E Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton

50 şiir · 1862 — 1937 · New York City

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Edith Wharton rose from her American middle-class, socialite origins to become a famous writer and the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for her novel The Age of Innocence which was published in 1921. This story was later dramatized on film, the latest version being the Academy award-winning production in 1993 starring Daniel Day Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer. Another story, The House of Mirth, also received the Hollywood treatment. She was best known for her novels and short story writing but she also had three collections of poetry published between 1878 and 1926. Additionally, Edith was probably the first “homes and gardens guru” as she wrote a number of books on the subject of innovative designs in those areas. The fact that she was already an accomplished house and garden designer would probably explain why her first published work, in 1897, was called The Decoration of Houses. Edith was born Edith Jones, in January 1862, into a comfortably off family in New York City. It is a reflection of the status of the household that the common expression “Keeping up with the Joneses” has been credited to Edith’s family. They certainly belonged to the privileged classes and Edith used her upbringing to enhance her writing. She wrote with insight and great wit of the machinations between such families in the late 19th century. She had many famous acquaintances, including future President Theodore Roosevelt and the writer Henry James. She did, in fact, accompany James on many tours of Europe. She was married at the age of 23 to an older man of the same social class and they also enjoyed travelling together until her husband (Edward Robbins Wharton) began to suffer periods of depression. It got worse as time went by and, after almost 30 years of marriage, they were divorced in 1913 when it was determined that Wharton’s mental state was so severe as to be incurable. They had spent their last years together at The Mount, a stylish mansion of Edith’s own design in Massachusetts. It was her base for much of her writing and for entertaining American high society. On the collapse of her marriage though she moved to France and took up residence in a smart apartment in Paris. The outbreak of the First World War was imminent and Edith took a great interest in the battles and was, in fact, allowed to visit front line locations. The devastation of towns and the countryside that she witnessed was reflected in a number of articles and poems that she wrote at the time. The country of Belgium was hit particularly hard and she penned the following short poem, simply calling it Belgium: A woman of her social class might have been tempted to hide from the horrors of war, in as safe a location as possible. Edith though shunned that idea and was prominent in her work on behalf of war refugees and the homeless across Europe. She set up hospitals for TB sufferers and workshops where unemployed French women could be employed. The French Government awarded her the “Chevalier of the Legion of Honour” in 1916, such were her tireless efforts on behalf of those much less fortunate than herself. When the war ended she moved into a rural part of northern France and was then on her travels once more. She visited Morocco and Provence, eventually buying a villa high in the hills above the Provencal town of Hyères. She remained resident in France for the rest of her life. Edith Wharton died following a stroke in August 1937, aged 75.

Edith Wharton şiirleri

Arama yardımı
İngilizce

WHERE suns chase suns in rhythmic dance, Where seeds are springing from the dust, Where mind sways mind with spirit-glance, High court is held, and law is just.…

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(She Speaks.) I MEANT to be so strong and true!…

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Though life should come With all its marshalled honours, trump and drum, To proffer you the captaincy of some Resounding exploit, that shall fill…

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Hunters, where does Hope nest? Not in the half-oped breast, Nor the young rose, Nor April sunrise—those…

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All so grave and shining see they come From the blissful ranks of the forgiven, Though so distant wheels the nearest crystal dome, And the spheres are seven.…

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I A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead, And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.…

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On a sheer peak of joy we meet; Below us hums the abyss; Death either way allures our feet If we take one step amiss.…

I LEAGUERED in fire The wild black promontories of the coast extend…

Thou couldst not look on me and live: so runs The mortal legend—thou that couldst not live Nor look on me (so the divine decree)! That saw’st me in the cloud, the wave, the bough,…

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Great cities rise and have their fall; the brass That held their glories moulders in its turn. Hard granite rots like an uprooted weed, And ever on the palimpsest of earth…

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SOMEWHERE, O sun, some corner there must be Thou visitest, where down the strand Quietly, still, the waves go out to sea From the green fringes of a pastoral land.…

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La Belgique ne regrette rien Not with her ruined silver spires, Not with her cities shamed and rent,…

WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, lies On thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips, Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipse On Calvary, as if love made thee wise,…

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I Immense, august, like some Titanic bloom, The mighty choir unfolds its lithic core,…

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UPWARD we went by fields of asphodel, Leaving Ortygia's moat-bound walls below; By orchards, where the wind-flowers' drifted snow Lay lightly heaped upon the turf's light swell;…

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