This week: Robert William Service Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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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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Home And Love
by Robert William Service
Just Home and Love! the words are small
Four little letters unto each;
And yet you will not find in all
The wide and gracious range of speech
Two more so tenderly complete:
When angels talk in Heaven above,
I'm sure they have no words more sweet
Than Home and Love.
Just Home and Love! it's hard to guess
Which of the two were best to gain;
Home without Love is bitterness;
Love without Home is often pain.
No! each alone will seldom do;
Somehow they travel hand and glove:
If you win one you must have two,
Both Home and Love.
And if you've both, well then I'm sure
You ought to sing the whole day long;
It doesn't matter if you're poor
With these to make divine your song.
And so I praisefully repeat,
When angels talk in Heaven above,
There are no words more simply sweet
Than Home and Love.
Your Poem by
Robert William Service
My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can weave
Your lovelier design,
'Twill make my lyric, I believe,
More yours than mine.
I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -
'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name,
'Tis you who wrote.
Yours is the beauty that you see
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody
'Tis you, dear friend, who bring.
Yea, by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that lures
Your thought to starry heights of dream,
The poem's yours.
On January 16, 1874 in Preston, Lancashire, England Robert Service and his wife Sarah welcomed their son Robert William Service into their family. Robert had five siblings by the time he was five and the family sent him to live with his grandfather in Ayrshire, Scotland. He was taken care of by three aunts who doted on him. It has been said that Service wrote his first poem on his sixth birthday. When Service was nine his family moved to Glasgow, Scotland and he was reunited with them. By this time Service’s parents had nine children. Service attended the old Church Street primary school, then went onto Hillhead High School.
Service took his first job in a shipping office, which soon closed without notice, leaving Service without work. After talking with his father, Service decided to follow in his father's footsteps and started working at the Stobcross branch of the Commercial Bank of Scotland. With his new job Service worked from nine to four and this allowed him time after work to focus on his writing, all while getting a steady paycheck. During this time Service discovered the Glasgow Music Hall and started taking lessons. These lessons led him to reciting his poetry on stage. He eventually started to get walk on roles in plays. His theater experiences led him to go back to school at the University of Glasgow, where he studied English Language and Literature. An essay on Ophelia of William Shakespear’s drama “Hamlet,” did not go over well with the lecturer who’s comments about the paper rattled Service. Service left the college and went back to banking.
Now bringing in a steady income,Service started putting money away to move to Canada. In 1895 Service sailed from Scotland to Montreal Canada. Service traveled by train across Canada. He worked on a farm, then worked for an old timer named Hank. He then worked for a farmer milking cow. Service now twenty-three made his way from Victoria Canada to Seattle. Eventually he went onto San Francisco working as a handyman. Service’s worked many odd jobs before returning to Canada and working as a storekeeper. Service published his first volume of poetry, “The Spell of the Yukon,” and Other Verses in 1907. He published “Ballads of a Cheechako,” in 1909 and “Rhymes of a Rolling Stone,” in 1912 followed by “ Songs of the Yukon,” in 1913. In all Robert Service wrote two autobiographical works “Ploughman of the Moon,” in 1945 and “Harper of Heaven,” in 1948, six novels, including “The Trail of ‘98” and “Klondike Gold Rush,” and more than forty-five verse collections. Several of his works were adapted to movies, including one of his poems “McGrew.”
In June 1913, Service moved to France and married Parisienne Germaine Bourgoin. The couple had a daughter Iris Service. They lived in Paris for several years before moving to California. In 1942 Service was asked to play himself in “The Spoilers,” movie an adaptation of his book along side Marlene Dietrich, John Wayne and Randolph Scott. After World War II Service and his wife returned to France to find their home destroyed. They rebuilt the home and remained there until Robert passed away in 1958.
Robert William Service died on September 11, 1958, in Lancieux and is buried in the local cemetery.
Moon Song
by Robert William Service
A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: "Look, look, my lost balloon!"
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
"Quick, mother! Bring it back to me."
A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon's reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he'd never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.
A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
"They say it do be made of cheese,"
Said Giles, "and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow --
The lad's a-winkin' at me now."
Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: "There's mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place."
Said he: "Be mine, and with me wed,"
Moon-high she stared . . . she shook her head.
A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace! . . . He closed his eyes again.
Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown,
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you've seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you'll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
A ghastly haze spreads
across the bleak fields
of late November,
its pallid hue
announcing death's approach.
Mortals
feel a freezing chill penetrate
their bones,
as a nameless terror
blankets their minds.
Faces,
gleaming purple,
rise out of the fog ,
and shamble
across the barren landscape.
Honorable mention:
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Poetry: November 07, 2018 Issue [#9210]
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