 Poetry: April 01, 2015 Issue [#6910] |
  Poetry
This week: Alan Seeger 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 Old Lowe House, Staten Island
by Alan Seeger
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye,
And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes)
Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes
When first these gables rose against the sky.
Relic of a romantic taste gone by,
This stately monument alone remains,
Vacant, with lichened walls and window-panes
Blank as the windows of a skull. But I,
On evenings when autumnal winds have stirred
In the porch-vines, to this gray oracle
Have laid a wondering ear and oft-times heard,
As from the hollow of a stranded shell,
Old voices echoing (or my fancy erred)
Things indistinct, but not insensible.
I Loved...
by Alan Seeger
I loved illustrious cities and the crowds
That eddy through their incandescent nights.
I loved remote horizons with far clouds
Girdled, and fringed about with snowy heights.
I loved fair women, their sweet, conscious ways
Of wearing among hands that covet and plead
The rose a blossom at the rainbow's base
That bounds the world's desire and all its need.
Nature I worshiped, whose fecundity
Embraces every vision the most fair,
Of perfect benediction. From a boy
I gloated on existence. Earth to me
Seemed all-sufficient and my sojourn there
One trembling opportunity for joy.
Alan Seeger was born in New York, on June 22 1888. His father was Charles Louis Seeger, a wealthy businessman. Seeger was one of three children. His sister Elizabeth and brother Charles were both close in age. Seeger's family lived on Staten Island until he was twelve, then they moved to Mexico. Seeger went to school in Mexico City for two years before returning back to New York with his older brother to finish his schooling. He attended Hackley School in Tarrytown, before attending Harvard University in 1906.
While attending Harvard Seeger became an editor for the Harvard Monthly and contributed his poetry regularly. He graduated Harvard in 1910 with a bachelor's degree. He then moved to Greenwood Village and tried living a bohemian lifestyle. Seeger often slept on friends couches and moved around a lot all while continuing his writing. This upset his father immensely, he saw it as his son evading the responsibilities of an adult and his unwillingness to find a reliable job. So with the funding of his friends Seeger left New York and traveled to Paris.
Seeger fell in love with Paris. Shortly after the outbreak of World War One, Seeger enlisted in the French Foreign Legion. Though Seeger was surround by death, cold, hunger and filth, he seemed to write his poetry from a romanticized view of war. In his poems, he seemed to not fear his own death, as long as he were to died in battle. “I Have a Rendezvous with Death,” and “Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France” were among his writing while serving.
Alan Seeger was shot in the stomach while fighting in Belloy-en-Santerre. He died on July 4th, 1916. He was awarded the Croix de Guerre and the Medaille Militaire. Seeger was buried in a mass grave. His book of collected “Poems” was published postpartum in 1917. It was met with mixed reviews, mostly because Alan Seeger had not yet matured into an artist before his untimely death. His “Letters and Diary” were also met with criticism as they seemed very imprisonable, but found a small following with those who liked it for its historical relevance.
I Have A Rendezvous With Death
by Alan Seeger
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
   
Yellow, pink and green
burst across the scene
when Spring begins to replace
the cold winds and snow
with a warmer glow,
after Winter's long embrace.
Only fools resist
when spirits get kissed
by rainbow's shower of hues.
Sounds of laughter sail
along garden trail,
as people shed winter blues.
Spurred by fragrant breeze
beneath shady trees,
Romance blossoms in this place.
Walking hand in hand,
life just seems so grand,
after Winter's long embrace.
Honorable mention:
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