  Poetry
This week: Sidney Lanier 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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The Song Of The Chattahoochee
by Sidney Lanier
Out of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
And flee from folly on every side
With a lover's pain to attain the plain
Far from the hills of Habersham,
Far from the valleys of Hall.
All down the hills of Habersham,
All through the valleys of Hall,
The rushes cried `Abide, abide,'
The willful waterweeds held me thrall,
The laving laurel turned my tide,
The ferns and the fondling grass said `Stay,'
The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
And the little reeds sighed `Abide, abide,
Here in the hills of Habersham,
Here in the valleys of Hall.'
High o'er the hills of Habersham,
Veiling the valleys of Hall,
The hickory told me manifold
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,
The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
Said, `Pass not, so cold, these manifold
Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
These glades in the valleys of Hall.'
And oft in the hills of Habersham,
And oft in the valleys of Hall,
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,
And many a luminous jewel lone
-- Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,
Ruby, garnet and amethyst --
Made lures with the lights of streaming stone
In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,
In the beds of the valleys of Hall.
But oh, not the hills of Habersham,
And oh, not the valleys of Hall
Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.
Downward the voices of Duty call --
Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main,
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,
And the lordly main from beyond the plain
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,
Calls through the valleys of Hall.
Ireland
by Sidney Lanier
(Written for the Art Autograph during the Irish Famine, 1880.)
Heartsome Ireland, winsome Ireland,
Charmer of the sun and sea,
Bright beguiler of old anguish,
How could Famine frown on thee?
As our Gulf-Stream, drawn to thee-ward,
Turns him from his northward flow,
And our wintry western headlands
Send thee summer from their snow,
Thus the main and cordial current
Of our love sets over sea, --
Tender, comely, valiant Ireland,
Songful, soulful, sorrowful Ireland, --
Streaming warm to comfort thee.
On February 3, 1842, Robert Sampson Lanier and Mary Jane Anderson, welcomed Sidney Lanier into their family. The Lanier family lived in Macon Georgia. Lanier attended Macon Academy, until he went to Oglethorpe University in Milledgeville, Georgia. Upon his graduation for the university in 1860 Lanier joined the Macon Volunteers for the Confederacy. While Lanier was fighting, he was captured. He was imprisoned for almost a year, in Maryland. They released him when he contracted tuberculosis. It was during the war that Lanier started writing his first novel. He published his finished novel "Tiger-Lilies" in 1867.
Lanier returned home to Georgia and worked as tutor, then a clerk before deciding to enter into law. He also during this time married Miss Mary Day. It was on month after the couple's wedding that Lanier suffered his first hemorrhage in his lungs do to his tuberculosis . Lanier and Mary had four sons. He then went onto Alabama and studied law with his father. Lanier's falling health only allowed him to practice law from 1869 to 1873. He finally devoted himself to his writing.
In 1873 he moved to Baltimore, he played the flute in the Peabody Orchestra and he started his study of poetry. His studies and writing eventually allowed him to do lectures at Johns Hopkins University on English Poetry. Lanier wrote poetry for a local magazine, his poem "Corn" was published in 1875, followed by "The Symphony" in 1875. Lanier didn't move his wife and kids to Baltimore until 1877. Until that time he spent his time going back and forth between Baltimore and Alabama. Lanier's poems "Centennial Meditation" was published in 1876, followed by one of his most famous poems, "The Marshes of Glynn" in 1878.
It was in 1881 Lanier moved to North Carolina, his health was failing quickly. It was during this time his final poem "Sunrise" was published 1881. Lanier died on September 7, 1881 with his wife Mary and their children were by his side.
A Sunrise Song
by Sidney Lanier
Young palmer sun, that to these shining sands
Pourest thy pilgrim's tale, discoursing still
Thy silver passages of sacred lands,
With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill,
Canst thou be he that, yester-sunset warm,
Purple with Paynim rage and wrack desire,
Dashed ravening out of a dusty lair of Storm,
Harried the west, and set the world on fire?
Hast thou perchance repented, Saracen Sun?
Wilt warm the world with peace and dove-desire?
Or wilt thou, ere this very day be done,
Blaze Saladin still, with unforgiving fire?
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
The Detached
There are some crimes against mankind
that cannot be forgiven.
Those who dare to cross the line find
all their hopes are riven.
They are condemned to walk this plane
though death sets them apart.
Their hatred marks them as the bane
of every human heart.
Blackened with time, the worn tombstones,
tilting from disregard,
reveal the site of decaying bones
like sentinels on guard.
As darkness falls, the hallowed ground
expels these aged ghosts.
Vile memories, that have no sound,
move onward to their posts.
They steal beyond the undergrowth
to grassy, tree lined streets.
They're guided by an arcane oath
that never changes or repeats.
They choose only the innocent,
much like they did in life.
They whisper of their discontent
spreading their evil strife.
They devour dreams of sadness
with rancid, fetid breath,
and vomit forth their madness
in joyful hymns of death.
Infectiously, the seeds of doubt
sown in the midst of night,
find purchase and begin to sprout
and spread darkness's blight.
Intolerance and selfishness,
greed and gluttony,
spread until we each possess
hatred's capacity.
The walls we build are made of rock
mined from the devil's hall.
In anger we chose not to talk;
pride comes before our fall.
The evil returns to its grave;
there's no need to stay attached,
for we have become the enslaved;
we are The Detached.
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: May 11, 2011 Issue [#4384]
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