I gazed upon thy face---and beating life, Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast And every thought whose being was a strife Each in its silent chamber sank to rest;…
Born in Salem in Massachusetts, poet and writer Jones Very was born into a free thinking family and because of his sea faring father had a life time love of the ocean. His father used to take Very on sea trips, first to Russia and then New Orleans but unfortunately he died on one of the return journeys after catching a disease of the lungs. At the age of 14 Very was no longer attending school but helping his mother with the upkeep of the family after the death of his father. To earn money he worked as an assistant at a local school and there came into contact with the writings of variety of philosophers, authors and poets. Habitually shy, Very had an academic nature and thirst for knowledge and often preferred his own company to that of others. He became interested in writing and composed his first poem during this time. Influenced by the likes of Byron and Goethe, Very earned a place at Harvard College and developed a greater ambition to be a poet himself. Whilst he worked at his studies he would also write poems and managed to get a few published in the local newspaper. After his graduation, where he was near top of the class, Very went on to the divinity school at Harvard but failed to complete his degree. Very became good at talking about literature and this led him to come into contact with other writers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson who encouraged him to give a talk in Concord, Massachusetts. To deliver his lecture, Very walked the 20 miles to the hall in Concord and was rewarded by being asked to dinner with Emerson. Through his friendship with the poet Very also got to meet the likes of Thoreau and Hawthorne and an eventual introduction to the Transcendental Club. Unfortunately, throughout his life Very suffered from mental health problems and would probably have been diagnosed with a bipolar disorder if he had been living today. He was known for his eccentricities especially with his students whom he taught in Salem and exhibited some bizarre behaviors which included one rule where he would not engage in conversation with any woman. During one of his more manic phases, Very found himself in a Boston hospital where he continued to give lectures to the other inmates. He found, on his release, more help from Emerson who seemed to view him as a kind of kindred spirit. He gave the help the developing poet needed in order to publish a collection of poetry but Very was disappointed when Emerson started to edit his verses too vigorously. Because of his manic nature, Very often found it difficult to write and is still not considered one of the most prominent poets of the 19th Century in America. With more problems in relation to his mental health he became reclusive, living with his sister and he did little in the way of writing or anything else of note. He would survive another 40 years and finally died in 1880 at the age of 66.
Jones Very şiirleri
Long do we live upon the husks of corn, While 'neath untasted lie the kernels still, Heirs of the kingdom, but in Christ unborn, Fain with swine's food would we our hunger fill;…
Father! there is no change to live with Thee, Save that in Christ I grow from day to day, In each new word I hear, each thing I see, I but rejoicing hasten on the way;…
Day! I lament that none can hymn thy praise In fitting strains, of all thy riches bless; Though thousands sport them in thy golden rays, Yet none like thee their Maker's name confe…
Fleeting years are ever bearing In their silent course away All that in our pleasures sharing Lent to life a cheering ray.…
I looked to find a man who walked with God, Like the translated patriarch of old;-- Though gladdened millions on His footstool trod, Yet none with him did such sweet converse hold;…
There is no faith; the mountain stands within Still unrebuked, its summit reaches heaven; And every action adds its load of sin, For every action wants the little leaven;…
My brother, I am hungry,—give me food Such as my Father gives me at his board; He has for many years been to thee good, Thou canst a morsel then to me afford;…
I cannot tell the sorrows that I feel By the night's darkness, by the prison's gloom; There is no sight that can the death reveal The spirit suffers in a living tomb;…
HOW many of the body's health complain, When they some deeper malady conceal; Some unrest of the souled, some secret pain, Which thus its presence doth to them reveal.…
Father! I bless thy name that I do live, And in each motion am made rich with thee, That when a glance is all that I can give, It is a kingdom's wealth if I but see;…
Thou hast not left the rough-barked tree to grow Without a mate upon the river's bank; Nor dost Thou on one flower the rain bestow, But many a cup the glittering drops has drank;…
IT is not life upon Thy gifts to live, But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee; And when the sun and shower their bounties give, To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tre…
Poet's hand has placed thee there, Autumn's brown and withered scroll! Though to outward eye not fair, Thou hast beauty for the soul,…
I asked of Time to tell me where was Love; He pointed to her foot-steps on the snow, Where first the angel lighted from above, And bid me note the way and onward go;…
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