This week: Dorothea MacKellar Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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Fire
by Dorothea MacKellar
This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.
And this all we can do
To use our little light
Before, in the piercing wind,
It flickers into night:
To yield the heat of the flame,
To grudge not, but to give
Whatever we have of strength,
That one more flame may live.
On July 1, 1885, in Point Piper, New South Wales, Australia, Sir Charles Mackellar and his wife Marion Mackellar welcomed their only daughter Isobel Marion Dorothea Mackellar into the world. Mackellar's grandparents were immigrants from Scotland. She had three brothers, two older and one younger. Growing up she traveled with her family frequently. She was tutored at home and was fluent in French, Italian, German, and Spanish. Her education was informal and focused on art and language. Her travels with her family were considered schooling also. They visited theaters and museums. Later she attended lectures at the University.
At the age of nineteen McKellar wrote her first poem "My Country" published in 1908. McKellar's first two volumes of poetry were The Closed Door published in 1911 and The Witch-maid published in 1914. McKellar never married. Dairies showed she had love interests over the years but nothing came of them. She looked after her mother and helped her father when he traveled, assisting him with his work and charities. She loved spending time on her brother's farm.
McKellar published several novels, Outlaw’s Luck in 1913 and wrote two books in collaboration with Ruth Bedford, The Little Blue Devil in 1912 and Two’s Company in 1914. In the 1920's she helped fellow writer Ruth Bedford establish Zonta Club in Sydney. Her next publications were Dreamharbour published in 1923 and Fancy Dress published in 1926. In the 1930's she assisted with the establishment of the Sydney's Publishers and Editors and Novelists Club.
McKellar spent the last eleven years of her life living in an assisted living home. She was made an Officer of the British Empire in 1968 in recognition of her accomplishments in Australian literature. Isobel Marion Dorothea Mackellar died on January 14, 1968. She was eighty-two years old. A compilation of her diaries was published posthumously in 1990.
In a Southern Garden
by Dorothea MacKellar
When the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze,
And bats begin their jerky skimming flight,
And the creamy scented blossoms of the dark pittosporum trees,
Grow sweeter with the coming of the night.
And the harbour in the distance lies beneath a purple pall,
And nearer, at the garden’s lowest fringe,
Loud the water soughs and gurgles ’mid the rocks below the wall,
Dark-heaving, with a dim uncanny tinge
Of a green as pale as beryls, like the strange faint-coloured flame
That burns around the Women of the Sea:
And the strip of sky to westward which the camphorlaurels frame,
Has turned to ash-of-rose and ivory—
And a chorus rises valiantly from where the crickets hide,
Close-shaded by the balsams drooping down—
It is evening in a garden by the kindly water-side,
A garden near the lights of Sydney town!
The Open Sea
by Dorothea MacKellar
From my window I can see,
Where the sandhills dip,
One far glimpse of open sea.
Just a slender slip
Curving like a crescent moon—
Yet a greater prize
Than the harbour garden-fair
Spread beneath my eyes.
Just below me swings the bay,
Sings a sunny tune,
But my heart is far away
Out beyond the dune;
Clearer far the sea-gulls’ cry
And the breakers’ roar,
Than the little waves beneath
Lapping on the shore.
For that strip of sapphire sea
Set against the sky
Far horizons means to me—
And the ships go by
Framed between the empty sky
And the yellow sands,
While my freed thoughts follow them
Out to other lands.
All its changes who can tell?
I have seen it shine
Like a jewel polished well,
Hard and clear and fine;
Then soft lilac—and again
On another day
Glimpsed it through a veil of rain,
Shifting, drifting grey.
When the livid waters flee,
Flinching from the storm,
From my window I can see,
Standing safe and warm,
How the white foam tosses high
On the naked shore,
And the breakers’ thunder grows
To a battle-roar…
Far and far I look—Ten miles?
No, for yesterday
Sure I saw the Blessed Isles
Twenty worlds away.
My blue moon of open sea,
Is it little worth?
At the least it gives to me
Keys of all the earth
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
Two Lovers Walking in the Evening Light
In the evening light
Of a summer’s night
Two lovers
Walk down the street
Walking under the lights
Of the setting sun
The clouds burst forth
A gentle rain begins to fall
The lovers laugh
Pull out their umbrellas
And begin singing
Singing in the rain
Some cats see them
And stare at the mad lovers
Some dogs see them
And join them In howling at the rain
As the rain falls
Their love deepens
Honorable mention:
"Invalid Entry"
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Poetry: May 19, 2021 Issue [#10779]
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