  Poetry
This week: Bliss Carman Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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A Sea Child
by Bliss Carman
The lover of child Marjory
Had one white hour of life brim full;
Now the old nurse, the rocking sea,
Hath him to lull.
The daughter of child Marjory
Hath in her veins, to beat and run,
The glad indomitable sea,
The strong white sun.
The Heart of Night
by Bliss Carman
When all the stars are sown
Across the night-blue space,
With the immense unknown,
In silence face to face.
We stand in speechless awe
While Beauty marches by,
And wonder at the Law
Which wears such majesty.
How small a thing is man
In all that world-sown vast,
That he should hope or plan
Or dream his dream could last!
O doubter of the light,
Confused by fear and wrong,
Lean on the heart of night
And let love make thee strong!
The Good that is the True
Is clothed with Beauty still.
Lo, in their tent of blue,
The stars above the hill!
On April 15, 1861 in Frederiction, New Brunswick, William Carman and his wife Sophia welcomed son William Bliss Carman into their family. Carman went to school at Collegiate Grammar school. He then went to the University or New Brunswick, graduating in 1881. Carman then enrolled at Oxford University but stayed only a short time before he left to go to Edinburgh University. He studied mathematics and philosophy.
When he was done with his schooling, in 1883, Carman returned Frederiction and taught at his old grammar school. It was in 1884 that his first poem "Ma belle Canadienne" was published. Carman entered Harvard University in 1886. He wrote "Low tide at Grand Pre`‚" which was published in Atlantic Monthly. After leaving Harvard, Carman worked as and editor in Boston and New York. In 1893 Carman published a collection of poems Low Tide on Grand Pre` followed by a three volume series Songs from Vagabondia.
It was in 1896 he met Dr. King and his wife Mary Perry King. Mrs King became a big influence in Carman's writing. He wrote with Mary King on The Making of Personality published in 1908, the two worked on several books together. Carman moved to New Canaan, Connecticut in 1908. This way he was closer to Mary estate and they could work together. Carman was awarded an LL.D. by the University of New Brunswick during this time.
Carman published a total of five books of essays and The pipes of Pan,which was five volumes of poetry. He was editor for "The world's best poetry," which had ten volumes. Carman also edited "The Oxford book of American verse," in 1927. In 1928 was awarded the Lorne Pierce Gold Medal by the Royal Society of Canada. Carman died at the age of 68. He collapsed at his home while suffering a cerebral hemorrhage. After his death he was awarded a medal by the Poetry Society of America.
Rivers of Canada
by Bliss Carman
O all the little rivers that run to Hudson's Bay,
They call me and call me to follow them away.
Missinaibi, Abitibi, Little Current--where they run
Dancing and sparkling I see them in the sun.
I hear the brawling rapid, the thunder of the fall,
And when I think upon them I cannot stay at all.
At the far end of the carry, where the wilderness begins,
Set me down with my canoe-load--and forgiveness of my sins.
O all the mighty rivers beneath the Polar Star,
They call me and call me to follow them afar.
Peace and Athabasca and Coppermine and Slave,
And Yukon and Mackenzie--the highroads of the brave.
Saskatchewan, Assiniboine, the Bow and the Qu'Appelle,
And many a prairie river whose name is like a spell.
They rumor through the twilight at the edge of the unknown,
"There's a message waiting for you, and a kingdom all your own.
"The wilderness shall feed you, her gleam shall be your guide.
Come out from desolations, our path of hope is wide."
O all the headlong rivers that hurry to the West,
They call me and lure me with the joy of their unrest.
Columbia and Fraser and Bear and Kootenay,
I love their fearless reaches where winds untarnished play--
The rush of glacial water across the pebbly bar
To polished pools of azure where the hidden boulders are.
Just there, with heaven smiling, any morning I would be,
Where all the silver rivers go racing to the sea.
O well remembered rivers that sing of long ago,
Ajourneying through summer or dreaming under snow.
Among their meadow islands through placid days they glide,
And where the peaceful orchards are diked against the tide.
Tobique and Madawaska and shining Gaspereaux,
St. Croix and Nashwaak and St. John whose haunts I used to know.
And all the pleasant rivers that seek the Fundy foam,
They call me and call me to follow them home.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
I stood there watching them together,
holding hands and whispering softly.
The old man had tears in his eyes,
his heart was most surely breaking.
Her silver hair drifted across her face,
with a tender touch he brushed it back.
She lost weight, now light as a feather,
her skin drawn tightly against her bones.
Her silk robe was now much too large
for her shrinking frame, but in his eyes,
she was the lovely bride of years past.
Love holds tight the memories of youth.
I went to her side, checking her pulse.
She has started heavy bleeding again.
Her face was ashen, the color of slate,
her time on this earth was growing short.
The old man looked up at me, smiling
through tears, and he whispered to me,
"It's all right, we know that it is soon over,
but our love will last until we meet again."
I left them alone to share the little time
they had together, their love was showing
in the quiet way they looked at each other,
Her frail voice echoing "until we meet again."
Countrymom
5/16/10
Second place:
I wash the slate clean with
tears of silk from the ether
of my newly mended soul,
but a feather touch of doubt
keeps me waiting for the
next wave of pain to hit.
The pulse of my burning
heart beats in waves,
crashing, smashing, calming,
caressing, bleeding chaos...
But wrap me in bands of
velvet steel, and kiss me
with sandpaper dreams,
and I wake in this sleeping
world, the fog of confusion
finally lifted from my eyes.
Karen Dean Salter
5/28/10
Third place:
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A Tender Heart
My heart is a slate for my life.
I never show my emotions on my sleeve.
No one sees my troubles or strife.
My heart is a hidden and delicate weave.
Yes, I have endured oceans of tears.
Happiness has also been abundant.
Only my mind knows what my heart endears.
My emotions have always run rampant.
I never felt a heart constantly bleeding.
I possess compassion of silk.
I truly look forward to positive bonding.
My passions are mother's milk.
My pulse is my life's gauge.
Often it beats like the softness of a feather.
I try never to enrage.
Often my heart is my armor.
Admittedly, my heart bears watching.
I look forward to happy days.
I never waste time brooding.
My cup runneth over always.
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Poetry: June 09, 2010 Issue [#3792]
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