Monthly Archives: October 2011

“Autumn Presage,” by Muriel Kennedy

31 Monday Oct 2011

Posted by in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Kennedy, Muriel. “Autumn Presage.” A New Canadian Anthology. Ed. Alan Creighton and Hilda M. Ridley. Toronto: Crucible, 1938. 107.

Autumn Presage

Just now a strange wind looked in in at my window,
Sighed down the chimney and rattled at the door.
He breathed his chilly breath in at my window
And a dead leaf flew in and settled on the floor.

Now, might and day, I hear strange voices crying,
through every silence their plaintive echoes throng;
I hear the little lilac bushes crying
And the great trees I hear lamenting all night long.

“N’Importe,” by “Garthe” (Mona McTavish, Mrs. Graham Gould)

27 Thursday Oct 2011

Posted by in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

I have been working (and playing) in Toronto for the past week, and so have been remiss in posting poems.  So today I am posting two.

This poem was written by Mona Gould in the 1920s, but never published.  It is found in typescript in her papers at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto.  Mona Gould was a well-known radio personality in the 1950s, but published a great number of poems and articles in journals previous to her popularity as a radio interviewer.

N’Importe, by Garthe (undated; 1920s)

It doesn’t matter now at all—
You really needn’t frown—
I tossed away the heart you broke
To wear a scarlet gown.

It hurt a little just at first—
But even pain will die—
I donned my little flashing shoes—
With heels three inches high.

O yes, sometimes I think of you—
Quite vaguely now and then—
It doesn’t matter, tho’, at all—
There are so many men.

The Bear at Camp, by Beatrice C. Rowley

27 Thursday Oct 2011

Posted by in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

While the date of this poem is 1979, the author was first published as a poet in the 1920s.

Rowley, Beatrice C. “The Bear at Camp.” Who Owns the Earth? Ed. Theresa M. Ford.  Edmonton, AB: Alberta Education, 1979.  67.

Fumbling and sniffling at the discard pile
He came by cover of the autumn dark
To see what he might rummage to his taste
And by such insolence became the mark
Of outraged hoots and cries, and one well-flung
Indignant boot. We did not see eyes,
But from his blundering and swift retreat
Imagined they were widened with surprise.

These woods are his. Have been for how long now?
Too long to count at least, if bears could count.
And what are we queer creatures doing here,
Loading among his ferns, beside his fount
Of crimson berries, with our alien smell
Polluting earth’s sweet, mouldy, wild perfume?
It needs some higher court here to decide
Exactly who is trespassing on whom.

“Conscious,” By Sara Jeannette Duncan

18 Tuesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Duncan, Sara.  “Conscious.” Rose-Belford’s Canadian Monthly and National Review 7 (1881): 417.

Conscious

To know a song of songs in all the air,
And strive in vain to catch the echoes faint!
To love in truth, a flower surpassing fair,
Yet lose its perfectness with blind restraint!

To hate this darkness and to long for light,
Yet grovel closer to our shadowy earth!
Essay, with sparrow’s wings, the eagle’s flight,
What boon is knowledge of our own unworth?

The untold sweetness of the flower and song
Hath here a herald. A glad hope that we,
Rejoicing in full noontide, shall be strong,
Whispers the secret of futurity!