ravenotation

My LibriVox recordings & my reading journal (solo Litblog).

The Poet’s Forge by Helen Hunt Jackson

LibriVox logoLibriVox volunteers bring you 13 recordings of The Poet’s Forge by Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885). This was the Fortnightly Poetry project for November 20th to December 4th, 2011.

Helen Maria Hunt Jackson, born Helen Fiske was a United States writer who became an activist on behalf of improved treatment of Native Americans by the U.S. government. She detailed the adverse effects of government actions in her history A Century of Dishonor (1881). Her novel Ramona dramatized the federal government’s mistreatment of Native Americans in Southern California and attracted considerable attention to her cause.

Fiske attended Ipswich Female Seminary and the Abbott Institute, a boarding school run by Reverend J.S.C. Abbott in New York City. She was a classmate of the poet Emily Dickinson, also from Amherst. The two corresponded for the rest of their lives, but few of their letters have survived. ( Summary by Wikipedia )

 
http://www.archive.org/download/poetsforge_1112_librivox/poetsforge_jackson_rn_64kb.mp3″Running time=2m 23s (mp3@64kb)

Download locations: mp3 128kb : mp3 64kb : ogg vorbis.
Catalogue pages: LibriVox, Internet Archive.
Zip of the entire book (12MB@64kb), featuring all 13 readers of this poem.

The Poet’s Forge
He lies on his back, the idling smith,
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he;
The sky is blue, or the sky is gray,
He lies on his back the livelong day,
Not a tool in sight, say what they may,
A curious sort of smith is he.

The powers of the air are in league with him;
The country around believes it well;
The wondering folk draw spying near;
Never sight nor sound do they see or hear;
No wonder they feel a little fear;
When is it his work is done so well?

Never sight nor sound to see or hear;
The powers of the air are in league with him;
High over his head his metals swing,
Fine gold and silver to shame the king;
We might distinguish their glittering,
If once we could get in league with him.

High over his head his metals swing;
He hammers them idly year by year,
Hammers and chuckles a low refrain:
“A bench and a book are a ball and a chain,
The adze is a better tool than the plane;
What’s the odds between now and next year?”

Hammers and chuckles his low refrain,
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he:
When sudden, some day, his bells peal out,
And men, at the sound, for gladness shout;
He laughs and asks what it’s all about;
Oh, a curious sort of smith is he.

This fortnight’s poem can be found here.

Advertisements

Author: raven

Anonymous ;-)

Comments are closed.