 Poetry: September 11, 2019 Issue [#9753] |
This week: Hilda Doolittle 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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Helen by
Hilda Doolittle
All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.
Greece sees, unmoved,
God's daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.
On September 10, 1886, in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Charles Doolittle and his wife Helen welcomed daughter Hilda Doolittle into their family. Charles was a professor of astronomy at Lehigh University. The couple had five sons and only one surviving daughter, Hilda. When Doolittle was ten her father moved the family to Upper Darby, Pennsylvania. Doolittle graduated from Friend’s Central High School and went on to study and Bryn Mawr College.
While attending college she met Ezra Pound and William Williams who attended a nearby college. Ezra Pound and Doolittle became very close, even rumored to be engaged at one time. Doolittle's health took a turn for the worse and she was forced to leave college before graduating. Doolittle traveled to Europe for what was supposed to be a vacation but she loved it so much she stayed. She spent her time living between England and Switzerland. Doolittle’s first published poems, were sent to Poetry magazine by Pound, appearing under the initials H.D.
In 1913 Doolittle married Richard Aldington. Doolittle gave birth to a daughter, who was stillborn in 1915. Richard enlisted in the army. Upon his return, it was undeniable that he was traumatized by the war and the couple separated. Doolittle gave birth to Frances Perdita Aldington in 1919, her father was said to be Grey, but at the time Doolittle and Aldington were still married. H.D.'s first volume of verse, Sea Garden was published in 1916. Her other published volumes included Hymen in 1921, Heliodora and Other Poems in 1924, Red Roses for Bronze in 1931,and a trilogy comprising The Walls Do Not Fall in 1944, Tribute to the Angels in 1945, and Flowering of the Rod in 1946. H.D was the first woman to receive the American Academy of Arts and Letters medal.
Doolittle continued writing throughout her later later years of life. In 1960 she published Bid Me To Live, an autobiographical book. She suffered a stroke in the summer of 1961, and died a couple months later on September 27,1961. Her last books were published postmortem, Helen in Egypt and volume of verse appearing shortly after her death and Tribute to Freud published in 1974, and End to Torment published in 1979.
Sea Poppies
by Hilda Doolittle
Amber husk
fluted with gold,
fruit on the sand
marked with a rich grain,
treasure
spilled near the shrub-pines
to bleach on the boulders:
your stalk has caught root
among wet pebbles
and drift flung by the sea
and grated shells
and split conch-shells.
Beautiful, wide-spread,
fire upon leaf,
what meadow yields
so fragrant a leaf
as your bright leaf?
Wash of Cold River
by Hilda Doolittle
Wash of cold river
in a glacial land,
Ionian water,
chill, snow-ribbed sand,
drift of rare flowers,
clear, with delicate shell-
like leaf enclosing
frozen lily-leaf,
camellia texture,
colder than a rose;
wind-flower
that keeps the breath
of the north-wind --
these and none other;
intimate thoughts and kind
reach out to share
the treasure of my mind,
intimate hands and dear
drawn garden-ward and sea-ward
all the sheer rapture
that I would take
to mould a clear
and frigid statue;
rare, of pure texture,
beautiful space and line,
marble to grace
your inaccessible shrine.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
He stretches, scratches his scalp,
Scowls as if under a spell,
Dim as a fool, walks to school,
In time for those early bells,
He walks the noisy hallway,
Dares not stop to say hello,
Lest naughty he'll be to miss a class,
And reported as a no-show.
He peers about long lost,
Feels his attention span taper,
Fighting against poetic dreams,
He mangles his books and paper.
Loitering 'til the latter of day,
Laughter at the bell, his prize,
He bursts free to be adrift,
Like a cloud of butterflies.
Honorable mention:
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Good luck to all 
