GOOD fellows are laughing and drinking (To-night no heart should grieve), But I am of old days thinking, Alone, on Christmas Eve.…
Victor James Daley was an Irish-born Australian poet and journalist whose assignments included such publications as the Sydney Punch and The Bulletin. His lyrical style was a stark contrast to the more popular “bush balladists” around at the end of the 19th century. He was considered to be part of the Irish Literary Revival, also known as the Celtic Twilight, which saw Irish artists and writers coming to the fore at that time and into the early 20th century. He was born Victor James William Patrick Daley on the 5th September 1858 at the Navan which lies in County Armagh, Ireland. He was initially educated by a Catholic organisation called the Christian Brothers but, when his parents parted, he moved to Devonport in south west England to complete his schooling. He left school at seventeen to take up employment with the railway company based in Plymouth. Three years later he was on his way to South Australia, intending to follow up on connections already there, but he left the ship at Sydney instead. From here he moved on to Adelaide for a while and then, in 1880, to Melbourne. Having lost all of his money at a race track he managed to secure employment as a freelance journalist on the Queanbeyan Times, ironically writing about race horses. Later he headed back to Sydney. His ambition was to earn a living purely as a writer which was, at the time, unusual. He was soon recognised by the established writer and Bulletin editor Jules François Archibald as Daley wrote in a lyrical and often melancholic style and he had many of his pieces published in The Bulletin including one poem (A Golden Shanty) which was particularly well received. When he returned to Melbourne sometime in the late 1880s he was writing and contributing to various publications using the pseudonym “Creeve Roe”, an Irish name that translates as ‘Red Branch’. He was a family man by now and his wife bore him six children. Finally, in 1898, he had a book of poems published which was called At Dawn and Dusk. This came out in Sydney and established Daley’s name as a leading Australian poet. He formed a literary society called the “Dawn and Dusk Club”, and he was known as the “symposiarch” of this bohemian style club. A number of artists and writers joined, including Frank Mahony, Henry Lawson and Randolph Bedford. Here is an example of a typical Daley poem, a lyrical piece called To My Lady: Another collection of his poetry, called simply Poems, was published in 1908, three years after his death from tuberculosis and a further collection (Wine and Roses) came out in 1911. All of this was a god-send to his family who had been left in financial difficulties. He had been suffering from 1902 and tried to improve his health by moving to New Caledonia. Sadly, he was unable to make a recovery from this, often fatal, illness. Victor James Daley died at home in Waitara, Sydney on the 29th December 1905 at the age of 47.
Victor James Daley şiirleri
GHOSTS walk the Earth, that rise not from the grave. The Dead Past hath its living dead. We see All suddenly, at times,—and shudder then— Their faces pale, and sad accusing eyes.…
O THE Queen may keep her golden Crown and sceptre of command! I would give them both twice over To be King of Babyland.…
ONCE a poet—long ago— Wrote a song as void of art As the songs that children know, And as pure as a child’s heart.…
THE PALE discrowned stacks of maize, Like spectres in the sun, Stand shivering nigh Avonaise, Where all is dead and gone.…
On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing, Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Time—…
The Sun burns fiercely down the skies; The sea is full of flashing eyes; The waves glide shoreward serpentwise And fawn with foamy tongues on stark…
WHEN the sap runs up the tree. And the vine runs o’er the wall, When the blossom draws the bee, From the forest comes a call,…
Spellbound by a sweet fantasy At evenglow I stand Beside an opaline strange sea That rings a sunset land.…
At Dawn and Dusk Love-Laurel IN MEMORY OF HENRY KENDALL…
THE CURTAIN rose—the play began— The limelight on the gay garbs shone; Yet carelessly I gazed upon The painted players, maid and man,…
A horseman on a hilltop green Drew rein, and wound his horn; So bright he looked he might have been The Herald of the Morn.…
Bouquet said: “My floral ring The homage of a heart encloses, Whose thoughts to you go worshipping In perfume from my blushing roses.”…
When trees in Spring Are blossoming My lady wakes From dreams whose light…
CAMILLA calls me heartless: hence you see Logic in love has little part. How can I otherwise than heartless be Seeing Camilla has my heart?
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