Georgine Sand Miner

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1. Hannah Armstrong I wrote him a letter asking him for old times’ sake To discharge my sick boy from the army; But maybe he couldn’t read it. Then I went to town and had James Garber, Who wrote beautifully, write him a letter. But maybe that was lost in the mails. So I traveled all the way […]...
2. With Mercy For The Greedy for my friend Ruth, who urges me to make an Appointment for the Sacrament of Confesson Concerning your letter in which you ask Me to call a priest and in which you ask Me to wear The Cross that you enclose; Your own cross, Your dog-bitten cross, No larger than a thumb, Small and wooden, […]...
3. Confetti In The Wind He wrote a letter in his mind To answer one a maid had sent; He sought the fitting word to find, As on by hill and rill he went. By bluebell wood and hawthorn lane, The cadence sweet and silken phrase He incubated in his brain For days and days. He wrote his letter on […]...
4. Clarence Fawcett The sudden death of Eugene Carman Put me in line to be promoted to fifty dollars a month, And I told my wife and children that night. But it didn’t come, and so I thought Old Rhodes suspected me of stealing The blankets I took and sold on the side For money to pay a […]...
5. To George Sand: A Recognition TRUE genius, but true woman! dost deny The woman’s nature with a manly scorn And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman’s voice forlorn, Thy woman’s hair, my sister, all unshorn Floats back dishevelled strength in agony Disproving […]...
6. Dream Song 127: Again, his friend's death made the man sit still Again, his friend’s death made the man sit still And freeze inside—his daughter won first price— His wife scowled over at him— It seemed to be Hallowe’en. His friend’s death had been adjudged suicide, Which dangles a trail Longer than Henry’s chill, longer than his loss And longer than the letter that he wrote That […]...
7. Daniel M'Cumber When I went to the city, Mary McNeely, I meant to return for you, yes I did. But Laura, my landlady’s daughter, Stole into my life somehow, and won me away. Then after some years whom should I meet But Georgine Miner from Niles a sprout Of the free love, Fourierist gardens that flourished Before […]...
8. THE MINER BEETLING rock, with roar and smoke Break before my hammer-stroke! Deeper I must thrust and lower Till I hear the ring of ore. From the mountain’s unplumbed night, Deep amid the gold-veins bright, Diamonds lure me, rubies beckon, Treasure-hoard that none may reckon. There is peace within the deep Peace and immemorial sleep; Heavy hammer, […]...
9. What the Miner in the Desert Said The moon’s a brass-hooped water-keg, A wondrous water-feast. If I could climb the ridge and drink And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the flies Would not be biting so, My burning feet be spry again, My mule no longer slow. And I could rise and dig for ore, And […]...
10. Honor Among Scamps We are the smirched. Queen Honor is the spotless. We slept thro’ wars where Honor could not sleep. We were faint-hearted. Honor was full-valiant. We kept a silence Honor could not keep. Yet this late day we make a song to praise her. We, codeless, will yet vindicate her code. She who was mighty, walks […]...
11. An Almost Made Up Poem I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny Blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny They are small, and the fountain is in France Where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. You used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper […]...
12. Going to Him! Happy letter! Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him Tell Him the page I didn’t write Tell Him I only said the Syntax And left the Verb and the pronoun out Tell Him just how the fingers hurried Then how they waded slow slow And then you wished you had eyes in your pages So you could […]...
13. A Grain Of Sand If starry space no limit knows And sun succeeds to sun, There is no reason to suppose Our earth the only one. ‘Mid countless constellations cast A million worlds may be, With each a God to bless or blast And steer to destiny. Just think! A million gods or so To guide each vital stream, […]...
14. Sand Scribblings THE WIND stops, the wind begins. The wind says stop, begin. A sea shovel scrapes the sand floor. The shovel changes, the floor changes. The sandpipers, maybe they know. Maybe a three-pointed foot can tell. Maybe the fog moon they fly to, guesses. The sandpipers cheep “Here” and get away. Five of them fly and […]...
15. Sand Dabs, Five What men build, in the name of security, is built of straw. * Does the grain of sand know it is a grain of sand? * My dog Ben a mouth like a tabernacle. * You can have the other words-chance, luck, coincidence, Serendipity. I’ll take grace. I don’t know what it is exactly, but […]...
16. Sand Dunes Sea waves are green and wet, But up from where they die, Rise others vaster yet, And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land To come at the fisher town, And bury in solid sand The men she could not drown. She may know cove and cape, But she does not […]...
17. To George Sand: A Desire THOU large-brained woman and large-hearted man, Self-called George Sand! whose soul, amid the lions Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance And answers roar for roar, as spirits can: I would some mild miraculous thunder ran Above the applauded circus, in appliance Of thine own nobler nature’s strength and science, Drawing two pinions, white as wings […]...
18. Lenten Thoughts of a High Anglican Isn’t she lovely, “the Mistress”? With her wide-apart grey-green eyes, The droop of her lips and, when she smiles, Her glance of amused surprise? How nonchalantly she wears her clothes, How expensive they are as well! And the sound of her voice is as soft and deep As the Christ Church tenor bell. But why […]...
19. My Favourite Fan Being a writer I receive Sweet screeds from folk of every land; Some are so weird you’d scarce believe, And some quite hard to understand: But as a conscientious man I type my thanks to all I can. So when I got a foreign scrawl That spider-webbed across the page, Said I: “This is the […]...
20. At San Sebastian The Countess sprawled beside the sea As naked a she well could be; Indeed her only garments were A “G” string and a brassière Her washerwoman was amazed, And at the lady gazed and gazed, – From billowy-bosom swell To navel like a pink sea shell. The Countess has of robes three score, She doffs […]...
21. Wild Oats About twenty years ago Two girls came in where I worked – A bosomy English rose And her friend in specs I could talk to. Faces in those days sparked The whole shooting-match off, and I doubt If ever one had like hers: But it was the friend I took out, And in seven years […]...
22. Sonnet XXXV: What Means the Mist What means the mist opaque that veils these eyes; Why does yon threat’ning tempest shroud the day? Why does thy altar, Venus, fade away, And on my breast the dews of horror rise? Phaon is false! be dim ye orient Skies; And let black Erebus succeed your ray; Let clashing thunders roll, and lightning play; […]...
23. DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA [From the Morlack.) WHAT is yonder white thing in the forest? Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be? Were it snow, ere this it had been melted, Were it swans, they all away had hastend. Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not, ‘Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga. He […]...
24. The House Of Dust: Part 01: 03: One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand, With wave upon slowly shattering wave, Turned to the city of towers as evening fell; And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it; And saw how the towers darkened against the sky; And across the distance heard the toll of a bell. Along the […]...
25. This is my letter to the World This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me The simple News that Nature told With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see For love of Her Sweet countrymen Judge tenderly of Me...
26. The House Of Dust: Part 04: 01: Clairvoyant ‘This envelope you say has something in it Which once belonged to your dead son-or something He knew, was fond of? Something he remembers?- The soul flies far, and we can only call it By things like these. . . a photograph, a letter, Ribbon, or charm, or watch. . . ‘ . . . […]...
27. Scots of the Riverina The boy cleared out to the city from his home at harvest time They were Scots of the Riverina, and to run from home was a crime. The old man burned his letters, the first and last he burned, And he scratched his name from the Bible when the old wife’s back was turned. A […]...
28. Sonnet XXXIV: Venus! To Thee Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing, The song, which Myttellenian youths admir’d, When Echo, am’rous of the strain inspir’d, Bade the wild rocks with madd’ning plaudits ring! Attend my pray’r! O! Queen of rapture! bring To these fond arms, he, whom my soul has fir’d; From these fond arms remov’d; yet, still desir’d, […]...
29. Wayward Wind My patient, Paul, wrote in a poem That he belongs to the wayward wind, A restless breed, A strange and hardy class. I’ve been with him for two years And now he is dying. “Are you in pain, Paul?” I ask. “I AM pain,” he said. But he is refusing medication Although his cancer has […]...
30. Brother And Sister “SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head.” Thus the prudent brother said. “Do you want a battered hide, Or scratches to your face applied?” Thus his sister calm replied. “Sister, do not raise my wrath. I’d make you into mutton broth As easily as kill a moth” The sister raised her […]...
31. Emily Sparks Where is my boy, my boy In what far part of the world? The boy I loved best of all in the school? I, the teacher, the old maid, the virgin heart, Who made them all my children. Did I know my boy aright, Thinking of him as a spirit aflame, Active, ever aspiring? Oh, […]...
32. Circe's Torment I regret bitterly The years of loving you in both Your presence and absence, regret The law, the vocation That forbid me to keep you, the sea A sheet of glass, the sun-bleached Beauty of the Greek ships: how Could I have power if I had no wish To transform you: as You loved my […]...
33. Job Interview Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife He would have written sonnets all his life? DON JUAN, III, 63-4 “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” The eldest male member (or is “male member” A redundancy?) of the committee Asked me. “Not here,” I thought. A good thing I Speak fluent Fog. […]...
34. A Soldier's Reprieve ‘Twas in the United States of America some years ago An aged father sat at his fireside with his heart full of woe, And talking to his neighbour, Mr Allan, about his boy Bennie That was to be shot because found asleep doing sentinel duty. “Inside of twenty-four hours, the telegram said, And, oh! Mr […]...
35. Sonnet VIII: Why, Through Each Aching Vein Why, through each aching vein, with lazy pace Thus steals the languid fountain of my heart, While, from its source, each wild convulsive start Tears the scorch’d roses from my burning face? In vain, O Lesbian Vales! your charms I trace; Vain is the poet’s theme, the sculptor’s art; No more the Lyre its magic […]...
36. Shillin' a Day My name is O’Kelly, I’ve heard the Revelly From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, Hong-Kong and Peshawur, Lucknow and Etawah, And fifty-five more all endin’ in “pore”. Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness, Of sorrow and sickness I’ve known on my way, But I’m old and I’m nervis, I’m […]...
37. PROPERTIUS Desine, Paulle, meum lacrimis urgere sepulcrum: nempe tuas lacrimas litora surda bibent. Propertius, IV.11 Don’t cry for me, for only The senseless stones will drink your tears, I’ll never see you cry, for tears are No more than splinters of a lurid globe Which only knows its orb and nothing more. The dead don’t know […]...
38. The Mare's Nest Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse Was good beyond all earthly need; But, on the other hand, her spouse Was very, very bad indeed. He smoked cigars, called churches slow, And raced but this she did not know. For Belial Machiavelli kept The little fact a secret, and, Though o’er his minor sins she wept, […]...
39. Sonnet CLIII Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow’d from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange […]...
40. Sonnet 153: Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat still to endure, And grew a seeting bath, which yet men prove Against strange […]...