!

There is something in the autumn that is native to my

blood —
Solitude
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
Archibald Lampman
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping
time. How still it is here in the woods. The trees
Stand motionless, as if they did not dare
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry To stir, lest it spell. The air
should break the
Of bugles going by. Hangs quiet as spaces in a marble frieze.
And my lonely spirit thrills Even this little brook, that runs at ease,
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. Whispering and gurgling in its knotted bed,
Seems but to deepen, with its curling thread
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; Of sound, the shadowy sun-pierced silences.
We must rise and follow her, Sometimes a hawk screams or a woodpecker
When from every hill of flame Startles the stillness from its fixed mood
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. With his loud careless tap. Sometimes hear I

The dreamy white-throat from some far off tree

Pipe slowly on the listening solitude,
His five pure notes succeeding pensively.

113 20 Nature
A November Landscape I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
E. J. Pratt William Wordsworth

November came today and seized the whole Iwandered lonely as a cloud
Of the autumnal store of reds, and left That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

But drabs and yellows on a land bereft When all at once saw a crowd,
I

Of bird and leaf, of body and of soul. A host, of golden daffodils,

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Outside my window now rain-winds patrol Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
The August elms and birches seem
earth; last
Like half-remembered legends in a dream; Continuous as the stars that shine
Melodious myths —
the Thrush and Oriole — And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Such strange delusions when November weaves Along the margin of a bay:
The sense of desolation and regret Ten thousand saw at a glance I

Through clay and stubble, through dead ferns and Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
leaves
As here lie sodden on the ground; and yet The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: —
This was the story told six months ago, A Poet could not but be gay
When April lured the crocus through the snow. Insuch a jocund company!
Igazed —
and gazed —
but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

Velvet Shoes In vacant or in pensive mood,

Elinor Wylie They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
Let us walk in the white snow
And dances with the daffodils.
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
Snow
At a tranquil pace,
Louis MacNeice
Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk, The room was suddenly rich and the great
And you in wool, bay-window was
White as white cow's milk, Spawning snow and pink roses against it
More beautiful Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
Than breast of gull. World is suddener than we fancy it.

We shall walk through the still town World is and more of it than we think,
crazier
In a windless peace; Incorrigibly plural. peel and portion
I

We shall step upon white down, A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
Upon silver fleece, The drunkenness of things being various.
Upon softer than these.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
We shall walk in velvet shoes: Is more and gay than one supposes —
spiteful
Wherever we go On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms
Silence will fall like dews of one's hands —
On white silence below. There is more than glass between the snow and the
We shall walk in the snow. huge roses.

Longer Lyric Poetry 114

A Bird Came Down the Walk I sift the snow on the mountains below,
Emily Dickinson And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While sleep in the arms of the blast.
I

A bird came down the walk:

Sublime on the towers of my skyey
He did not know saw; I
bowers
He bit an angle-worm in halves
Lightning my pilot sits;
And ate the fellow, raw.
In a cavern under is fettered the thun-
der,
And then he drank a dew
It and howls at fits;
struggles
From a convenient grass,
Over earth and ocean, with gentle mo-
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
tion,
To let a beetle pass.
is guiding me,
This pilot
Lured by the love of the genii that move
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad, — In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the
They looked like frightened beads, I thought
hills,
He stirred his velvet head
Over the lakes and the plains,
Like one in danger; cautious, Wherever he dream, under mountain or
I offered him a crumb, stream,

And he unrolled his feathers The Spirit he loves remains;

And rowed him softer home And I all the while bask in Heaven's
blue smile,
Than oars divide the ocean, Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

Too silver for a seam, The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor
Or butterflies, off banks of noon, eyes,

Leap, plashless, as they swim. And his burning plumes outspread,

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
The Cloud
Which an earthquake rocks and
Percy Bysshe Shelley
swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting In the light of its golden wings.
flowers, And when Sunset may breathe, from
From the seas and the streams; the lit sea beneath,
I bear light shade for the leaves when Its ardors of rest and of love,
laid And the crimson pall of eve may fall
In their noonday dreams. From the depth of Heaven above,
From my wings are shaken the dews With wings folded I rest, on mine airy
that waken nest,
The sweet buds every one, As still as a brooding dove.
When rocked to rest on their mother's
breast, That orbed maiden with white fire lad-

As she dances about the sun. en,

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, Whom mortals call the Moon,
And whiten the green plains under, Glides glimmering o'er my fleecelike
And then again dissolve it in rain,
I floor,

And laugh as pass in thunder. I By the midnight breezes strewn;

115 20 Nature
And wherever the beat of her unseen I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
feet, And out of the caverns of rain,
Which only the angels hear, Like a child from the womb, like a
May have broken the woof of my tent's ghost from the tomb,
thin roof, I arise and unbuild it again.
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees,

When I widen the rent in my wind-built
tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me
Focus on Meaning
on high,
Are each paved with the moon and
these.
1. Roberts describes the heron and its surroun-
dings with words. Try to imagine the poem as a
painting or a photograph. What do you see first?
I bind the Sun's throne with a burning
How has the artist used colours? After studying
zone,
the painting for a while, what will you remember
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
the most?
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars
reel and swim 2. What mood does Lampman create in his sonnet?
When the whirlwinds my banner un- How does he do this?
furl. 3. Wordsworth's poem "I Wandered Lonely as a
From cape to cape, with a bridgelike Cloud" conveys a very vivid experience. What is
shape, his experience? Have you ever had a similar
Over a torrent sea, one?
Sunbeam-proof, hang like a roof —
I
4. The last line of the poem "Snow" is an intriguing
The mountains its columns be. statement. It pertains to the poem, obviously,
The triumphal arch through which I but it is also a statement to consider, beyond the
march poem. Think about the statement. Then write a
With hurricane, fire, and snow, creative composition, which begins, "There is
When the Powers of the air are chained more than glass between the snow and the huge
to my chair, roses."
Is the million-colored bow; 5. What do you find particularly descriptive about
The sphere fire above its soft colors Emily Dickinson's poem? What is your overall
wove, impression of this poem?
While the moist Earth was laughing
6. Arrange a presentation which you accompany
in
below.
a reading of the poem "The Cloud" with appro-
priate background music and slides. You may
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
want to have the reading in more than one voice,
And the nursling of the Sky; or vary from solo to choral work. You could
I pass through the pores of the ocean enhance the many beautiful images in the poem
and shores, with slides and artistic movement from one slide
change, but cannot die.
I I to the next. Put on your interpretive reading for
For after the rain when with never a your classmates, or invite another class to your
stain reading/showing.
The pavilion of Heaven is bare, 7. Nature poetry is rich in seasonal imagery. What
And the winds and sunbeams with their seasons are explored by the poems in this
convex gleams chapter? What various moods are created? What
Build up the blue dome of air, poems do you find most effective? Why?

Longer Lyric Poetry 116

© Reflection

A good poem may be written about anything. In this In the Street

chapter, the range of topics includes a flight of wild Dorothy Livesay
swans, a plowman, a quiet room, a frightened
mouse, a collection of holy books, and a pile of
rocks. Elsewhere, we can read of everything from In rainy weather
kisses to coffins to clouds. Who can tell
Whether we weep
A good poet doesn't ignore the ordinary. In poems
Or not?
we are often encouraged to see things we have seen
before but through new eyes, in new ways. We are
I dread the sun
encouraged to reflect upon the ordinary but also to
go beyond it. For his fierce honesty.

Thus, a poem may move us with imagery, may

inspire us with noble themes, but also challenge us
to go deeper than its surface. Something ordinary
becomes something new. Through the poem, we
experience a moment of insight. This is reflection.
The Plowman
Raymond Knister

Allday follow I

Watching the swift dark furrow

That curls away before me,
And care not for skies or upturned flowers,
And at the end of the field

Look backward
The Rock Pile
Ever with discontent.
Fred Cogswell
A stone, a root, a strayed thought
Has warped the line of that furrow —
Right in the middle of a field there stands And urge my horses 'round again.
A huge rockpile, but most of it is one
Big stone, a lump of rock that weighs a ton Sometimes even before the row is finished
Or more, too much for horses or for hands Imust look backward;
To budge, and there the man who cleared these lands, To find, when come to the end I

Jim Armstrong, in the days of brawn and grit That there I swerved.
Wrestled for weeks in vain to lever it;
It broke his harness, traces, grappling bands. Unappeased I leave the field,

Expectant, return.
And so Jim covered up with little stones
The only thing in life he could not beat; The horses are very patient.
But when new settlers came after a while When I tell myself
To look and praise in awed, admiring tones This time
The mighty rockpile in his field, he'd smile The ultimate unflawed turning
A twisted smile and find the credit sweet. Is before my share,
They must give up their rest.

Someday, someday, be sure,

I shall turn the furrow of all my hopes
But I shall not, doing it, look backward.

117 21 Reflection
Modern Ode to the Modern School New Year's Poem
John Erskine Margaret Avison

Just after theBoard had brought the schools up to date The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle
To prepare you for your Life Work Along the windowledge.
Without teaching you one superfluous thing, A solitary pearl
Jim Reilly presented himself to be educated. Shed from the necklace spilled at last week's party
He wanted to be a bricklayer. Lies in the suety, snow-luminous plainness
They taught him to be a perfect bricklayer. Of morning, on the windowledge beside them.
And nothing more. And all the furniture that circled stately
And hospitable when these rooms were brimmed
He knew much about bricklaying
so With perfumes, furs, and black-and-silver
That the contractor made him a foreman Crisscross of seasonal conversation, lapses
But he knew nothing about being a foreman. Into its previous largeness.
He spoke to the School Board about it, I remember
And they put in a night course Anne's rose-sweet gravity, and the stiff grave
On how to be a foreman Where cold so little can contain;
And nothing more. Imark the queer delightful skull and crossbones
Starlings and sparrows left, taking the crust,
He became so excellent a foreman And the long loop of winter wind
That the contractor made him a partner. Smoothing its arc from dark Arcturus down
But he knew nothing about figuring costs To the bricked corner of the drifted courtyard,
Nor about bookkeeping And the windowledge.
still

Nor about real estate, Gentle and just pleasure

And he was too proud to go back to night school. It is, being human, to have won from space
So he hired a tutor This unchill, habitable interior
Who taught him these things Which mirrors quietly the light
And nothing more. Of the snow, and the new year.

Prospering at last
And meeting other men as prosperous,
Whenever the conversation started, he'd say to himself
"Just wait till it comes my way —
Then I'll show them!"
But they never mentioned bricklaying Wild Swans
Nor the art of being a foreman Edna St. Vincent Millay

Nor the whole duty of contractors,

Nor even real estate. I looked in my heart while the wild swans went
So Jim never said anything. over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, leave you and lock your door.
I

Wild swans, come over the town, come over

The town again, trailing your legs and crying!

Longer Lyric Poetry 118

To a Mouse But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
Robert Burns In proving foresight may be vain;
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
For promis'd joy.
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi' bickering brattle!
Still thou art blest, compared wi' me,
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
The present only toucheth thee;
Wi' murd'rin' pattle!
But och! backward cast my e'e
I

I'm truly sorry man's dominion

On prospects drear!
An' forward, though I canna see,
Has broken nature's social union,
I guess an' fear!
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earthborn companion,
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun
live!
Heirloom
A daimen icker in a thrave A. M. Klein

'S a sma' request;

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, My father bequeathed me no wide estates;
An' never miss 't! No keys and ledgers were my heritage;
Only some holy books with yahrzeit dates
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Writ mournfully upon a blank front page —
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, Books of the Baal Shem Tov, and of his wonders;
O' foggage green! Pamphlets upon the devil and his crew;
An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Prayers against road demons, witches, thunders;
Baith snell an' keen! And sundry other tomes for a good Jew.

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, Beautiful: though no pictures on them, save
An' weary winter comin' fast, The scorpion crawling on a printed track;
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, The Virgin floating on a scriptural wave,
Thou thought to dwell, Square letters twinkling in the Zodiac.
Till crash! the cruel coulter passed
Out through thy cell. The snuff left on this page, now brown and old,
The tallow stains of midnight liturgy —
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble These are my coat of arms, and these unfold
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! My noble lineage, my proud ancestry!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald, And my tears, too, have stained this heirloomed ground,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble When reading in these treatises some weird
An' cranreuch cauld! Miracle, I turned a leaf and found
A white hair fallen from my father's beard.

119 21 Reflection
Ode On Solitude Focus on Meaning
Alexander Pope
1. What details does Fred Cogswell supply about

Happy the man whose wish and care Jim Armstrong in "The Rock Pile"? What else
can you learn about him from reading between
A few paternal acres bound,
the lines of the poem? Have you met anyone like
Content to breathe his native air
Jim in your own life? from reading other litera-
In his own ground.
ture? Write a short character sketch about him or
her.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire, 2. It seems that Knister is using the experience of
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, plowing in "The Plowman" to reflect on some-
In winter fire.
thing deeper. What is Knister saying?

3. a) Explain the poet's purpose in "Modern Ode to

Bless'd who can unconcern'dly find the Modern School."
Hours, days, and years slide soft away, b) Write a paragraph in which you compare your
In health of body, peace of mind, education with that of Jim Reilly. Do you think
Quiet by day; your present education will leave gaps in your
knowledge? If so, what gaps? What can you
Sound sleep by night: study and ease do about it?
Together mix'd; sweet recreation;
4. In "New Year's Poem," what tangible things
And innocence, which most does please,
spark the poet's remembrances? What does she
With Meditation. remember? These lead her to a reflection. What
is that reflection? Have you ever felt the way the
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
poet feels?
Thus unlamented let me die;
5. In "Wild Swans," what do the wild swans cause
Steal from the world, and not a stone
the poet to question in herself? What do the wild
Tell where lie.
I
swans represent? Can you think of other images
or symbols the poet might have used for the
same effect?

6. Practise reading "To a Mouse" out loud, using

your best Scottish accent. What other examples
of literature written in dialect can you find? Bring
these to class and experiment reading these out
loud as well.

7. How do the books in "Heirloom" represent a

heritage for the poet? Why? In your own life,
what your heritage? Is there an article or a
is
possession which for you represents this
heritage? Explain.

8. According to Pope's "Ode on Solitude," what

makes him happy? What does he want out of
life? Do you agree or disagree with him? Write a
paragraph in which you express what you want
out of your life.

Longer Lyric Poetry 120

Focus on John Keats (17951821)

In 1818, Keats nursed his brother Tom who was

dying of tuberculosis. During this time, he also fell in
love with the beautiful actress Fanny Brawne. They
became engaged, but it was a desperate relation-
ship, for Keats was dedicated to his poetry, was too
poor to marry, and, worst of all, was also suffering
from tuberculosis and therefore dying. In the
autumn of 1820, he went to Italy in hopes that the
warmer climate would cure him, but on February 23,
1821, he died in Rome.

At Keats' request, his grave is marked with the

words: "Here lies one whose name was writ in
water." It seems that he thought he had failed in his
poetry and in his life. History has proved him wrong,
for, in spite of the fact that his genius was ended by
his early death, his work today holds a high place in
English poetry.

Junkets
Alden Nowlan

You magnificent And even if

redhaired runt! you were here

in town
I wish I could I'd be afraid
telephone you of intruding:
right now I'm like that.
and ask you over.
Worst of all,
I've got a new it would never

second-hand pinball work,

John Keats was a Londoner. Born over a London
machine. Junkets:
stable, the son of a stable-keeper, his beginnings
were much humbler than those of his contem-
poraries, Byron and Shelley, who were both aristo-
There's gin. I'd keep thinking,
crats. Nor was Keats sent to the best schools, dear God,
although he received an education in a small private And we could
school at Enfield. send out for I'm talking
Chinese food, with John Keats.
At fifteen Keats was apprenticed to a surgeon and
if you liked.
apothecary. Five years later he continued his
studies at Guy's Hospital, London, but then chose to
I don't suppose
abandon a career in medicine for poetry. Between
the ages of twenty-two and twenty-five, Keats pub- you've ever tasted it.

lished three books of poetry. These poems show his

love for nature, his integrity, his common
sense. But you're so
They reveal a poet who is deeply thoughtful, and, far away. 'Junkets was a nickname of
John Keats, given him by
especially in the earlier poems, a poet with a deep I could never
Leigh Hunt, an incorrigible
sense of joy. reach you. maker of puns.

121 Focus on John Keats

Focus on John Keats

This Living Hand Ode to Autumn

This living hand, now warm and capable Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
And in the icy silence of the tomb, Conspiring with him how to load and bless
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
So in my veins red life might stream again, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
And thou be conscience-calmed —
see here it is — To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
Ihold it towards you. With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
To one who has been long in city pent, Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Tis very sweet to look into the fair Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, —
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
And gentle tale of love and languishment? Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Returning home at evening, with an ear Among the river sallows borne aloft
Catching the notes of Philomel, an eye — Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
He mourns that day so soon has glided by: Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
That falls through the clear ether silently. And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Longer Lyric Poetry 122

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Isaw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried — "La Belle Dame sans Merci
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Hath thee in thrall!"
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
And no birds sing.
With horrid warning gaped wide,
what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
And awoke and found me here,
I

So haggard and so woe-begone?

On the cold hill's side.

The squirrel's granary is full,

And this is why I sojourn here,
And the harvest's done.
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge has withered from the lake,
1 see a on thy brow,
lily

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And no birds sing.

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful —a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
Focus on John Keats
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed, 1. "This Living Hand" is a brief fragment of poetry
And nothing else saw all day long, written for Fanny Brawne. What feelings does it
stir in you? How do you think Fanny Brawne
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
might have reacted to it?
A faery's song.
2. What conventional ideas and images are often
She found me roots of relish sweet, associated with autumn? How do you think
And honey wild, and manna dew, Keats has gone beyond these in his "Ode to
And sure in language strange she said — Autumn"?
"I love thee true." 3. "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" is Keats' version of
the traditional ballad, "Thomas the Rhymer."
She took me to her elfin grot, How has Keats changed that story?
And there she wept, and sighed full sore,
4. Write a short skit in which you dramatize an
And there shut I her wild wild eyes
event, real or imaginary, in the life of John Keats.
With kisses four.
For example, you could dramatize a moment
from his childhood, or his farewell to Fanny as
And there she lulled me asleep, he leaves for Italy, or a moment during the
And there dreamed — Ah! woeI betide! writing of one of his poems. Perhaps you could
The latest dream I ever dreamed artistically incorporate some lines from Keats'
On the cold hill side. poetry into your skit.

123 Focus on John Keats

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New Directions 124
 New Directions

Twentieth-century poetry is noted for its experimen- Much modern poetry is a challenge to read,
tation. This experimentation is part of breaking with though it should be noted that most of it is not really
the past and searching for new insights and new any harder to understand than traditional poetry.
ways to express them. In poetry, this search takes Modern poetry is often more condensed, but not
noticeable form in freer rhythms, in condensed more difficult as to theme and meaning. In many
phrasing, and in a symbolic language drawing freely ways, modern poetry is more exciting to read
upon any area of human experience. because much of it is open to various interpreta-
tions. Therefore, in a very real sense, the reader is
participating in the poem as he or she reads it.

125
 Free Verse
tf%
Ever since the appearance of nursery rhymes, poets the witch
have been influenced by the regular, rhythmic rhym- Terrence Heath
ing patterns characteristic of "traditional" poetry.
Poets, bound by a conviction that poetry must
rhyme, made the poem
a restrictive container of mrs. schmidt and the boy stepped down from the
feeling. Because of contrived rhythm or rhyme, the backporch of the house onto the prairie, they
feelings and experiences expressed in poems were followed two ruts toward the railroad yard, grey
often reduced to an artificial level. Free verse, the dust rose around their feet, when they reached
most important form of modern poetry, is an attempt the tracks they walked along the timbers and picked
to liberate expression. up pieces of coal until her basket was almost full,
Free verse is often spoken of by supporters of the they turned towards her house again and walked
older metrical forms as if it were of less worth than diagonally across the prairie, every few steps she
traditional forms of poetry. (Robert Frost once pointed to the ground and the boy bent down and
remarked, "Writing free verse is like playing tennis found the plants she meant, some of the plants he
with the net down.") Yet some writers and critics dug out by the roots, from some he picked the
contend that free verse by its very irregularity pro- leaves, from some the flowers, the coal could no
vides added force to thought and expression. The longer be seen through the green plants in the basket,
attraction of free verse is that it gives the poet
they reached the framed rectangular screendoor at
greater freedom expressing emotion and theme,
in
the back of her house.
unrestricted by the requirements imposed by tradi-
tional metrical forms. Free verse does allow more
one moment, i have something for you. she went
latitude, of course, but it is certainly not an easier
form with which to work. Since there are fewer into the house, the coiled spring on the door
stretched open and closed again, it had worn a
specifically outlined guides, the work must proceed
on an intuitive level. Each poem generates its own smooth groove wood, the boy
in the side of the

rules of form. A great deal of practice is required to stood in the wild portulaca near the back door, he
develop effective intuitions for free verse. And it is moved his feet; they raised dust in the air. he could
doubtful that any poet can be sure of perfect pacing not see into the house
in every poem he or she writes. So free verse poses a
greater gamble than other forms. Still, it offers she came to the door, the coiled spring opened and
greater potential in several ways. The writer creates closed. In her right hand was a black box.
form along with the rest of the poem, and this may
lead to a luxury of variation that would not be avail-
here, a camera, for you. now you can take pictures.
able to us in any other way.

No matter in which a poem is written, it

the form
must be made and fresh by the poet who is
alive
using it. Every free-verse poem, no matter how imagi-
native and "different," must seem as though it has
to be the way it is and could not be otherwise. The
intent behind the use of free verse is not to toss out
the rule books and create a formless disorder of
words and phrases, but to enrich the features of
form; not to destroy, but to expand the borders and
to give poetry room to grow in new directions.

New Directions 126

anyone lived in a pretty how town Lanterns
e. e. cummings Andrew Suknaski

anyone lived in a pretty how town the blizzard came

(with up so floating many bells down) after the first frost —
spring summer autumn winter the hired man left the house
he sang his didn't he danced his did. with a lantern
to see how the cattle
Women and men (both little and small) were taking the storm
cared for anyone not at all in the north pasture
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain my father found him
three days later
children guessed (but only a few near the fence on the east side
and down they forgot as up they grew of the pasture
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more the faithful dog froze
beside him — curled up
when by now and tree by leaf like a lover in the man's arms
she laughed his joy she cried his grief (the broken lantern
birdby snow and stir by still lay near a stone the glass shattered)
anyone's any was all to her
men freeze this way everywhere
someones married everyones
their when lanterns fall apart
laughed their cryings and did their dance (even within one's arms
(sleep wake hope then) they inside the city's rim)
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died guess i

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

allby all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men (both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

127 22 Free Verse

Billy the Kid
Michael Ondaatje

In Boot Hill there are over 400 graves. It takes

the space of 7 acres. There is an elaborate gate
but the path keeps to no main route for it tangles
like branches of a tree among the gravestones.

300 of the dead in Boot Hill died violently

200 by guns, over 50 by knives
some were pushed under trains a popular —
and overlooked form of murder in the west.
Some from brain haemorrhages resulting from bar fights

at least 10 killed in barbed wire.

In Boot Hill there are only two graves that belong to women
and they are the only known suicides in that graveyard

I remember the first night there. John took me to see the animals.
About 20 yards away from the house, he had built vast cages, all
in a row. They had a tough net roof over them for the day time
when they were let out but tended to stay within the shade of
their cages anyway. That night John took me along and we
stepped off the porch, left the last pool of light, down the steps
into the dark. We
walked together smoking his long narrow cigars,
with each suck the nose and his mustache lighting up. We came to
the low brooding whirr of noise, night sleep of animals. They were
stunning things in the dark. Just shapes that shifted. You could
peer into a cage and see nothing till a rattle of claws hit the grid
an inch from your face and their churning feathers seemed to hiss,
and a yellow pearl of an eye cracked with veins glowed through
the criss crossed fence.

One of the cages had a huge owl. It was vast. All I could see were
its eyes — at least 8" apart. The next morning however, it turned
out to be two owls, both blind in one eye. In those dark cages the
birds, there must have been 20 of them, made a steady hum all
through the night —
a noise you heard only if you were within
five yards of them. Walking back to the house it was again sheer
silence from where we had come, only now we knew they were
moving and sensing the air and our departure. We knew they
continued like that all night while we slept.

New Directions 128

Half way backto the house, the building we moved towards Ukrainian Church
seemed be stuffed with something yellow and wet. The night,
to Miriam Waddington
the dark air, made it all mad. That fifteen yards away there were
bright birds in cages and here John Chisum and me walked,
Little father your
strange bodies. Around us total blackness, nothing out there
rhythmic black robe
but a desert for seventy miles or more, and to the left, a few
against white snow
yards away, a house stuffed with yellow wet light where within
improvises you
the frame of a window we saw a woman move carrying fire in
a black note
a glass funnel and container towards the window, towards the
on a white keyboard
edge of the dark where we stood.

let me follow
into your churchbarn
through the gate
to the onion domes
Garrett moved us straight to the nearest railroad depot. We had where your carrot
to wait one night for the train that would take us to Messilla harvest burns
where they would hold the trial. The Polk Hotel there was a a fire of candles
bright white place with a wide courtyard and well. The deputies
went down in the bucket and washed themselves. They removed let me follow
Charlie off his horse. Garrett took over and washed the dried in the cool light
blood off the animal. Garrett ordered a box for Charlie Bowdre. as you move through
Then he made me drink liquids and paste. They had to carry the God's storehouse
three of us from the horses to the beds — we couldn't walk after as you put the bins
the week on horses. was to share a room with Garrett and
I
in order as you set
Emory. each grain in place

Your last good bed Billy, he said, pick your position. did, face
I
let me follow

and stomach down. He chained me to the bed. He taped my as your voice

fingers so thick couldn't get them through a trigger guard even

I
moves through the
familiar liturgy
if they gave me a gun. Then he went out and looked after Wilson

who had broken both ankles when the horse stumbled collapsing to the low caves
of Gregorian chant
on his chained legs.
and let me hear
little father
It isafternoon still, the room white with light. My last white
room, the sun coming through the shutters making the white how you pray
walls whiter. lie on my left cheek looking to that light.
I can- I for all your geese
not even see the door or if Emory has stayed behind. The bed for the cow fertile
vast. Went to sleep, my body melting into it. remember once
I at Easter, and the
after Charlie and stopped talking we could hear flies buzzing
I foundations of new
in their black across a room, and remember once, one night in
I houses to be strong
the open turned to say goodnight to Charlie who was about ten
I
and firmly set
yards away and there was the moon balanced perfect on his nose.
andlet me hear

how you beseech

for allyour people
a clear road, an
open gate and
a new snowfall
fresh, dazzling
white as birchbark

129 22 Free Verse

Mountain Lion
D. H. Lawrence

Climbing through the January snow, into the Lobo Canyon

Dark grow the spruce-trees, blue is the balsam, water sounds
still unfrozen, and the trail is still evident.

Men!
Two men!
Men! The only animal in the world to fear!

They hesitate.
We hesitate.
They have a gun.
We have no gun.
Then we all advance, to meet.

Two Mexicans, strangers, emerging out of the dark and snow

and inwardness of the Lobo valley.
What are they doing here on this vanishing trail?

What he carrying?
is

Something yellow.
A deer?

Que tiene, amigo?

Leon —
He smiles, foolishly, as if he were caught doing wrong.
And we smile, foolishly, as if we didn't know.
He is quite gentle and dark-faced.

It is a mountain lion,
A long, long slim cat, yellow like a lioness,
Dead.

He trapped her this morning, he says, smiling foolishly.

Lift up her face,

Her round, bright face, bright as frost.
Her round, fine-fashioned head, with two dead ears;
And stripes in the brilliant frost of her face, sharp,
fine dark rays,
Beautiful dead eyes.

Hermoso es!

They go out towards the open;

We go on into the gloom of Lobo.
And above found her lair,
the trees I

A hole in the blood-orange brilliant rocks that stick up,

a little cave.
And bones, and twigs, and a perilous ascent.

New Directions 130

 never leap up that way again, with yellow flash
So, she will
of a mountain lion's long shoot!
And her bright striped frost-face will never watch any more,
out of the shadow of the cave in the blood-orange rock.
Above the trees of the Lobo dark valley-mouth!

Instead, I look out.

And out to the dim of the desert, like a dream, never real;
To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the ice of
the mountains of Picoris,
And near across at the opposite steep of snow, green trees
motionless standing in snow, like a Christmas toy.

And I think in this empty world there was room for me and a
mountain lion.

And I think in the world beyond, how easily we might spare a

million or two of humans
And never miss them.
Yet what a gap in the world, the missing white frost-face
of that slim yellow mountain lion.
Lobo

The Diver
W. W. E. Ross

I would like to dive

Down
Into this still pool
Where the rocks at the bottom are safely deep,

Into the green

Of the water seen from within,
A strange light
Streaming past my eyes —
Things hostile:
You cannot stay here, they seem to say;
The rocks, slime-covered, the undulating
Fronds of weeds —
And drift slowly
Among the cooler zones;
Then, upward turning,
Break from the green glimmer

Into the light,

White and ordinary of the day,
And the mild air,

With the breeze and the comfortable shore.

131 22 Free Verse

The Future of Poetry in Canada
Elizabeth Brewster

Some people say we live in a modern mechanized nation

where the only places that matter
are Toronto, Montreal, and maybe Vancouver;
but I myself prefer Goodridge, Alberta,
a town where electricity arrived in 1953,

the telephone in 1963.

In Goodridge, Alberta
the most important social events
have been the golden wedding anniversaries of the residents.
There have been a Garden Club, a Junior Grain Club, and a Credit Union,
and there have been farewell parties,
well attended in spite of the blizzards.

Weather is important in Goodridge.

People remember the time they threshed in the snow,
and the winter the temperature fell to seventy below.

They also remember the time

the teacher from White Rat School
piled eight children in his car
and drove them, as a treat,
allthe way to Edmonton;
where they admired the Jubilee Auditorium
and the Parliament Buildings
and visited the CNR wash rooms
but were especially thrilled
going up and down in an elevator.

I hope at least one poet

in the next generation
comes from Goodridge, Alberta.

New Directions 132

constantly risking absurdity
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Constantly risking absurdity

and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of day
performing entrechats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be

For he's the super realist

who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
supposed advance
in his
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap

And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence

133 22 Free Verse

Portrait of Marina like ice between her fingers.

P. K. Page In her head

too many mirrors dizzied her and broke.
Far out the sea has never moved. It is * * *

Prussian forever, rough as teazled wool

But where the wave breaks, where it rises green
some antique skipper worked into a frame
turns into gelatine, becomes a glass
to bear his lost four-master.
simply for seeing stones through, runs across
Where it hangs
the coloured shells and pebbles of the shore
now in a sunny parlour, none recalls
and makes an aspic of them
how all his stitches, interspersed with oaths
then sucks back
had made one pale spinster daughter grow
in foam and undertow —
his
transparent with migraines and how his call —
this aspect of the sea
fretted her more than waves.
Marina never knew.
Her name
— For her the sea was Father's Fearful Sea
Marina, for his youthful wish
harsh with sea serpents
boomed church
at the font of that small salty
winds and drowning men.
where sailors lurched like drunkards, would, he felt
For her it held no spiral of a shell
make her a water woman, rich with bells.
for her descent to dreams,
To her, the name Marina simply meant
it held no bells.
he held his furious needle for her thin
And where it moved in shallows it was more
fingers to thread again with more blue wool
imminently a danger, more alive
to sew the ocean of his memory.
than where it lay off shore full fathom five.
Now, where the picture hangs, a dimity
young inland housewife with inherited
clocks under bells and ostrich eggs on shelves Wild Horses
pours amber tea in small rice china cups Pat Lane
and reconstructs
how great-great-grandpappa at ninety-three Just to come once alone
his fingers knotted with arthritis, his to these wild horses
old eyes grown agatey with cataracts driving out of high Cascades,
became as docile as a child again — raw heaving the hip-high snow.
legs
that fearful salty man — Justonce alone. Never to see
and sat, wrapped round in faded paisley shawls the men and their trucks.
gently embroidering.
While aunt Marina in grey worsted, warped Just once alone. Nothing moves
without a smack of salt, came to his call as the stallion with five freemares
the sole survivor of his last shipwreck. rush into the guns. All dead.
Their eyes glaze with frost.
* * *
Ice bleeds in their nostrils
Slightly offshore, it glints. Each wave is capped as the cable hauls them in.
with broken mirrors. Like Marina's head
the glinting of these waves. Later, after the swearing
She walked forever antlered with migraines and the stamping of feet,
her pain forever putting forth new shoots we ride down into Golden:
until her strange unlovely head became
a kind of candelabra — delicate — 'Quit bitchin.
where all her tears were perilously hung It's a hard bloody life

and caught the light as waves that catch the sun. and a long week
The salt upon the panes, the grains of sand for three hundred bucks of meat.'
that crunched beneath her heel
her father's voice. "Marina!" — all these broke That and thedull dead eyes
her trembling edifice. The needle shook and the empty meadows.

New Directions 134

The Sculptors failed animals
Alfred Purdy with vital parts missing
And I have a sudden vision
of the carvers themselves
Going thru cases and cases
in this broken sculpture
of Eskimo sculpture
returned from Frobisher
as if the time & the place & me
had clicked into brief alignment
because they said it wasn't
and a switch pulled
good enough for sale to
so that can see and feel
I
T. Eaton Co. Ltd.
what it was like to be them
Getting itchy excelsior packing
the tb out-patients
inside my shirt and searching
failed hunters
for one good carving
one piece that says "I AM" who make a noise at the wrong time
or think of something else
to keep a southern promise
One 6-inch walrus (tusk broken)
at the trigger moment
cribbage board (ivory inlay gone)
and shine their eyes

dog that has to be labelled dog

into a continual tomorrow
the losers and failures
polar bear (badly crippled)
what might be a seal (minus flipper)
who never do anything right

and I'm getting tired of this and never will

the unlucky ones
looking for something
always on the verge
not knowing what it is
of a tremendous discovery
But I guess they got tired too
looking for rabbit or bear
who finally fail to deceive
with blisters from carving tools even themselves as time begins
to hover around them
dime-sized and inflating
the old the old the old
into quarters on their fingers
waiting who carve in their own image
of maimed animals
for walrus or white whale
under the ice floes to
And I'd like to buy every damn case

flop alive on their laps

with twitching animal faces
unready to taste the
shoe blacking carvers use
for stone polish
I'm a little ashamed of myself

for being impatient with them

but there must be something
there must be something
one piece that glows
one slap-happy idiot seal
alien to the whole seal-nation
one anthropomorphic walrus
singing Hallelujah I'm a Bum
in a whiskey baritone
But they're all flawed
broken
bent
misshapen

135 22 Free Verse

th tomato conspiracy aint worth a whol pome Focus on Meaning
bill bissett

1. a) Do you think that "the witch" and "Billy the

Kid" are poetry or prose? Why do you feel this
very few peopul
way?
yu have 5 or 6
realize ths but altho
b) The poem "the witch" reminds us that some-
billyun peopul walking around beleeving
times when we get to know someone, he or
she is not like what we were told or expected.
that tomatoez ar red they ar
Think about a person whom you really know
nd ar sprayd
actually blu
who is not like what you had thought. Write a
red to make ther apperance character sketch of this individual, discuss-
consistent with peopuls beleef ing whether this person is real or imaginary.

was whuns inside th

2. In e.e. cummings' poem "anyone lived in a pretty
i

tomato spraying plant

largest
how town," the poet feels that children — more
in th world with binoculars nd
than adults —
intuitively sense the truth or
importance of a situation. Using examples from
camoflage material all ovr me
everyday life, discuss whether you agree with
this feeling.
nd proov it
ive got th pictures to
oranges uv corz ar not orange nor ar lemons 3. a) It's not animals which pose problems for

lemon color its all a marage it humans; rather it's humans who pose prob-
lems for animals." With the poems "Mountain
was decreed what color things
Lion" and/or "Wild Horses" in mind, discuss

wud b why you agree or disagree with this state-

at th beginning nd then
ment. Can you think of other injustices
theyve bin colord that
inflicted upon animals?
way evr since
b) Compose a letter to the editor of a local news-
paper which you argue whether or not big-
in
it adds to th
game hunting should be legal. Include
chemicals nd artifishulness uv everything specific examples.
we eet tho did yu know that oranges
ar actually a discouraging off
4. a) A competent news reporterexpected to be
is

factually accurate, concise, and orderly in his

color
or her reporting. The reporter must also cap-
ture the audience's attention. Using an eye-
i was luky really to get
catching headline, compose a fifty-word
out uv th tomato factoree alive
account of the incident in Andrew Suknaski's
th tomatoez wer really poem "Lanterns."
upset to b xposed b) You are a talk-show host. Select a speaker
from one of the poems in this chapter and
script an interview with this person.

5. The poet "The Sculptors" shows an apprecia-

in
tion for Inuit (Eskimo) culture. Do you agree with
the poet? In a paragraph, write about some of the
cultural traditions of your family: food, dress,
mannerisms, language, beliefs, customs, or
holidays. You might consider how your family
functions within these traditions and how it
adapts to change.

New Directions 136

fi% Imagist Poetry

The Imagist movement in poetry flourished around This Is Just to Say

the time of the First World War. It was organized by a William Carlos Williams
group of English and American writers in London as
a revolt against what the poets considered the dead
forms and conventional language of the previous I have eaten
century. Amy Lowell, one of the leaders of Imagism, the plums
declared for a poetry which (abandoning conven- that were in
tional poetic standards) is free to choose any sub- the icebox
ject and to create its own rhythms. Here are six
points in the writing of Imagist poetry which Amy and which
Lowell mentioned as being important: you were probably
• "Use the language of common speech, but employ saving
always the exact word." for breakfast
• "Create new rhythms as expressive of new moods,

and give up copying old rhythms which merely Forgive me

echo old moods." they were delicious
• "Claim absolute freedom in the choice of a sub-
so sweet
ject."
and so cold
• "Always present an image."
• "Strive to produce poetry that is hard and clear,
never blurred and indefinite."
• "Study concentration."
The typical Imagist poem is written in free verse,
and tries to give as exactly and briefly as possible, Pear Tree
without comment or the writer's
generalization, H.D.
response to a visual object or scene. Often the
impression is rendered by means of placing close
together a description of one object with that of a Silver dust

second and dissimilar object. liftedfrom the earth,

higher than my arms reach,
Imagism was too endure long as a
restrictive to
you have mounted.
concerted movement, but proved to be the begin-
it

ning of modern poetry. Almost every major modern

poet has felt strongly the influence of the Imagist
O silver,

experiments with precise, clear images. higher than my arms reach

you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf,

no flower ever parted silver

from such rare silver;

O white pear,
your flower-tufts
thick on the branch
bring summer and ripe fruits

in their purple hearts.

137 23 Imagist Poetry

The Fish — It was more like the tipping

Elizabeth Bishop of an object toward the light.

I admired his sullen face,
themechanism of his jaw,
I caught a tremendous fish
and then saw I

and held him beside the boat

that from his lower lip
half out of water, with my hook —
— if you could call it a lip
fast in a corner of his mouth.
grim, wet, and weapon-like,
He didn't fight.
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
He hadn't fought at all.
or four and a wire leader
He hung a grunting weight,
with the swivel still attached,
battered and venerable
with all their five big hooks
and homely. Here and there
grown firmly in his mouth.
his brown skin hung in strips
A green line, frayed at the end
like ancient wall paper,
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and its pattern of darker brown
and a fine black thread
was like wall paper:
still crimped from the strain and snap
shapes like full-blown roses
when it broke and he got away.
stained and lost through age.
Like medals with their ribbons
He was speckled with barnacles,
frayed and wavering,
fine rosettes of lime,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
and infested
trailingfrom his aching jaw.
with tiny white sea-lice,
Istared and stared
and underneath two or three
and victory filled up
rags of green weed hung down.
the little rented boat,
While his gills were breathing in
from the pool of bilge
the terrible oxygen
— the frightening gills where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
fresh and crisp with blood,
— to the boiler rusted orange
that can cut so badly
the sun-cracked thwarts,
I thought of the coarse white flesh
the oarlocks on their strings,
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the gunnels — until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
the dramatic reds and blacks
And I let the fish go.
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil

seen through the lenses

of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.

New Directions 138

A London Thoroughfare, Two A.M. Focus on Meaning
Amy Lowell

1. The poem "This Is Just to Say," is a typical

They have watered the street,
Imagist poem. Is this poem a simple message
saying that the speaker has eaten the plums in
It shines in the glare of lamps,
the icebox, or is it a poem that attempts to show
Cold, white lamps,
there may be a special quality in seemingly ordi-
And lies
nary things? In your opinion, what is the tone of
Like a slow-moving river,
the poem? What do you feel are the good and
Barred with silver and black. bad points of seemingly simple Imagist poems
Cabs go down it, such as this?
One,
2. At some point in our lives, each of us stops to
and then another.
observe the beauties of the natural world around
Between them hear the shuffling of
I feet,
us. No matter how hectic our existence nor how
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
pressing our responsibilities, we need time to
Night walkers pass along the sidewalks. relax and time to enjoy the limitless splendor of
The city is squalid and sinister, nature. How does the narrator in H.D.'s poem
With the silver-barred street in the midst, regard the pear tree? Take into account the
Slow-moving, words she uses in describing the tree. Has there
A river leading nowhere. ever been a moment when you have felt a strong
bond with an aspect of nature? Explain.
Opposite my window,
3. In Elizabeth Bishop's poem "The Fish," note
The moon cuts,
how the reader, along with the person fishing, is
Clear and round, gradually brought in stages into a sympathetic
Through the plum-colored night. relationship with this creature that is seen first
She cannot light the city; as an almost inanimate object, then as a mar-
It is too bright. velous living organism, and finally as a being
It has white lamps, with human qualities. Illustrate each stage with
And glitters coldly. key phrases or lines. Do you agree with the deci-
sion to let the fish go? Why, or why not?
I stand in the window and watch the moon. 4. In "A London Thoroughfare, Two A.M." Amy
She is thin and lusterless, Lowell describes some aspects of the city of
But I love her. London. Which of the descriptions do you feel fit
Iknow the moon, the city with which you are most familiar?
And this is an alien city.

139 23 Imagist Poetry

fib Experimental Poetry

As seen in the earlier chapters in this book, the A. Concrete Poems

nature of poetry is based on the nature of people, a
The focus on visual arrangements basic to free verse
union of body and mind that work together. This last
and the general emphasis on visual media in the lat-
chapter, "Experimental Poetry," deals with certain
century may in part explain the recent
ter half of this
techniques which we may think of as new and con- enthusiasm forconcrete poetry. This most recent
temporary. These new techniques are not by any
form of poetry, existing since 1948 but only having
means what all the centuries of poetry have been become popular in the fifties, has been successful
leading up to, nor do they necessarily show where it
in the merging of visual, verbal, and auditory
is going. They deserve attention because they are of
elements. More than other poetry forms, concrete
interest in themselves and because they tell us
poetry relies on the eye. Its form is inseparable from
something about the spirit of our times —
but it is
its content.
important to keep them in perspective.
Concrete poetry is poetry in which the shape or
Remember, it is sometimes difficult to determine
concrete appearance of the poem contributes to its
what is poetry and what is not poetry. Who knows
meaning. Like short formula poems, concrete poetry
what poetry ultimately is? Nobody in North America,
is beyond paraphrase. Each reader brings his or her
before Walt Whitman published Leaves of Grass in
thoughts, feelings, and experiences to the discovery
1855, believed that poetry could be free of rhyme and
of the poem. In concrete poetry, words are treated as
regular rhythm. Everyone thought poetry must come
substances. The poet builds a pattern on the page
in a package called "verse." But Whitman intro-
by carefully placing and spacing words to help
duced us to a new form called free verse. And now
convey the significance of his or her thought and
some modern poets feel that it might even be possi-
feeling. One cannot read the poem aloud and derive
ble for poetry to break free of language entirely.
its full impact; one has to see it on the page.

Concrete poetry, picture poetry, and found poetry

Concrete poems themselves may not be textbook-
present us with techniques to which we are not, as a
type poems, but they are works of art and they do
rule, accustomed. But this is no reason to deny the
have a poetic dimension to them. It is not necessary
soundness of these new approaches. It is in the —
to like them more or less than traditional poems
nature of experiment that it makes way through trial
and error. The time will come when some of these
we can enjoy both without denying value to either.
Theme, mood, diction, tone, figures of speech,
techniques, if not all, will find a deserved place in
the world of poetry.
rhythm, form, and structure —
all these "critical

pathways" can be used to approach a concrete

The "experimental" poetry of today may very well poem.
find the masters tomorrow who will elevate these
new modes to serious attention; those poets who
will use the best of the present experiments to form
a vital new addition to poetry.

New Directions 140

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Emmett Williams
david uu

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141 24 Experimental Poetry

B. Picture Poems A Christmas Tree
William Burford
Many poets today are writing poems made of letters
or words which create an actual picture or form on
the page. Indeed, for centuries, letters of the alpha- Star,
bet had been transformed into trees, flowers, you are
animals, fishes, skeletons, buildings —
almost any-
A
If

love compassionate,
thing. Picture poems may look experimental today,
You will walk with us this year.
but such poems were done Greek by Simmias of
in
Rhodes over two thousand years ago. There has
We face a glacial distance, who are here

probably not been a moment in history in which Huddld

someone —
in India, in China, in Germany, At your feet.
somewhere —
was not patiently working out his or
her picture poem.

A style of picture poetry called "typewriter poetry"

has been favoured by many modern concrete poets. Mirror
Any of us could use typography expressively. We John Updike
could write that we moved slowly, or moved
quickasawink, or jumped o r something, or crawled
When you look kool uoy nehW
u r or wou,c '"<e t0 &e ^ ar away, or felt
nde '*' '

into a mirror rorrim a otni

like SCREAMing. Or we could make our spelling
dramatic by writing "addding" or "subtrcting" or it is not ton si ti

"di vi ding," or by using such expressive mis- yourself you see, ,ees uoy flesruoy
spellings as "mispelings" or "innacurate" or but a kind dnik a tub
"warmpth." of apish error rorre hsipa fo
posed in fearful desop
lufraef ni
Most visual poetry appeals to the eye more than to
the heart and mind. Often there
symmetry. .yrtemmys
is no use trying to
pronounce it. The poem's message springs not only
from the meaning of the words but also from its
arrangement of words or letters, which make a pic-
ture. The poem becomes visual by taking a shape Kite
appropriate to the subject matter. Anonymous

I
Tie
IT USED TO BE wish
Anonymous
THE GUY WHO I were a
WORE THE kite on high
TIE I could fly up to the sky
BUT NOW Up to the blue sky
BUY
GIRLS High as a cloud
NOT
TIES, wish were
I I

JUST FOR GUYS A kite

FOR THEMSELVES High
THEY BUY TIES WITH Up
POLKA DOTS, TIES WITH Up
SPOTS, TIES WITH POP ART Up
TIES WITH WORDS ON Up
THEM, TIES WITH A +
BIRTHSTONE, TIES +
WITH PICTURES, +
STRIPES AND +
CHECKS. +
TIES. +

New Directions 142

 '

Pattern Poem with an Elusive Intruder

Reinhard Dohl

.ApfelApfelApfelApTb..
t pfelApfelApfelApfelApffc
relApfelApfelApfelApfelAp^
lApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelA
DfelApfelApfelApfelApfelApfe
ilApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelAj:
DfelApfelApfelApfelApfelApfel
lApfelApfelApfelApfelApfelAf
Swan and Shadow
John Hollander
DfelApfelApfelApfelApfelApfe
ApfelApfelApfelApfelApfel/>
Dusk
lApfelApfelApfelWurmAp'
Above the nelApfelApfelApfelApf
x
water hang the ofelApfelApfelApfe'
loud 'VpfelApfelApfe 1

flies
^nfeiAof^'
"

Here
Oso
gray
then
What A pale signal will appear
When Soon before its shadow fades
Where Here in this pool of opened eye
In us No Upon us As at the very edges
of where we take shape in the dark air
this object bares its image awakening
ripples of recognition that will
brush darkness up into light
even after this bird this hour both drift by atop the perfect sad instant now
already passing out of sight
toward yet-untroubled reflection
this image bears its object darkening
into memorial shades Scattered bits-oi—
light No ofwater Or something across
water Breaking up No Being regathered
soon Yet by then a swan will have
gone Yes out of mind into what
vast
pale
hush
of a
place
past
sudden dark as
if a swan
sang

143 24 Experimental Poetry

C. Found Poetry This Is a Poem
Paul Dutton
Many people write poems by using words that are
already written. The lines are there, and the words
are there, so all the poet has to do is arrange the this is a poem for my father's gravestone
words into brief comments or descriptions of con- a grave poem for my father's stone
temporary Not surprisingly, these poems that
life. a father for my poem's gravestone
are "waiting to be found" are classified in a category a groan for my grave
father's
called "found" poetry.
father i will bless your grave with poems
Passages of prose that sound like poetry can be
i will stone your grave with blessings father
found in books by writers whose prose passages are
filled with rhythm and imagery. Everyone has prob-
i will father my poems with your blessings
ably thought at some time, "That sounds like
i will bless my poems with your fathering
poetry," when reading A. A. Milne, Beatrix Potter, father i will

Kenneth Grahame, E. B. White, and all who use

father your blessings on my grave poem
language in a beautiful style. In addition to books
and stories in magazines, intriguing verse material
father on my poem's grave
can be found in some of the most unlikely places: bless my poem my father's grave
newspapers, advertisements, signs on city streets bless the stones my father gave
and along country highways, directions in buildings,
scientific reports, menu descriptions, and graffiti.
my stones bless my father's poem
The anonymous poem "John F. Kennedy," taken father
from the Warren Report, and the other poems in this
on my poems
section show how effective found poetry can be.
your blessing

John F. Kennedy
Anonymous
In Memoriam: Ingvald Bjorndal and His Comrade
Malcolm Lowry The body
is that
somewhere in the North Atlantic and sent to
(Translation of a letter written
the Government of Canada by Inspector Ovide Hubert of Cap-aux-Meules, of a muscular
Magdalen Islands. The letter was written in Norwegian and had been
well-developed
found in a bottle by the sea near TEtang du Nord by Hubert Duclos, a
fisherman, on November 25, 1940. The letter was addressed to Lovise and well-nourished
Stigen, Kalandeendet [?] Fana.) adult
Caucasian male
While we sail and laugh, joke and fight, comes death measuring seventy-two
And it is the end. A man toils on board; and a half
His life drifts away like a puff of breath:
inches

Who will know his dreams now when the sea roared? and weighing approximately
I loved you, my dear, but now I am dead, one hundred
So take somebody else and forget me. and seventy
My brothers, I was foolish, as you said:
pounds.
So are most who place their fate in the sea.
Many tears have you shed for me in vain.
Take my have come
pay, Mother, Father, I

A long way to die in the blood and rain.

Buy me some earth in the graveyard at home. Focus on Meaning
Goodbye. Please remember me with these words
To the green meadows and the blue fjords.
1. Which concrete poem had most impact upon
you? Which picture poem? Why?
2. Find some examples of found poetry yourself.
Share them in a class display.

New Directions 144

Focus on Earle Birney (1904- )

traditional or experimental in form, they achieve

superlative moods of serenity, humour, irony,
tenderness, and hope.

/ Twice a winner of the Governor General's Award

and the author of twenty-three volumes of poetry,
fiction, criticism, anthologies, and editions, as well
I as nearly one hundred short stories, pamphlets,
essays, reviews, and articles, Birney has contributed
immeasurably to Canadian poetry.

The Bear on the Delhi Road

Unreal, tall as a myth

by the road the Himalayan bear
is beating the brilliant air
with his crooked arms.
About him two men, bare,
spindly as locusts, leap.
One pulls on a ring
in the great soft nose; his mate
flicks, flicks with a stick
up at the rolling eyes.

They have not led him here,

down from the fabulous hills

to this bald, alien plain

Earle Birney was born Calgary, Alberta, and edu-
in
and the clamorous world, to kill
cated at the Universities of British Columbia,
Toronto, and London. His career as a university pro- but simply to teach him to dance.
fessor has taken him throughout Canada and the
world. Similarly, his poems take the reader from the They are peaceful both, these spare
Canadian countryside Birney knows so well, all the men of Kashmir, and the bear
way around the globe. His poems are universal — it alive is their living too.
seems as though they could happen anywhere, If far on the Delhi way

anytime. For the past few years Birney has been Pro- around him galvanic they dance
fessor of English at the University of British Colum- it is merely to wear, wear

bia, where he has instituted the Department of from his shaggy body the tranced
Creative Writing.
wish forever to stay
The major themes of Birney's work often deal with only an ambling bear
a criticism of contemporary society and the contrast four-footed in berries.
of people's aims and their achievements. These
themes appear in both traditional and experimental It is no more joyous for them
forms. He handles traditional forms like lyrics and in this hot dust toprance
narratives with great skill —witness the verbal
out of reach of the praying claws
magic of such beloved classics as "Bear on the
sharpened to paw for ants
Delhi Road" and "David." Lately, however, it
in the shadows of deodars.
appears that Birney's creative emphasis has been
It is not easy to free
on a more experimental form of verse. Perhaps he
feels that for the purpose of expressing certain myth from reality

emotions, sensations, or creative instincts, the tradi- or rear this fellow up

tional poetry maintains a spirit of perpetual youth in to lurch, lurch with them
his verse. Nevertheless, whether his poems are in the tranced dancing of men.

145 Focus on Earle Birney

Focus on Earle Birney

Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies Winter Saturday

as Furred from the farmhouse

the like the caterpillars from wood
fire they emerge, the storm blown out,
from and find in the Ford their cocoon.
opals Through hardening dusk and over
a trem the cold void impelled, they move
-ulous todreams of light and sound.
dawn be- Over drifts like headlands they go,
gins its drawn to the town's pink cloud,
ceremony of glidingunamazed through snow
slow touch by the wind marbled and fluted.
without palms
its breath with- With tentacle headlights now
out breathing along they feel the watertank, grope
the whorled turrets with Main Street, are blissfully caught.
moving shimmering fall Hatch from the car like trembling moths,
-ing over the scarred for circle to faces, flutter to movie,
-ever-by-the-wind-besieged throb through the dance in a sultry swoon.
ramparts the icecracked tree- But lights fail, time is false,

breached walls the light of the town was less than its glow.
the untouchable Sun sliding from Again in chrysalis folded
skyblue into the chill broken flesh they must go lonely
of our lifedrop warming freeing the drowsy back through ghosts
silence of jays and firtops sending a the wind starts from the waiting snow.
heather of wind over unfolding asters and
eaglets ruffling the moated lake to a green
soul and rolling once more the upraised sacrifice
of our world into the sword of Its PRESENCE

New Directions 146

Focus on Earle Birney

1. Of the writing of "The Bear on the Delhi Road,"

Earle Birney once said:
"In the summer had a glimpse of a bear
of 1958 I

and two Kashmiri men on a roadside in northern

India — seen from my passing car. It was a
strange sight, of course, but it haunted me for
reasons far beyond oddness .... Bear and men
pursued me for fourteen months till could find I

the leisure on a Mediterranean island, and the

mood, —
and then in two hours the words came
and the bearish rhythm and the images to lay
those three ghosts, which were think also the
I

ghosts of my multitudinous guilt feelings, as a

well-fed western tourist in a world of unimag-
inable poverty and heat and dusty slaving."
After you've read Bimey's comments on this
poem, could you put in your own words what you
think the poet is trying to say? In your answer
you might consider the following questions.
• What is the human/animal relationship
described?
• What haunted the poet most —
the wretched-
ness of the bear or the wretchedness of the
men?
• Why do the two men and the bear remain in
Birney's mind (as "ghosts") long after he has
seen them?
• Why does the poet have "guilt feelings"?
• How does the predicament of the men and the
bear arouse various feelings —
compassion,
fear, love, despair — in the poet?

2. What do you think of "shape poetry" like

"Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies"? Why
do you think this type of poetry is effective or
ineffective?

147 Focus on Earle Birney

Index of Authors
CARMAN, Bliss Canadian (1861-1929)
A Vagabond Song 113
ATWOOD, Margaret Canadian (1939- )
CHAPIN, Harry American (1942-1981)
From the Journals of Susanna Moodie: 83
Cats in the Cradle 52
Disembarking at Quebec
The Planters COGSWELL, Fred Canadian (1917- )

Death of a Young Son by Drowning The Rock Pile 117

Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer 84
COHEN, Leonard Canadian (1934- )

AVISON, Margaret Canadian (1918- )

For Anne 103
New Year's Poem 1 18 I Wonder How Many People in This City 12

B COLERIDGE, Samuel Taylor English (1772-1834)

BASHO Japanese (1644-1694)

Sir, I Admit 92
Stop, Christian Passer-by! 93
New Year's Day 88
COLOMBO, John Robert Canadian (1936- )
BELLOC, Hilaire French (1870-1953)
Riverdale Lion 22
On His Books 92
COWLEY, Malcolm American (1898- )
BIERCE, Ambrose American (1824-71914)
The Long Voyage 19
On Frank Pixley, Editor 93
CRAPSEY, Adelaide American (1878-1914)
BIRNEY, Earle Canadian (1904- )

The Warning 89
Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies 146
The Bear on the Delhi Road 145 CUMMINGS, e.e. American (1894-1962)
Winter Saturday 146 nobody loses all the time 95
BISHOP, Elizabeth American (1911- )
anyone lived in a pretty how town 127

The Fish 138 D

BISSETT, bill Canadian (1950- )
DICKINSON, Emily American (1830-1886)
th tomato conspiracy aint worth a whol pome 136
A Bird Came Down the Walk 1 15
BREWSTER, Elizabeth Canadian (1911- )
DOHL, Reinhard German (1934- )

The Future of Poetry in Canada 132

Pattern Poem with an Elusive Intruder 143
BRIDGES, Robert English (1844-1930)
American
DOOLITTLE, Hilda (H.D.) (1896-1961)
Elegy: The Wood Is Bare 108
Pear Tree 137
BROOKE, Rupert English (1887-1915)
DRUMMOND, William Henry Canadian (1854-1907)
The Soldier 111
The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante' 60
BROWNING, Robert English (1812-1889)
DUTTON, Paul Canadian (1943- )

Porphyria's Lover 77
This is a Poem 144
BURFORD, William American (1927- )
DYLAN, Bob American (1941- )

A Christmas Tree 142

The Times They Are A-Changin' 54
BURNS, Robert Scottish (1759-1796)
E
To a Mouse 1 19
ELIOT, Thomas Stearns American (1888-1965)
BUSON Japanese (1715-1783)
Journey of the Magi 106
The Short Night 88
ERSKINE, John English (1879-1951)
BYRON, George Gordon (Lord) English (1788-1824)
She Walks in Beauty 102 Modern Ode to the Modern School 1 18

Index of Authors 148

 Ode to Autumn 122
This Living Hand 122
FERLINGHETTI, Lawrence American (1919-
To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent 122
constantly risking absurdity 133
KLEIN, Abraham Moses Canadian (1909-1972)
FINCH, Robert Canadian (1900- )
Heirloom 119
Toronto Crossing 19
KNISTER, Raymond Canadian (1899-1932)
FLECKER, James Elroy English (1884-1915)
The Plowman 117
To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence 106
L
FROST, Robert American (1874-1963)

A Minor Bird 24 LAMPMAN, Archibald Canadian (1861-1899)

Birches 25 Solitude 113

Dust of Snow 24 LANE, Pat Canadian (1939- )

Fire and Ice 25

Wild Horses 134

LAWRENCE, D.H. American (1885-1930)

GUTTERIDGE, Don Canadian (1937- ) Mountain Lion 130
Riel 71 LAYTON, Irving Canadian (1912- )

H Song for Naomi 105

Wit 92
HAYDEN, Robert American (1913-1980)
LE PAN, Douglas Canadian (1914- )
Those Winter Sundays 102
Canoe Trip 16
HEATH, Terrence Canadian (1936- )

LIGHTFOOT, Gordon Canadian (1939- )

the witch 126
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald 58
HELWIG, David Canadian (1938- )

LIVESAY, Dorothy Canadian (1909- )

Memory 105
In the Street 117
HENLEY, William Ernest English (1849-1903)
LONGFELLOW, Henry Wadsworth American (1807-1882)
Invictus 19
The Wreck of the Hesperus 56
HOLLANDER, John American (1929- )

Swan and Shadow

LOWELL, Amy American (1874-1925)
143
A London Thoroughfare, Two A.M. 139
HUNT, Leigh English (1784-1859)
The Taxi 102
Jenny Kissed Me 107
LOWRY, Malcolm Canadian (1909-1957)
I
In Memoriam: Ingvald Bjorndal and His Comrade 144
IAN, Janis American (1950- )
LOWTHER, Pat Canadian (1935-1975)
At Seventeen 14 Elegy for the South Valley 108
ISSA Japanese (1762-1826)
M
Giddy Grasshopper 88
MACLEISH, Archibald American (1892- )

J Psyche with the Candle 103

JONSON, Ben English (1572-1637) MACNEICE, Louis Irish (1907-1963)
Hymn to Diana 76 Snow 114
K MARQUIS, Don American (1878-1937)

KEATS, John English (1795-1821) cheerio my deario 94

La Belle Dame Sans Merci 123

149
 1

MARTINS, David Canadian (1935- ) PRATT, E.J. Canadian (1882-1964)

The Ballad of the Bluenose 59 A November Landscape 114

Erosion 110
MARTY, Sid Canadian (1944- )

The Argument for Ascending 15

PURDY, Alfred Canadian (1918- )

The Sculptors 135

McCRAE, John Canadian (1872-1918)

In Flanders Fields 1 1 R
McFARLAND, Cathleen Canadian (1964- ) RANDALL, Dudley American (1914- )

The Sun is Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend) 12 Ballad of Birmingham 53

McLEAN, Don American (1945- ) RAYE, Don American (1936- )

Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) 75 Adversity 89

MILLAY, Edna St. Vincent American (1892-1950) Life Lesson 88
Inevitability 88
Love is Not All 104
Understanding 88
Travel 19
Wild Swans 118 REANEY, James Canadian (1926- )

MITCHELL, Joni Canadian (1944- )

The Coffins 110

The Circle Game 107 ROBERTS, Theodore Goodridge Canadian (1877-1953)

Tin Angel 13 The Blue Heron 113

N ROCHESTER, John Wilmot English (1647-1680)

(2nd Earl of)
NOWLAN, Alden Canadian (1933- )
For King Charles II 92
Johnnie's Poem 13
Junkets 121
ROSENBLATT, Joe Canadian (1933- )

The Execution 81 Waiter! . . . There's an Alligator in My Coffee 96

NOYES, Alfred English (1880-1958) ROSS, W.W.E. Canadian (1894-1966)

The Highwayman 48 The Diver 131

O ROSSETTI, Christina English (1830-1894)

Remember 107
OCHS, Phil American (1940-1976)

Crucifixion 73 S
ONDAATJE, Michael Canadian (1939- ) SAINTE-MARIE, Buffy Canadian (1939- )

Billy the Kid 128 The Universal Soldier 54

P SCOTT, Duncan Campbell Canadian (1862-1947)

At the Cedars 80
PAGE, P.K. Canadian (1916- )

Portrait of Marina 134 SCOTT, Walter (Sir) Scottish (1771-1832)

Bonny Dundee 42
PATCHEN, Kenneth American (1911-1972)
Border March 41
The Fox 112
Hunting Song 41
PATERSON, A.B. Australian (1864-1941)
SERVICE, Robert Canadian (1874-1958)
Waltzing Matilda 47
Comfort 67
POE, Edgar Allan American (1809-1849) Kathleen 65
Annabel Lee 103 The Shooting of Dan McGrew 62
The Raven 78 SHAKESPEARE, William English (1564-1616)
POPE, Alexander English (1688-1744) Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day 104
Ode on Solitude 120

Index of Authors 150

 1

SHELLEY, Percy Bysshe English (1792-1822) W

The Cloud 115 WADDINGTON, Miriam Canadian (1917- )

SHIKI Japanese (1867-1902) Provincial 16

Oh! I Ate Them All 88 Ukrainian Church 129

SIMON, Paul American (1942- ) WHITMAN, Walt American (1819-1892)

The Sound of Silence 20 When Heard the Learn 'd Astronomer
I 23

SOUSTER, Raymond Canadian (1921- ) WILLIAMS, Emmett American (1925- )

Flight of the Roller Coaster 98 like attracts like 141

Minor Testament 99 WILLIAMS, William Carlos American (1883-1963)
Orange Butterfly Lighting 98
This Is Just to Say 137
Our Weeping-Willow 99
The Top Hat 98 WORDSWORTH, William English (1770-1850)

Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 114

STERLING, Mary Jane Canadian (1963- )
I

Thoughts on Silence 13 WYLIE, Elinor American (1885-1928)

STEVENSON, Robert Louis English

Velvet Shoes 114
(1850-1894)

Heather Ale 46 Y
SUKNASKI, Andrew Canadian (1942- ) YEATS, William Butler Irish (1865-1939)
Lanterns 127 When You Are Old 107
SWIFT, Jonathan Irish (1667-1745) Z
A Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late
ZIEROTH, Dale Canadian (1946- )
Famous General 1 1

120 Miles North of Winnipeg 17

TEASDALE, Sara American (1884-1933)

The Long Hill 22

TENNYSON, Alfred (Lord) English (1809-1892)

Crossing the Bar 93
Ulysses 70

THOMAS, Dylan Welsh (1914-1953)

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night 1 10

THOMAS, Edward English (1878-1917

The Owl 21

TICHBORNE, Chidiock English (71558-1586)

Elegy Written in the Tower 112

U
UPDIKE, John American (1932- )

Mirror 142

uu, david (David W. Harris) Canadian

astrological chart (for jan) 141

151
 . 5
2 5
7
111

Index of First Lines He's five foot two and he's six feet four, 54
He stood, a point 84
He, who navigated with success 83
His Grace! impossible! what, dead! 1 1
A bird came down the walk: 1 1

Homing geese, still winged, 88

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up
in the Malamute saloon; 62 How still it is here in the woods. The trees 1 13

A child arrived just the other day. 52 I

"A cold coming we had of it, 1 06

I 142
A lady from near Lake Louise 91
I bring fresh showers for thirsting flowers, 1 1
All day I follow 117
I caught a tremendous fish 1 38
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky, 73
If I should die, think only this of me: 1 1
anyone lived in a pretty how town 127
I have eaten 137
ApfelApfel. . 143
I have wished a bird would fly away, 24
Are you going to Scarborough Fair? 32
I learned the truth at seventeen 14
as 146
I'll sing you a song of that plaguey pest, 37
As wasI a-goin' over Gilgary Mountain, 36
astrologyastronomyastrologyastronomyastrology
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over. 1 18

astronomyastrol 141 I must have passed the crest a while ago 22

A warm smile from you 88 In a green place lanced through 113

In Boot Hill there are over 400 graves. It takes 128
B
In Flanders fields the poppies blow 1 1

Because the snow is deep 1 1 In rainy weather 1 1

Bound lion, almost blind from meeting their gaze In the first evenings 105
and popcorn 22 In the town of Lunenburg down Nova Scotia way, 59
I remember a fellow named Louie 90
I sat next the Duchess at tea. 9
Climbing through the January snow, into the
Is it my clothes, my way of walking, 83
Lobo Canyon 130
It little profits that an idle king, 70
Come all you bold Canadians, I'd have you lend an ear 38
I touch 89
Come gather 'round people 54
It took the sea a thousand years, 110
Constantly risking absurdity 133
IT USED TO BE 142
D It was in and about the Martinmas time, 31

Debris in the wind 89 It was many and many a year ago, 1 03

Do not go gentle into that good night, 1 1
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was
shining bright, 39
Down hill I came, hungry, and yet not starved; 21
It was the schooner Hesperus, 56
Dusk 143
It was the steamer Alice May that sailed the
Yukon foam. 65
Far out the sea has never moved. It is 1 34 I wandered lonely as a cloud 114

From the bonny bells of heather 46 I was young when 12

Furred from the farmhouse 146 I who am dead a thousand years, 1 06

I wonder how many people in this city 12
I would like to dive 1 3
Galaxies — 90
Giddy Grasshopper 88
Going thru cases and cases 1 35 Jenny kissed me when we met, 107
Joy - 90
H Board had brought the schools
Just after the
Happy the man whose wish and care 1 20 up to date 118
Hello darkness my old friend, 20 Just now, 89
Here lies Frank Pixley, as usual. 93 Just to come once alone 134

Here lies our sovereign lord, the King, 92

Index of First Lines 152

 9
7
71 4
9
8
1

She walks in beauty, like the night 102

Sidehill gouging 15
Let's away to New Scotland, where Plenty
Silver dust 137
sits queen 39
Sir, I admit your general rule, 92
Let us walk in the white snow 114
Solzhenitsyn, as I learn 99
Like an elk they had pursued him, driven him 7
Some people say we live in a modern mechanized
like attracts like 141
nation 1 32
Little father your 129
Some say the world will end in fire. 25
Look! I've written a poem! 13
South Valley Dam is silted up, 1 08
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink 104
Star, 142
Love which is the most difficult mystery 103
Starry, starry night, paint your palette
M blue and grey, 75
STOP, Christian passer-by! — Stop, child of God, 93
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 41
Sudden swallows swiftly skimming, 96
Mother dear may I go downtown 53
Sundays too my father got up early 1 02
mrs. schmidt and the boy stepped down from the 1 26
Sunset and evening star, 93
My childhood 16
My father bequeathed me no wide estates; 1 1

My grandfather came here years ago, 1

the blizzard came 1 27
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, 1 12
The body 144
N The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle 1 1

The fierce wind rages 88

Night that ends so soon: 88
The first day of the year: 88
nobody loses all the time 95
The gypsy rover came over the hill, 33
Not that the pines were darker there, 19
The legend on from the Chippewa on down
lives
November came today and seized the whole 1 14
of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee. 58
O The pile of papers 89
The railroad track is miles away, 1
Oh! I ate them all 88
The rain set early in to-night, 77
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong 47
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, 34
Once more around should do it, the man confided ... 98
There lived a wife at Usher's well, 30
Once upon a midnight dreary, while pondered, I

weak and weary, 78 There something

is in the autumn that is native
to my blood — 113
On the night of the execution 81
There was a gallant ship, a gallant ship was she, 35
On the 22nd of June 93
There was an old grouch from Ontario 9
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, 60
The room was suddenly rich and the great
Orange butterfly lighting 98
bay-window was 1 1
Out of the night that covers me, 19
These coffins are submarines 1 1
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 123
The way a crow 24
you who read my epitaph, 92
The well-drest woman in the costly car 19
"The wind doth blow today, my love, 28

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 76

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the
gusty trees, 48
R The wood is bare: a river-mist is steeping 108

Remember me when am gone away, I 107

They have watered the street, 1 39
Right in the middle of a field there stands 1 1
They move between the jagged edge 83
this is a poem for my father's gravestone 1 44
S
This living hand, now warm and capable 1 22
Sacred to the remains of 93 To one who has been long in city pent, 1 22
Say! You've struck a heap of trouble — 67 To the Lords of Convention 'twas 42
Season of mists and mellow fruitf ulness, 1 22 True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; 29
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 104

153
u
Unreal, tail as a myth 145

Varnished weeds in window jars 13

very few peopul 136

W
Waiter! . . . there's an alligator in my coffee. 96
Waken, lords and ladies gay! 41
Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, 119
well boss i met 94
What am doing here I 13
What of this fabulous country 16
When am dead, hope may be said:
I I it 92
When go away from you
I 102
When heard the learn'd astronomer,
I 23
When see birches bend to left and right
I 25
When we moved here, twelve years ago, 99
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, 107
When you look kool uoy nehW 142
"Where have you been all the day, Randall,
my son? 32
Whether it's just a gag or the old geezer's 98
While we sail and laugh, joke and fight,
comes death 144
Who is that in the tall grasses singing 105
With Annie gone, 103
v
1

Yesterday a child came out to wander, 107

YOU had two girls — Baptiste — 80
You magnificent 121

Index of First Lines 154

 1 7 1

Index of Titles For King Charles II 92

From the Journals of Susanna Moodie: 83
Disembarking at Quebec
The Planters
A Bird Came Down the Walk 1 15 Death of a Young Boy by Drowning
A Christmas Tree 142
Adversity 89
A lady from near Lake Louise ... 91 Galaxies 90
A London Thoroughfare, Two A. M. 139 Giddy Grasshopper 88
A Minor Bird 24 H
Annabel Lee 103
Heather Ale 46
A November Landscape 114
Heirloom 119
anyone lived in a pretty how town 127
Hunting Song 41
A Elegy on the Death of a Late
Satirical
Famous General 1 1 Hymn to Diana 76

astrological chart (for jan) 141 I

At Seventeen 14
Inevitability 88
At the Cedars 80
In Flanders Fields 1 1
A Vagabond Song 113
In Memoriam: Ingvald Bjorndal and His Comrade 144
B In the Street 1 1

Invictus 19
Ballad of Birmingham 53
Barbara Allan 31 I remember a fellow named Louie ... 90

Billy the Kid 128 I sat next the Duchess at tea . . . 91

Birches 25 I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 1 14

Bonny Dundee 42 I Wonder How Many People in This City 12

Border March 41

C Jenny Kissed Me 107

Canoe Trip 16 Jesse James 39

Cats in the Cradle 52 John F. Kennedy 144

cheerio my deario 94 Johnie Armstrong 34

Come All You Bold Canadians 38 Johnnie's Poem 13

Comfort 67 Journey of the Magi 106

constantly risking absurdity 133 Joy 90

Crossing the Bar 93 Junkets 121

Crucifixion 73 K
D Kathleen 65

Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies 146 Kite 142

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night 110 L

Dust of Snow 24
La Belle Dame Sans Merci 123
Lanterns 127

Elegy for the South Valley 108 Life Lesson 88

like attracts like 141
Elegy: The Wood Is Bare 108
Elegy Written in the Tower 112 Lord Randall 32

Erosion 110 Love Is Not All 104

M
Fire and Ice 25 Memory 105

Flight of the Roller Coaster 98 Minor Testament 99

For Anne 103 Mirror 142

155
Modern Ode to the Modern School 1 18 The Blue Heron 113
Mountain Lion 130 The Circle Game 107

N The Cloud 115

The Coffins 110
New Year's Day 88 The Diver 131
New Year's Poem 118 The Execution 81
nobody loses all the time 95 The Fish 138
Nova Scotia: A New Ballad 39 The Fox 112
O The Future of Poetry in Canada 132
The Golden Vanity 35
Ode on Solitude 120
The Gypsy Rover 33
Ode to Autumn 122
The Highwayman 48
Oh! I Ate Them All 88
The Long Hill 22
120 Miles North of Winnipeg 17
The Long Voyage 19
On Frank Pixley, Editor 93
The Owl 21
On His Books 92
The Plowman 117
On the 22nd of June 93
The Poor Little Girls of Ontario 37
Orange Butterfly Lighting 98
The Raven 78
Our Weeping-Willow 99
There was an old grouch from Ontario ... 91
P The Rock Pile 117

Papers 89 The Sculptors 135

Pattern Poem with an Elusive Intruder 143

The Shooting of Dan McGrew 62

Pear Tree 137 The Short Night 88

Porphyria's Lover 77 The Soldier 111 ^

Portrait of Marina 134 The Sound of Silence 20
Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer 84 The Sun Is Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend) 12

Provincial 16 The Taxi 102

Psyche with the Candle 103 The Times They Are A-Changin' 54
The Top Hat 98
The Universal Soldier 54
Remember 107 The Unquiet Grave 28
Riel 71 The Warning 89
Riverdale Lion 22 The Wife of Usher's Well 30

S the witch 126

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald 58
Sacred to the Remains of 93 The Wreck of the Hesperus 56
Scarborough Fair 32 The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante' 60
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? 104 This Is a Poem 144
She Walks in Beauty 102 This Is Just to Say 137
Similarities 89 This Living Hand 122
Sir, I Admit 92 Thomas the Rhymer 29
Snow 114
Those Winter Sundays 102
Solitude 113
Thoughts on Silence 13
Song for Naomi 105
worth a whol pome
th tomato conspiracy aint 136
Stop, Christian Passer-by! 93 Tie 142
Susan Simpson 96 Tin Angel 13
Swan and Shadow 143 To a Mouse 119
T To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence 106
To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent 122
The Argument for Ascending 15
Toronto Crossing 19
The Ballad of the Bluenose 59
Travel 19
The Bear on the Delhi Road 145

Index of Titles 156

u
Ukrainian Church 129
Ulysses 70
Understanding 88

V
Velvet Shoes 114
Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) 75

W
Waiter! . . . There's an Alligator in My Coffee 96
Waltzing Matilda 47
When Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
I 23
When You Are Old 107
Whiskey in the Jar 36
Wild Horses 134
Wild Swans 118
Winter Saturday 146
Wit 92

157
Page 95— nobody loses all the time reprinted from IS 5 POEMS by e.e.
cummings by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright
1926 by Horace Liveright. Copyright renewed 1953 by e.e. cummings.
Page 96 — Waiter! . . There's an Alligator in My Coffee from TOP SOIL,
.
Reprinted by permission of the author. Page 98 — Flight of the Roller
Coaster, The Top Hat by Raymond Souster from THE COLOUR OF THE
TIMES by permission of Oberon Press; Orange Butterfly Lighting by Ray-
mond Souster from HANGING IN by permission of Oberon Press. Page 99
— Our Weeping-Willow by Raymond Souster from HANGING IN by per-
mission of Oberon Press. Page 102 - The Taxi from THE COMPLETE
POETICAL WORKS OF AMY LOWELL. Copyright © 1955 by Houghton
Mifflin Company. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. Page 103 —
For Anne from THE SPICE BOX OF EARTH reprinted by permission of
The Canadian Publishers, McClelland and Stewart, Limited, Toronto;
Psyche with the Candle from NEW AND COLLECTED POEMS 1917-1976
by Archibald MacLeish, Copyright © 1976 by Archibald MacLeish.
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. Page 104 — Love
Is Not All from COLLECTED POEMS, Harper & Row. Copyright 1921,
1931, 1948, 1958 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis. Page
105 - Memory from FIGURES IN A LANDSCAPE. By permission of
Oberon Press; Song for Naomi from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF IRVING
LAYTON reprinted by permission of The Canadian Publishers, McClelland
and Stewart Limited, Toronto. Page 106 — Journey of the Magi from COL-
LECTED POEMS 1909-1962, by T.S. Eliot. Reprinted by permission of
Faber and Faber, Ltd. Page 107 — When You Are Old from COLLECTED
POEMS by W.B. Yeats Reprinted by permission of M.B. Yeats, Anne Yeats
and MacMillan London Limited, Reprinted with permission of MacMillan
Publishing Co., Inc. from COLLECTED POEMS of William Butler Yeats
(New York: Macmillan, 1956); Remember from POETICAL WORKS OF
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI (New York: MacMillan, 1924); The Circle Game
© 1966 Siquomb Publishing Corporation Used by permission. All rights
reserved. Page 108 — Elegy: The Wood Is Bare from A GATHERING OF
POEMS. Reprinted by permission of Pocket Books Inc. Page 110 — The
Coffins For permission to include "The Coffins" from POEMS, by James
Reaney, New Press, Toronto, copyright Canada 1972, thanks are due to
the author, New Press, Publisher, and Sybil Hutchinson, Literary Agent;
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night from THE COLLECTED POEMS
OF DYLAN THOMAS by Dylan Thomas. Reprinted by permission of J.M.
Dent Limited. Dylan Thomas, THE POEMS OF DYLAN THOMAS. Copy-
right 1952 by Dylan Thomas; Erosion Reprinted by permission of Viola
and Claire Pratt and the Pratt Estate. Page 111 — The Soldier Reprinted by
permission of Dodd. Mead & Company, Inc. from THE COLLECTED
POEMS OF RUPERT BROOKE. Copyright 1915 by Dodd, Mead & Com-
pany, Inc. Copyright renewed 1943 by Edward Marsh. From COLLECTED
POEMS by Rupert Brooke reprinted by permission of The Canadian
Publishers, McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto; In Flanders Fields
Reproduced by permission of Punch. Page 1 12 — The Fox from Collected
Poems. Copyright 1939 by New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. Page
113 - The Blue Heron from THE LEATHER BOTTLE by Theodore G.
Roberts. Reprinted by permission of McGraw-Hill Ryerson Limited. Page
114 — A November Landscape Reprinted by permission of Viola and
Claire Pratt and the Pratt Estate; Velvet Shoes Copyright 1921 by Alfred A.
Knopf, Inc. and renewed 1949 by William Rose Benet. Reprinted from
COLLECTED POEMS OF ELINOR WYLIE, by Elinor Wylie, by permission
of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.; Snow Reprinted by permission of Faber and
Faber Ltd. from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF LOUIS MACNEICE. Page
115 — A Bird Came Down the Walk Reprinted by permission of the
publishers and the trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily
Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson, Cambridge, Mass: The Belknap
Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright 1951, © 1955,1979 by the
President and Fellows of Harvard College; The Cloud from THE COM-
158
PLETE WORKS OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Reprinted by permission of
Ernest Benn Limited. Page 117 — The Rock by permission of the
Pile
author; In the Street from POETS BETWEEN THE WARS Milton Wilson ed.
McClelland and Stewart Copyright Dorothy Livesay; The Plowman from
THE COLLECTED POEMS OF RAYMOND KNISTER. Reprinted by permis-
sion of McGraw-Hill Ryerson Limited. Page 118 — New Year's Poem from
POETRY OF MID-CENTURY 1940-1960 by Margaret Avison. Reprinted by
permission of The Canadian Publishers McClelland and Stewart Limited,
Toronto; Wild Swans from Collected Poems, Harper and Row, Copyright
1921, 1931, 1948, 1958 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis.
Page 119 — Heirloom from THE COLLECTED POEMS OF A.M. KLEIN.
Reprinted by permission of McGraw-Hill Ryerson Limited. Page 126 — the
witch House of Anansi Press for "the witch" by Terrence Heath, the truth
and other stories (1972). Page 127 — anyone lived in a pretty how town
from COMPLETE POEMS: 1913-1962 by e.e. cummings. Page 128 - Billy
the Kid by permission of the author. Page 129 — Ukrainian Church from
Driving Home by Miriam Waddington © Oxford University Press, Canada.
Page 130 — Mountain Lion Copyright © 1964 The Estate of Frieda
Lawrence Ravagli from THE COMPLETE POEMS OF D.H. LAWRENCE.
Acknowledgement is also given to Laurence Pollinger Ltd., and the estate
of Frieda Lawrence Ravagli; by D.H. Lawrence. From THE COMPLETE
POEMS OF D.H. LAWRENCE, Collected and edited with an Introduction
and Notes by Vivian de Sola Pinto and F. Warren Roberts. Copyright 1967,
1971 by Angelo Ravagli and CM. Weekley, as executors of the estate of
Frieda Lawrence Ravagli. Reprinted by permission of Viking Penguin, Inc.
Page 131 - The Diver from SHAPES AND SOUNDS: POEMS OF W.W.E.
—
ROSS by W.W.E. Ross, Academic Press Canada. Page 132 The Future of
Poetry in Canada from SUNRISE NORTH By Elizabeth Brewster © 1972 by
Clarke, Irwin & Company Limited Used by permission. Page 133 — con-
stantly risking absurdity Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A CONEY ISLAND OF
THE MIND. Copyright © 1958 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti Reprinted by per-
mission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. Page 134 — Portrait of
Marina reprinted by permission of the author; Wild Horses from POEMS,
NEW AND SELECTED, Oxford University Press. Reprinted by permission
of the author. Page 135 — The Sculptors from North of Summer by Al
Purdy reprinted by permission of The Canadian Publishers, McClelland
and Stewart Limited, Toronto. Page 136 — th tomato conspiracy aint
worth a whol pome reprinted from BEYOND EVEN FAITHFUL LEGENDS
Talonbooks 1980 by permission of the author. Page 137 —
This Is Just to
Say William Carlos Williams, COLLECTED EARLIER POEMS OF WILLIAM
CARLOS WILLIAMS. Copyright 1938 by New Directions Publishing Cor-
poration; Pear Tree H.D., SELECTED POEMS OF H.D. Copyright 1925,
1953, 1957 by Norman Holmes Pearson Reprinted by permission of New
Directions Publishing Corporation. Page 138 — The Fish reprinted by per-
mission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Inc. "The Fish" from ELIZABETH
BISHOP: THE COMPLETE POEMS. Copyright © 1940, 1969 by Elizabeth
Bishop. Page 139 — A London Thoroughfare, Two A.M. from THE COM-
PLETE POETICAL WORKS OF AMY LOWELL. Copyright © 1955 by
Houghton Mifflin Company. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
Page 142 — Mirror Copyright © 1957 by John Updike. Reprinted from
THE CARPENTERED HEN AND OTHER TAME CREATURES, by John Up-
dike, by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Page 144 — This Is a Poem by
permission of the author © Paul Dutton, 1975. Page 145 — The Bear on the
Delhi Road from The Collected Poems of Earle Birney reprinted by per-
mission of The Canadian Publishers, McClelland and Stewart Limited,
Toronto. Page 146 — Daybreak on Lake Opal: High Rockies, Winter Satur-
day from GHOST IN THE WHEELS reprinted by permission of The Cana-
dian Publishers, McClelland and Stewart Limited, Toronto.
Every effort has been made to trace and acknowledge the holders of
copyright material used in this book. The authors and publisher apologize
for any errors or omissions in acknowledgements. Any such errors
brought to our attention will be noted and corrected in future editions.
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