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Poetry: June 21, 2017 Issue [#8351]

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Poetry


 This week: Patrick Kavanagh
  Edited by: Stormy Lady
                             More Newsletters By This Editor  

Table of Contents

1. About this Newsletter
2. A Word from our Sponsor
3. Letter from the Editor
4. Editor's Picks
5. A Word from Writing.Com
6. Ask & Answer
7. Removal instructions

About This Newsletter

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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Letter from the editor

Memory Of My Father
by Patrick Kavanagh

Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.
That man I saw in Gardner Street
Stumbled on the kerb was one,
He stared at me half-eyed,
I might have been his son.
And I remember the musician
Faltering over his fiddle
In Bayswater, London,
He too set me the riddle.
Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
Seems to say to me:
"I was once your father."


Peace by Patrick Kavanagh
And sometimes I am sorry when the grass
Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows
And the cocksfoot leans across the rutted cart-pass
That I am not the voice of country fellows
Who now are standing by some headland talking
Of turnips and potatoes or young corn
Of turf banks stripped for victory.
Here Peace is still hawking
His coloured combs and scarves and beads of horn.

Upon a headland by a whinny hedge
A hare sits looking down a leaf-lapped furrow
There's an old plough upside-down on a weedy ridge
And someone is shouldering home a saddle-harrow.
Out of that childhood country what fools climb
To fight with tyrants Love and Life and Time?



On October 21st, 1904, Patrick Kavanagh was born in Inniskeen, Co. Monaghan, Ireland. His family had a small farm, where his father was the local shoemaker. Kavanagh’s family lived in poverty. He quit school by the age of thirteen to help his father. Though he failed at making shoes, he worked the family farm for the next twenty years. In his early tweenage years he began writing poetry. With the encouragement of his brother, Kavanagh started submitting his work to local periodicals in hopes to get published.

Kavanagh’s early poetry was rough and he had an awkward use of language. Though his first attempts of being published were rejected by the editors, but he was encouraged to continue his to learn about poetry and practice his craft. In 1928 he published his first poem in Irish Independent. In the following years he published again in the Irish Literary Revival. George William Russell was the editor of at the Irish Literary Revival and was the one that published Kavanagh. He also gave Kavanagh several books on by such writers as Victor Hugo, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Robert Browning. Russell took Kavanagh under his wing and helped him gain access to Dublin's literary society. Kavanagh became the peasant poet.

Though in his hometown his publication was an astonish accomplishment and he was seen as a poet, once he moved to Dublin he was met with many criticisms from fellow writers. In 1935, Kavanagh published his first book, Ploughman and Other Poems. Many critics believed with Kavanagh’s first publication he had yet to prove himself as a credible poet. Kavanagh's success came with the publication of an autobiographical prose “The Green Fool” published in 1938. Though this book was met with great success, Kavanagh began to despise this piece because to him it exploited, his position as peasant poet.

Kavanagh battled with his label of pleasant poet. His discontent for this label lead him to change his writing. He became an outspoken writer in Irish society. Kavanagh's first efforts at social criticism was "The Great Hunger" published in 1942. In the following years Kavanagh criticized any writers and intellectuals who had failed to live up to his expectations. His outspoken and often negative remarks towards other writers lead to many enemies. Kavanagh worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and reviewer of books and films. He was often harsh and critical with his reviews.

In 1947 Kavanagh published a poetry collection, “A Soul for Sale,” and Tarry Flynn in 1948. Kavanagh's own pain and frustration peak shortly after the failure of his journal in 1952. A lawsuit against ‘the Leader,” for their review of his work took its toll on Kavanagh’s health and he entered the hospital in 1954. Though many thought he was unlikely to leave the hospital after having surgery, Kavanagh health improved. In 1964 he published "Self Portrait." Followed by “Collected Prose” in 1967.

Kavanagh married his long time companion Katherine Barry Molonein April 1967. He fell in later that year in November and re-entered the hospital. Patrick Kavanagh died a few days later, on November 30th, 1967.


Stony Grey Soil
by Patrick Kavanagh

O stony grey soil of Monaghan
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the gay child of my passion
And gave me your clod-conceived.

You clogged the feet of my boyhood
And I believed that my stumble
Had the poise and stride of Apollo
And his voice my thick tongued mumble.

You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life conquering plough!
The mandrill stained, your coulter blunted
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.

You sang on steaming dunghills
A song of cowards' brood,
You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,
You fed me on swinish food

You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!

Lost the long hours of pleasure
All the women that love young men.
O can I still stroke the monster's back
Or write with unpoisoned pen.

His name in these lonely verses
Or mention the dark fields where
The first gay flight of my lyric
Got caught in a peasant's prayer.

Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco-
Wherever I turn I see
In the stony grey soil of Monaghan
Dead loves that were born for me.



Thank you all!
Stormy Lady

A logo for Poetry Newsletter Editors
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Editor's Picks


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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest [ASR] is:
The Fishing Date  (E)
Contest Entry
#2122753 by Dartagnan


With fishing poles beside the creek
Beneath the willow tree
It was on a summer day
It was just my girl and me

The fireflies lit up the dark
The campfire warmed the night
Roasted some marshmallows
As we held each other tight

Honorable mention:
 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2122702 by Not Available.



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These are the rules:

1) You must use the words I give in a poem or prose with no limits on length.

2) The words can be in any order and anywhere throughout the poem and can be any form of the word.

3) All entries must be posted in your portfolio and you must post the link in this forum, "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest [ASR] by July 14, 2017.

4) The winner will get 3000 gift points and the poem will be displayed in this section of the newsletter the next time it is my turn to post (July 19, 2017)

The words are:


dragon, knights, fairies, wizards, troll, median, evil, storyteller


*Delight* Good luck to all *Delight*

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 Days Without My Sunshine  (E)
A rhymed poem about how my wife is the sunshine in my life.
#2124659 by Harry

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2125179 by Not Available.

 I Never Saw Grandpa Wear Blue Jeans  (ASR)
Father's Day poem for Grandpa Frank
#2125534 by Prosperous Snow celebrating

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STATIC
Creation  (13+)
An intellectual discovers the wonderment of childbirth - Honorable Mention
#2125315 by Dee

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2125343 by Not Available.

 Camp Firefly  (E)
When you go to a camp, you are bound to have a good time.
#2125390 by Dorianne

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 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2124999 by Not Available.

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2125368 by Not Available.

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2125574 by Not Available.

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