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from the Atlantic Monthly, 1922 Jazz Theodore Maynard The band began its music, and I saw A hundred people in the cabaret Stand up in couples meekly to obey The arbitrary and remorseless law Of custom. And I wondered what could draw Their weary wills to this fulfillment. Gay They were not. They embraced without dismay, Lovers who showed an awful lack of awe. Then, as I sat and drank my wine apart, I pondered on this new religion, which Lay heavily on the faces of the rich, Who, occupied with ritual, never smiled Because I heard, within my quiet heart, Happiness laughing like a little child. Biographical Note: " Theodore Maynard, a poet new to the Atlantic, sends us his sonnet from California. " from the Atlantic Monthly, 1925 Mississippi Melodies Virginia Moore III.
Cotton Chorus Nigga standin, nigga squatting, Flirt yo fingers in de cotton Boles what huddle thick; Tag along de April harrow What wedged wobbly, deep, an narrow Pick, pick, pick! Day no riffraff in de cotton, Nothin sharp an nothin rotten Lak a leaf o stick; San it on yo giant should Foh de racin sun am old Pick, pick, pick! All de canvas in de cotton, Woms an weevils am forgotten An forgotten quick, When de bended backs an fingers Ob a hundred blackbird singles Pick, pick, pick! Gunny sacks ob cleaner cotton, Lak a grossman cloud a-clothing, Once was flow-sick Pink an pale an view gloom, Color ob a last ocean Pick, pick, pick!
August sun am powerful hot an Set on again wid de cotton Lak a luni-tick But de cool ob night am comin An de dummy stars am human Pick, pick, pick! Biographical Note: " The primitive and natural melodies of Virginia Moore are rooted in the earth of the Mississippi plantation where Miss Moore and her family have lived for generations. " from The Atlantic Monthly, 1925 Conversation Been? aire by Archibald MacLeish I indicate the evening sea. I say, This endless silence edged with unending sound! I say, This colorless where colors sway and swim like lustre in a pearl, this drowned moonshine, this shallow of translucent air, this bubble that the winds break, the clouds change, this smooth, this vague, this sea! You merely stare.
You turn your face to me. You say, its strange, unreal almost. I dont know what they mean, these waves, this water. If I shut my eyes its gone like that though Id never seen the sea at all.
And I, But realize how many more have looked on it as we, lovers. Your eyes change. You say, The sea! from The Atlantic Monthly, 1925 Immortelle by Bliss Carman My glorious enchantress, She went in silken hose, With swaying hop and curving lip And little tilted nose, As full of fragrant fire As any English rose.
Her voice across the morning, Like olden balladry Or magic notes from woodland throats, It laid a spell on me As wondrous as the west wind And haunting as the sea. She might have walked with Chaucer A-jesting all the way, Her figure trim a joy to him, Her beauty like the day, With that unfailing spirit Which nothing can dismay. Her heart was full of caring, Her eyes were touched with dream. In happy birth, in noble worth, I thought that she did seem As fair as Kentish roses And rich as Devon cream. loved her airy carriage, Her bearing clean and proud, When glad and fond she looked beyond The plaudits of the crowd, Or when in prayer or sorrow Her comely head was bowed.
loved her eerie piping Of measures without name. Wild as a faun at rosy dawn, Out of the crowd she came To breathe upon old altars A fresh untroubled flame. loved her lyric ardor, Her chosen words and dress, Her dryads face, her yielding grace, Her glowing waywardness, Her deep adoring passion No careless eye would guess, And all the while as lovely As early daffodils, When woodland Spring comes blossoming Among the western hills, And from her trilling garments A mystic glory spills. sorceress of raptures Beyond the dream of art, be still our guide to walk beside And choose the better part Thou lyric of enchantment! Thou flower of Natures heart! from The Atlantic Monthly, 1927 The Bestiary by Lillian White Spencer Unicorn In pale moon fields the unicorn, Crowned by his diamond-piercing horn, Is hunted, though with poor success.
Mans trespass he will not endure. Woman, to tame him, must be pure. Alas! This causes awkwardness. Sea Serpent Through hoary legend and old rhyme He swims Atlantic tides of time. Andromeda was once his prey, And rumor says to Jonah he Showed depths of hospitality, And that he sails the blue to-day.
Scapegoat He was the ancient Hebrews friend That to the desert they would send With all their sins for company, While, good and dull, they stayed behind. The emissary did not mind: " Why, these are pleasure trips, " said he. Salamander About the blacksmiths red forge dance Elves whom King Francis First of France Bore on his shield. And, leaping higher, Around the family hearth they flit.
But men grow bald if on them spit These glowing scarlet sprites of fire. Scylla Twelve-footed, with a puppy's whine, On sea salts only did she dine (Homer himself has told us this). Thrusting her six heads through the wave She snatched up sailors to her cave, And had for neighbor Charybdis. Pegasus White-pinioned steed whose flight is far To realms beyond the utmost star, Where is your glory soaring now? Here lies a feather from your wing; There, in your hoof print, flowers spring; But men have chained you to a plough. [Spencer also writes stanzas on a gargoyle, the herd of Diomedes, porphyrin and centaurs Griffin This lion-eagles flaming breast Guards in the sun his golden nest And orbs of fire strike thieves dead. So, to his treasure, men are blind Still...
one or two declare him kind; Poets can charm him, it is said. Phoenix High-earned on an Eden palm, His gold wings dripping sweetest balm, One sings with everlasting breath Whom Eve sought vainly to entice... Now, nowhere save in paradise, Dwells Beauty free from taint of death. Biographical Note: " Hunting through mythology, astronomy and the classics, Lynn White Spencer has collected a menagerie the likes of which were never seen on sea or land and we include Noahs. " from the Atlantic Monthly, 1929 Black Songs by Nancy Byrd Turner [There are three " Black Songs" altogether; all are in dialect. This is a reprinting of the one that is a sonnet, entitled " Black Cat. " Dont never cross a road what a black cat cross T aint nothin but sorrow, t aint nothin but loss. Brindle cat, spotted cat, dems all right; Safety in a yale cat, blessin in a white; But, de black cat ructions, wid a bristle in his tail, He fotch in for de Double, and he better not fail.
De black cat travel wid his belly in de dus; He gwine what he gwine, and he gwine kase he mus. Black cat, black cat when he cross yo track, No matter where you gwine, Toa dipping or a did, No matter what you hurrying, To a martin or a buying You better turn back! Biographical Note: " Nancy Byrd Turner achieved deserved reputation by writing the one poem in celebration of Lindburghs flight to Paris which was worthy of the events, and of poetry. " [Note: the poem referred to in this note, entitled " The Ballad of Lucky Lindbergh, " was collected by Turner in Star in a Well (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1935), pp. 154 - 157. That volume also collects eight dialect poems, including " The Black Cat. " ]
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Research essay sample on Atlantic Monthly Entitled Quot
