“Cleaning House with the Vacuum Cleaner,” by Susan Victoire Lewis

Lewis, Susan Victoire. “Cleaning House with the Vacuum Cleaner.” In Collected Verse of Susan Victoire Lewis. Ottawa, ON: Ru-mi-lou, [1929]. 19.

This author obviously grew up and attended school in Yarmouth, NS. In 1910, she wrote a poem entitled “The Call of the West,” a call she obviously heeded herself, as after 1918, her poems are signed in Calgary and her muse became western Canadian landscape and life.

Cleaning House with the Vacuum Cleaner

“Evening,” by Hilda A. Davies (“Tanis”)

“Tanis” [Hilda A. Davies]. “Evening.” In Overgrown Trails and Other Poems. Calgary, AB: Dichmont, n.d. 3.

This poem is from a lovely little chapbook I bought on AbeBooks; at least one catalogue lists the date as 1932, but the seller stated 1925. It is wonderful when original copies of our poets’ works are still out there for the general public to enjoy!

Evening

Along the quiet lake’s green rim
The wild duck to her nest doth skim.
The snipe calls shrilly to his mate,
The loon’s laugh floats across the lake.
A boat pulls slowly to the shore,—
The rower rests upon his oar;
The zephyrs through the grasses cease,—
‘Tis evening in the Hills of Peace.

“Traffic Light,” by Anne Marriott

Marriott, Anne. “Traffic Light.” Poetry (Chicago). 58.1 (April 1941): 28-29. Special issue: Canadian Number.

“Unaware,” by Betty Douglas

Douglas, Betty. “Unaware.” 1933. An Anthology of Y. C. Verse: A Volume of Selections from the Verse Contributed by the Young Co-Operators and Published in the Western Producer from 1932-1936. [Saskatoon, SK]: [Western Producer], 1937. 21.

Betty Douglas was chosen as the Young Co-operators’ Club Poet Laureate for the 1932-1933 season.

Unaware

She did not know the lovely feel
Of lacy things,
She did not know the human soul
Could borrow wings.
She had not heard the silken sigh
Of growing corn,
Nor cradled in her arms a life
Just newly born.
Unknown to her the gentle touch
Of friendly hands,
Unknown the tender tone of one
Who understands.
To her life was a bitter art
That all must learn.
A narrow path where each must walk
And never turn.

“Electricity,” by Ethel MacDougall

MacDougall, Ethel. “Electricity.” Montreal in Verse: An Anthology of English Poetry by Montreal Poets. Montreal, QB: Canadian Authors Association, 1942. 31.

Is this the same woman as Mrs. R. E. MacDougall, who won the Montreal Poetry Contest in 1926 for the poem “Old Age”? It seems highly likely, but I have no biographical information yet to confirm my suspicions.

Electricity

I threw a spangled net across the city’s dusk,
And hung a necklace on the bridge;
Re-blazed a trail for all the million souls,
Placing a holy symbol on the ridge.

And none can know how mightily I am born,
Conceived of air or waves or sod—
For like the waters, earth and rushing wind,
Maybe I too am one with God!

“Be Good,” by Mona Gould

Gould, Mona. “Be Good.” In Gossip! Toronto: n.p., 1949. 43.

“Summer-Evening,” by Augusta Baldwyn

Baldwyn, Augusta. “Summer-Evening.” Selections from Canadian Poets: With Occasional Critical and Biographical Notes, and an Introductory Essay on Canadian Poetry. Ed. Edward Hartley Dewart. [Montreal], 1864. 259-60.

“Answer,” by Mary Elizabeth Colman

Colman, Mary Elizabeth. “Answer.” Poetry (Chicago). 58.1 (April 1941): 21. Special issue: Canadian Number.

Answer

Hungry unnumbered since the birth of time
Question the dusty sky
In vain: no answer there.

Gone, gone, as darkness floods the day,
Fled, sped, unsatisfied—
Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

(The scabbard falls, yet the bright sword
Guardian no longer
Speeds, speeds to the Horseman’s hand.)

Still time arrogant, invincible, is armed with death;
Still the unregarding worlds roll on;
The universe expands—is dumb.

With no stone hunger to be fed, but quickening bread
When tall-sceptered time at last
Is whipped, stripped, done and dead.

“My Ranch House,” by Rhoda Sivell

Sivell, Rhoda. “My Range House.” Voices from the Range. Toronto: Eaton, 1912. Rpt. in Pioneer Poetry and Prose: Voice from the Range. Ed. Nora Schmidt. Cochrane, AB: Raynora, 2000. 21.

Rhoda Sivell in her later years

This author produced only one book of poetry, but it has touched the heart of a number of people in the “cowboy” community. Terry Almeda has a complete CD of Rhoda Sivell’s poetry set to song, and some of her poems appear on a CD anthology of recitation, as well as in Virginia Bennett’s 2001 print anthology, Cowgirl Poetry. I am grateful to Rhoda’s grandson, William Sivell, of Victoria, BC, for his hospitality and generosity in sharing information and the images I have posted here.

My Ranch House

Before I went away I thought all trails were golden,
That led beyond the trails that I could see,
But now I find the old familiar highways
Around my home are fairer now to me.

Before I went away I thought the birds were singing,
A sweeter note above some distant shore,
And then I missed the meadow-lark at morning,
Its clear wild note beyond the old ranch door.

Before I went away I thought the flowers were blooming,
Far sweeter, fairer, in some distant clime;
When I came home I found them all around me—
And they were mine.

Before I went away I thought the world was full of laughter,
I’d leave behind the heavy weight of years;
And then I found beyond those distant mountains
Such woe and tears.

Before I went away I didn’t miss you,
I didn’t know our lives were meant to be
Held by such golden chains that bound me to you,
Our life-long memory.

The Sivell homestead from a hillside vantage

The Sivell homestead more recently

Rona Murray

Murray, Rona. “I Love Her More.” Mills Manuscripts. Ed. Marjorie Fisher, et al. [Oakland, CA]: Associated Students of Mills College, 1942. 9.
Murray, Rona. “Wilt Thou Come, Mortal?” First Proof: Mills College Freshman Magazine 4 (1942): 9.

Rona Murray is not an unknown poet. She was part of the British Columbia literary scene in the 1960s through to her death in 2003. Her career began in 1951, according to an article in 1958, when she won first place in the British Columbia Centennial Drama competition for her one-act play Blue Duck’s Feathers and Eagle Down. But, I thought to myself, she may have published something earlier, and her papers are at the University of Victoria library. So I went to see.

The only thing that I found published previous to 1950 were these two poems in college publications; but at least they are published! Originally in 1942, now here on our blog.

I Love Her More

I held the moon in my branches
And I kissed her small, cold face,
And laughed and told her I loved her,
And sighed, for she’s not of my race.

Wilt Thou come, Mortal?

I heard a singing, sweet and low. A fairy child
Sat watching me with eyes and face aglow,
A beauteous child, so young, so sweet and mild,
My heart leapt with joy and hope. For long ago
I had known a fairy whom I had loved
With all my soul’s deep fire, one who smiled
And laughed as did this child. My beloved
She appeared to be, and therefore she beguiled
My poor starved heart with her singing wild.

“Whether life is real, or just another dream.
Which is true? Which imagination’s fancy?
Whether the world and we are what we seem?
Where will we wake when we end our strange phantasy?”
The child asked. “Wilt thou come, Mortal? Time flies!”
I hesitated, wondering. Should I dare
All for a dream? I looked in her deep blue eyes,
And, fiercely laughing, I caught her streaming hair.
We ran madly, swiftly, through the air.