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| Miss Ruth Strong Torontonensis, 1918 |
Related post:
Eyes Dilated for a bit.
3 hours ago
Showing posts with label War poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War poetry. Show all posts
01 June 2016
Ruth Strong's 'The Campus - June 1916'
23 May 2016
Verse for Victoria Day from the Second World War
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| Waiting's Wedding and Other Poems Amy Redpath Roddick Montreal: John Dougall & Sons, 1941 |
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| The Gazette, 26 May 1941 |
Related posts:
08 May 2016
A Poem for Mother's Day from the Great War
Century-old verse by Miss Elspeth Honeyman, whose brothers served in the 29th Battalion (Vancouver). From Canadian Poems of the Great War, chosen and edited by John W. Garvin (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1918).
MOTHERHOOD, 1916
The night comes down and the wind is chill,
(Are both my boys asleep?)
Daylight tinges the distant hill,
(Why is it I cannot sleep?)
A passing lad and a whistled tune,
(France is so far away!)
Roses bloom and the month is June,
(The heat is the worst, they say.)
The list was long in the morning's news,
(They are so young to die!)
Which strong heart will the bullet choose —
Where will his body lie?
Boys go clattering down the street,
(Which will come back to me?)
I hear the tramp of the soldiers' feet,
(Dear God, that such things be!)
What will they buy with the blood of men?
(Hearts break, but they do not die.)
Victory, Honour, — and War again?
(Dead faces turned to the sky?)
25 December 2015
Timely Verse from Christmas a Century Past
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| The Globe, 25 December 1915 |
A CHRISTMAS STAR
Christmas chimes across the snow,
Can you ring the old refrain
When the world is seared with pain,
When the lights of joy burn low?
Lovely chimes across the snow,
Ring: May Peace be born again!
Hearts that ache amidst the mirth,
Can we sing the songs of cheer?
Those who sang with us last year
Strive afar on alien earth.
All our songs are little worth,
Broken, faltering, thrilled with fear.
Yet for thought space finds no bar;
Seas may part, but not divide;
Brothers, sons, our Country s pride,
Now we send our greeting far;
Lo, we set our love, a star
In your skies this Christmas-tide!
A Christmas poem by Elizabeth Roberts MacDonald, sister of Sir Charles G.D. Roberts, from Canadian Poems of the Great War, edited by John W. Garvin (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1918).
A Merry Christmas to all!
Related posts:
10 October 2015
Thanksgiving in the Midst of War
'Thanksgiving' by Douglas Leader Durkin
Canadian Poems of the Great War
John W. Garvin, ed.
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1918
Related posts:
Canadian Poems of the Great War
John W. Garvin, ed.
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1918
Related posts:
25 June 2015
Robert Stead's Century-Old Poem of the Great War
A poem of the twelfth month of the Great War from the revised 1923 edition of Robert Stead's The Empire Builders.
Related posts:
05 April 2015
'The Easter Parade, 1915' by Robert Stanley Weir
With Easter wishes from the Chaplains of the Canadian Expeditionary Force.
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24 December 2014
Miss Machar's 'The Call of Christmas - 1914'
The title poem from Agnes Maule Machar's "The Call of Christmas – 1914". What can be said about this scarce chapbook? Who published it? When? Where? 'Tis a true Christmas miracle.
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10 November 2014
A Great War Poem by Peregrine Acland's Father
"The World's Honour Roll" by F.A. Acland, from the December 1914 number of The Canadian Magazine. At the time, son Peregrine was training in the mud and muck of Salisbury Plain.
The same issue features this less accomplished verse, which was accompanied by an illustration by J.E.H. MacDonald.
Related posts:
08 October 2014
'October in War Time'
Timely verse from the Great War by James A. Ross. First published in the 22 October 1918 edition of the Medicine Hat News, the above comes from the poet's Canada First and Other Poems (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1920).
23 August 2014
The Angels of Mons at 100
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| The Angels of Mons, R. Crowhurst, c.1920 |
Gothic master Arthur Machen argued against all of the above, citing his supernatural fantasy "The Bowmen", not divine intervention, as the source the legend. His convincing and highly entertaining Introduction to The Angels of Mons: The Bowmen and Other Legends of the War (1915) should have prevented things like this piece of reportage from the 10 August 1915 Globe:
Got that? An unnamed man received a letter from his unidentified sister recounting a conversation with a certain Miss M, who had told the man's sister that an undisclosed friend told her about seeing angels. Later, another anonymous man told her that he too had seen angels.
Now, before you and Jan Harold Brunvand discount this story, I point out that the man who received the letter was "one of the most prominent citizens in Toronto", and that Miss M. was "daughter of the canon". The canon? Which canon? Why, Reverend Canon M., of course.
Lest you doubt an anonymous man's word about something written to his sister by a woman who was told something by someone and someone else, allow me to present this article about an unnamed preacher, who on alluded to the words of an unidentified soldier as reported by an unknown nurse. Ye of little faith are advised to consider that this featured in a sermon that was delivered somewhere at some point:
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| The Globe, 11 April 1916 |
Reverend Gustave Adolf Kuhring was several thousand of kilometres from the scene of battle, so relied on his powers of oratory in delivering a chilling account of the British advance as led by St George, his horsemen and his archers:
A German officer later taken prisoner asked:—A century later, we're still looking for those testimonies, and that of the "nurse who had been brought into contact with one of the soldiers from the battle [sic] of Mons." In their absence, I recommend "The Angel of Mons" by Ethel Ursula Foran.
"Who were those men with the bows and arrows? We tried to get their leader, the one on the white horse, but couldn't hit him."
"It is sworn by numerous witnesses," said Mr. Kuhring, "that when the British came to examine the bodies of the dead, by far the larger number of them had no wounds on their bodies."
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| The Battle of Mons, 23 August 1914 |
THE ANGEL OF MONS(A legend of the Great War of 1914-1918.)
The Great War that Napoleon in exile foretold
O'er the nations of Europe like a tidal-wave roll'd—
Crumbling Crowns into dust, snapping Sceptres in twain,
Shaking Thrones to earth to ne'er rise again,
Scattering armies of might, burning humbler homes,
Laying low in the dust spires, temples and domes,
Bringing death and grim ruin in its terrible wake
Until half of all Europe was a blood-crimsoned lake.
The fires of destruction blazed fierce on each shore,
All sounds were drowned out in the thundering roar
Of cannon, of rifle, of bomb and of shell,
Turning heavenly peace into furious hell.
While Death in all forms stalked over the world,
And its blood-stained banners were fiercely unfurled.
There were terrors untold in the Teutons' advance
Which rallied the forces of Britain and France.
It was thus in the midst of that world-shaking strife,
A struggle intense to save Liberty's life,
That the darkness of night was lit into a glow,
In the heavens above, in the valleys below,
When the flashing of shells, as they rushed through the sky,
To the thundering guns of the trench made reply,
When the "curtain of fire" cast its blaze o'er the plain,
And the soil was deep-drenched with torrents of rain,
When the signals of death rushed over the sky
And the hovering aeros inter circled on high,
When each trench was at once a shelter and tomb,
As the spirits of life and death met in the gloom,
Whence eager eyes watched for a move or a sign
To reveal the fate of their much-harassed line;
The sentinels on duty gazed anxious afar
For a hint of the fight in the trenches of war.
All through the long night as the Germans advance,
Sharp vigils are kept by both Britain and France.
Not a man at the front has a moment's repose.
No watcher dare sleep though his aching eyes close.
'Twas thus, 'midst the shreaks of a furious night,
A vision appeared over Mons' naming height, —
A something that seem'd supernatural to all —
A something that thousands of soldiers recall.
Was it a spirit of Hope or a spirit of Doom
That arose on their sight amidst stygean gloom?
What is it that the watcher with night-glass there cons?
They call it, who saw it, "The Angel of Mons."
The soldiers of France, looking out of the dark,
Thought they saw on the hills Saint Joan of Arc,
Clad in armour of silver, with a sabre of gold,
Advancing to lead them as she did of old
They claimed that the vision so wondrous to see
Was a heavenly sign of a grand victory;
And strong grew each heart that was growing faint,
As they thought they were fighting 'neath the eye of their Saint
The soldiers of Britain saw the vision as well;
That wonderful tale these brave fellows tell
Just as ghost-stories are told with lowering breath,
For they feared such a vision far more than death.
Then one whispered the word, in a moment of awe,
It was England's Saint George that the whole army saw.
The courage at once revived in each breast,
Of victory's wave they were now on the crest —
They declared that the War was now rightly begun —
And would end with the crush of the barbaric Hun.
The Belgians beheld Saint Michael the Great
In the vision of Mons, like a signal of Fate,
As he drove the dark legions from Heaven above.
So his power and his justice again he will prove
By leading the ranks that are fighting for Right.
By commanding once more against soldiers of Might.
It could not be other than the Archangel there
That appeared like a spectre, in the sulphurous air;
His invincible sword he unsheathes as of yore,
He will fight for God as he once fought before,
And the hosts of dark evil will again be hurl'd
From the face of the earth clear out of the world:
Such the Belgians thought was that vision so bright
That appeared above Mons in the depths of the night.
Be Michael, or George or Joan the Saint
That appeared over Mons amidst glimmering faint,
Like a spectre let loose from the region of ghosts,
Sent to cheer on to glory fair Liberty's hosts,
The Angel of Mons was a harbinger true
Of the victory the Allies eventually knew.
It may be a legend, or it may be a fact —
With the spirits of Power it may be a pact —
Or it may be a phantom of some horrible dream —
Or it may be of God a forerunning gleam;
But the Angel of Mons was the polar star
Of many a hero in that terrible war.
It is said that soldiers, like sailors, are all
Superstitious and fear the supernatural;
They see spirits in trees and ghosts on the waves,
The dead in shrouds coming out of their graves,
They shudder to think of the spirits that walk,
And the beasts that like human beings oft talk.
It is likely that all the things that they dread —
Be they the living or be they the dead —
Arose to their fancy as on Mons' grim height
They witnessed the vision upon that dread night.
But one thing is certain and all question defies,
That Angel brought victory to the Allies.
04 August 2014
The Great War: The Call
On this, the hundredth anniversary of Canada's entry into the Great War, patriotic verse drawn from Douglas Durkin's The Fighting Men of Canada (Toronto: McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart, 1918).
A professor of literature at the University of Manitoba, the poet did not answer the call.
Related posts:
11 November 2013
07 May 2013
Frank Prewett on Canvas and Paper (w/ updates)
Frank Prewett ranks amongst the very best of the Great War poets. Anyone looking to challenge this statement should consider the poem at the end of this post. That Frank Prewett was also Canadian explains why it is that our media has ignored entirely two items being auctioned tomorrow afternoon at Bonham's on London's New Bond Street as part 'The Roy Davids Collection'.
I appreciate that Four Weddings and a Funeral fans will be attracted to the autograph manuscript copy of Auden's 'Stop All the Clocks' – already sold for £23,750 – but for me the gem is the Prewett portrait above. Bonham's estimates that it will go for £1500 to £2000 – six to eight percent of the Auden poem, £642,790 less than the cost of airlifting Mr Harper's limousine to India. Painted in 1923, the work of Prewett's lover Dorothy Brett, it once belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.
I'd not seen it before, nor had I seen this other Prewett item:
I appreciate that Four Weddings and a Funeral fans will be attracted to the autograph manuscript copy of Auden's 'Stop All the Clocks' – already sold for £23,750 – but for me the gem is the Prewett portrait above. Bonham's estimates that it will go for £1500 to £2000 – six to eight percent of the Auden poem, £642,790 less than the cost of airlifting Mr Harper's limousine to India. Painted in 1923, the work of Prewett's lover Dorothy Brett, it once belonged to Siegfried Sassoon.
I'd not seen it before, nor had I seen this other Prewett item:
Anyone know it?
Anyone?
More to the point, is there anyone out there who can bring these items home?
CARD GAME
Hearing the whine and crash
We hastened out
And found a few poor men
Lying about.
I put my hand in the breast
Of the first met.
His heart thumped, stopped, and I drew
My hand out wet.
Another, he seemed a boy,
Rolled in the mud
Screaming "my legs, my legs,"
And he poured out his blood.
We bandaged the rest
And went in,
And started again at our cards
Where we had been.
The following day: Well, it turned out that both portrait and poem realized more than was estimated – £2500 and £1750 respectively. No word yet on the purchaser. Dare I hope that it was the Canadian War Museum? Yes, I dare.
Bruce Meyer, co-editor of Selected Poems of Frank Prewett, tells me that he doesn't recognize the auctioned poem.
And the day after that: I'm informed that the Canadian War Museum was the successful bidder. I could not be more pleased.
Bruce Meyer, co-editor of Selected Poems of Frank Prewett, tells me that he doesn't recognize the auctioned poem.
And the day after that: I'm informed that the Canadian War Museum was the successful bidder. I could not be more pleased.
03 December 2012
Faith, Philanthropies and Verse for Air Raid Victims
Montreal in Verse:
An Anthology of English Poetry by Montreal Poets
[Leo Cox, ed]
[Montreal]: Writers of the Poetry Group of the Canadian Authors Association, Montreal Branch, [1942]
A fundraiser in aid of the Queen's Canadian Fund for Air-raid Victims in Britain, this little chapbook of was published sixty years ago this month. Just in time for Christmas.
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| (cliquez pour agrandir) |
Roddick and Redpath and old McGill,Lady Roddick herself can't avoid same:
Who, being dead, are living still,
How does it meet your kind intent
The way your benefice is spent?
Six decades on, it's impossible to read this verse without thinking of F.R. Scott's "The Canadian Authors Meet" and the poets "measured for their faith and philanthropics". The good folks at Poetry Quebec have made a similar observation. That said, I'm not about to throw Montreal in Verse on the scrap heap. If anything, it reminds me of how much there is to explore of our literary past. Contributors Stella M. Bainbridge, Lily E.F. Barry, Warwick Chipman, Leo Cox, Lorraine Noel Finley, John Murray Gibbon, Christine L. Henderson, A. Beatrice Hickson, W.J King, Alice M.S. Lighthall, William D. Lighthall, Mildred Low, Margaret Furness MacLeod, Martha Martin, Dorothy Sproule, Jean Percival Waddell, Robert Stanley Weir and Margaret Ross Woods all had titles to their names, but I've yet to pick up even one of them.
Researching these names I discover that John Murray Gibbon once wrote a universally praised, yet entirely forgotten novel entitled Pagan Love (1922). Then there's R. Henry Mainer, whose Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road (1908) centres on a hard-as-nails widowed Upper Canadian tavern owner.
The most intriguing is A. Beatrice Hickson, whom Canada's Early Women Writers tells us not only founded and ran a school for "misdirected and wayward" girls, but "painted figurines which were unique in design and costume and whose popularity outran her ability to produce them."
In language and theme, Miss Hickson – she never married – stands apart from her polite and proper fellow poets:
Before reading this slim volume of verse I'd never heard of Leo Cox, who wrote these charitable lines in his Editor's Note:
As in all anthologies, quality and style vary considerably, but all the pieces possess in common a strong love of Montreal, of her history and infinite charm. These verses are a loving tribute from sensitive citizens.Apparently Macmillan published a collection of Cox's verse in 1941. Must track it down. I'll pass on his Story of the Mount Stephen Club.
The 1 May 1943 edition of the Gazette reports that nearly one thousand copies of Montreal in Verse had been sold, contributing $200 to the Queen's Canadian Fund. The selling price was 25¢.
Access: Not found in even one of our public libraries – those wishing to borrow a copy should look to our universities. Two copies are currently listed for sale online, the most expensive of which ($45) is dedicated and signed by contributor Jean Percival Waddell.
11 November 2012
Remembrance Day
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| A Canadian Twilight and Other Poems of War and Peace Bernard Freeman Trotter Toronto: McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart, 1917 |
10 November 2012
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