M Marjorie Pickthall

Marjorie Pickthall

14 şiir · 1883 — 1922

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Marjorie Pickthall was an English-born Canadian poet and novelist whose reputation was such that many considered her to be the finest Canadian poet of her era. She was born Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall on the 14th September 1883 in the Gunnersbury district of west London, the daughter of a surveyor who once said that he believed that his daughter knew what she wanted to be from a very early age. He and his wife both encouraged Marjorie in her artistic, musical and literary ambitions and she became a very competent violinist. At the age of seven the family relocated to Toronto, Ontario and she went to local schools. It was clear from early on that she would be an accomplished writer and she was a good student despite suffering with poor health throughout her schooldays. She exhibited an early interest in English poetry written by the likes of William Morris and Fiona Macleod. While still at school she sold a short story called and this piece also won her a prize the following year that was put up by The Mail and Empire newspaper. Both publications recognised her talent by inviting her to make regular contributions to columns for young readers. Another Mail and Empire prize came her way the following year and she then quit school to take up writing full time. Her early literary efforts were seen in church magazines aimed at young readers such as East and West (Toronto). She offered serialised novels for children, examples being published during 1905, These stories were given added impact by illustrations from the famous Canadian artist Charles William Jefferys. She also found her poetry being published in the college magazine of Victoria College at the University of Toronto. Her reputation was growing and prestigious titles such as showcased her work, although they seemed to be more interested in her stories rather than her poems. She certainly wasn’t making much money from writing and had to find a job at the Victoria College library to stay solvent. However she did have some success with a first collection of published poems in 1913 called By this time she had moved to England, hoping to force her way into London literary circles but this was hard, being both female and a colonial. A second collection of poems came out in 1916 called She remained in England until 1920, busying herself both writing and trying her hand at market gardening at her rented cottage in Wiltshire. Both ventures only brought her limited success. She was back in Canada by the middle of 1920 and, this time, set up home on the west coast. She lived amongst the First Nation Ditidaht people in their Clo-oose community and wrote a poem about them called This haunting piece is reproduced here: Pickthall fought hard to gain the respect of the literary world at a time when female writers were rare and she did, indeed, have some success with that without ever making a great deal of money from her endeavours. Her contributions to newspapers and magazines were numerous and she was responsible for some 200 stories and around 100 poems during her short lifetime. Her health was never good and she was admitted to hospital for an operation in April 1922. Complications set in from which she could not recover. Marjorie Pickthall died of an embolism in Vancouver hospital on the 22nd April 1922 at the age of 38. Her father ensured that any unpublished work could be seen and her Collected Poems was published in 1925, and again in 1936.

Marjorie Pickthall şiirleri

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İngilizce

When the first dark had fallen around them And the leaves were weary of praise, In the clear silence Beauty found them And shewed them all her ways.…

The earth builds on the earth Castles and towers; The earth saith of the earth: All shall be ours.…

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See, the grass is full of stars, Fallen in their brightness; Hearts they have of shining gold, Rays of shining whiteness.…

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I chose the place where I would rest When death should come to claim me, With the red-rose roots to wrap my breast And a quiet stone to name me.…

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Give me a few more hours to pass With the mellow flower of the elm-bough falling, And then no more than the lonely grass And the birds calling.…

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Kwannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, is represented with many hands, typifying generosity and kindness. In one of these hands she is supposed to hold an axe, wherewith she sever…

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Under the level winter sky I saw a thousand Christs go by. They sang an idle song and free As they went up to calvary.…

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I shall not go with pain Whether you hold me, whether you forget My little loss and my immortal gain. O flower unseen, O fountain sealed apart!…

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Now in the West the slender moon lies low, And now Orion glimmers through the trees, Clearing the earth with even pace and slow, And now the stately-moving Pleiades,…

In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continuallyburning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People werereminded thereby to pray for the souls of…

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Living, I had no might To make you hear, Now, in the inmost night, I am so near…

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I gave my thoughts a golden peach, A silver citron tree; They clustered dumbly out of reach And would not sing for me.…

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I have not walked on common ground, Nor drunk of earthly streams; A shining figure, mailed and crowned, Moves softly through my dreams.…

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