  Poetry
This week: Katharine Tynan 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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Any Woman
by Katharine Tynan
I am the pillars of the house;
The keystone of the arch am I.
Take me away, and roof and wall
Would fall to ruin me utterly.
I am the fire upon the hearth,
I am the light of the good sun,
I am the heat that warms the earth,
Which else were colder than a stone.
At me the children warm their hands;
I am their light of love alive.
Without me cold the hearthstone stands,
Nor could the precious children thrive.
I am the twist that holds together
The children in its sacred ring,
Their knot of love, from whose close tether
No lost child goes a-wandering.
I am the house from floor to roof,
I deck the walls, the board I spread;
I spin the curtains, warp and woof,
And shake the down to be their bed.
I am their wall against all danger,
Their door against the wind and snow,
Thou Whom a woman laid in a manger,
Take me not till the children grow!
The Doves
by Katharine Tynan
The house where I was born,
Where I was young and gay,
Grows old amid its corn,
Amid its scented hay.
Moan of the cushat dove,
In silence rich and deep;
The old head I love
Nods to its quiet sleep.
Where once were nine and ten
Now two keep house together;
The doves moan and complain
All day in the still weather.
What wind, bitter and great,
Has swept the country's face,
Altered, made desolate
The heart-remembered place ?
What wind, bitter and wild,
Has swept the towering trees
Beneath whose shade a child
Long since gathered heartease ?
Under the golden eaves
The house is still and sad,
As though it grieves and grieves
For many a lass and lad.
The cushat doves complain
All day in the still weather;
Where once were nine or ten
But two keep house together.
On January 23, 1859, Andrew Cullen Tynan and his wife Elizabeth Reilly Tynan, welcomed daughter Katharine Tynan into their family. Katharine was one of twelve children and grew up at Whitehall dairy farm in Dublin, Ireland. She attended Dominican Convent of St Catherine of Siena, Drogheda until the age of fourteen. As a teen Katharine was an avid reader and love writing poetry.
Katharine first poem was published in Graphic in 1878. Many of her following poems were published in Irish Monthly, Hibernia and Dublin University Review. Katharine first met W.B. Yeats through the Dublin University Review and the two had a life-long friendship from that point on. It was said that Yeats proposed to her at one point, but Katharine said no. Yeats often gave Katharine criticism of her work, and Katharine’s first book Louise de la Valliere and Other Poems, was no different, saying thing such as it was ‘too full of English influence to be quite Irish’. In which Katharine turned into determination for other writings. Her second book Shamrocks had a strictly Irish subject-matter.
Katharine met and fell in love with a scholar named Henry Albert Hinkson, who she eventually married in 1893. Katharine wrote most of her work under her married name Katharine Hinkson. Katharine left Ireland shortly with Henry to live in NottingHill. The couple had three children together: Theobald Henry born in 1897, Giles Aylmer born in 1899, and Pamela Mary in 1900. Katharine’s husband Henry died suddenly in 1919.
In 1913, Katharine wrote memoirs of the literary revival, Twenty-Five Years, these appeared in Yeats letters and were printed without her permission. In 1920 Katharine finally sold the letters to Quinn. Katharine wrote until the day she died. At one point in her life she was said to be producing one novel a month. In total she wrote over 105 novels, sixteen book of poetry, twelve collections of short stories, seven books of devotion, five plays and one book about her dogs. Katharine also had many contributions to the local newspapers over the years.
Katarine Tynan-Hinkson died on April 2, 1931.
The Wind that Shakes the Barley
by Katharine Tynan
There's music in my heart all day,
I hear it late and early,
It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Above the uplands drenched with dew
The sky hangs soft and pearly,
An emerald world is listening to
The wind that shakes the barley.
Above the bluest mountain crest
The lark is singing rarely,
It rocks the singer into rest,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Oh, still through summers and through springs
It calls me late and early.
Come home, come home, come home, it sings,
The wind that shakes the barley.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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I am your blackened curse,
Or sinful blessing,
As you wish to feel me,
In any setting.
You will seem worn and torn
When I'm done with you
A sad lone soul to mourn
When there's nothing true.
A lost chaotic sense,
Of uncertainty,
A loud scornful remorse,
Of insanity
I'll stone you with black rocks,
As you fight your way,
Through grassy garden fields,
Every night and day
I'll feed your undergrowth
Your subtle anger,
Your hope for real truth,
I'll often slander
I'll vilify wisdom,
In your spirit aged,
In your sole concave mind,
A devilish sage.
You chose once to invite,
My mad existence,
You thought I was a gift,
A shamed negligence.
I am your enemy
To stay in and out
I'll introduce myself
My name's Mr. Doubt
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: April 13, 2011 Issue [#4339]
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