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Aunt Dora Baggins
Elvenhome
Dec 22 2012, 2:44pm
Post #1 of 7
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Poetry thread a little late: The Harp Weaver
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I forgot all about the poetry thread on Thursday, and I wanted to post the Ballad of the Harp Weaver. Be sure to have a hankie handy, especially if you listen to Johnny Cash's version
The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
“Son,” said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
“you’ve need of clothes to cover you,
and not a rag have I.
“There’s nothing in the house
To make a boy breeches,
Nor shears to cut a cloth with,
Nor thread to take stitches.
“There’s nothing in the house
But a loaf-end of rye,
And a harp with a woman’s head
Nobody will buy,”
And she began to cry.
That was in the early fall.
When came the late fall,
“Son,” she said, “the sight of you
Makes your mother’s blood crawl, —
“Little skinny shoulder-blades
Sticking through your clothes!
And where you’ll get a jacket from
God above knows.
“It’s lucky for me, lad,
Your daddy’s in the ground,
And can’t see the way I let
His son go around!”
And she made a queer sound.
That was in the late fall.
When the winter came,
I’d not a pair of breeches
Nor a shirt to my name.
I couldn’t go to school,
Or out of doors to play.
And all the other little boys
Passed our way.
“Son,” said my mother,
“Come, climb into my lap,
And I’ll chafe your little bones
While you take a nap.”
And, oh, but we were silly
For half and hour or more,
Me with my long legs,
Dragging on the floor,
A-rock-rock-rocking
To a mother-goose rhyme!
Oh, but we were happy
For half an hour’s time!
But there was I, a great boy,
And what would folks say
To hear my mother singing me
To sleep all day,
In such a daft way?
Men say the winter
Was bad that year;
Fuel was scarce,
And food was dear.
A wind with a wolf’s head
Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat upon the floor.
All that was left us
Was a chair we couldn’t break,
And the harp with a woman’s head
Nobody would take,
For song or pity’s sake.
The night before Christmas
I cried with cold,
I cried myself to sleep
Like a two-year old.
And in the deep night
I felt my mother rise,
And stare down upon me
With love in her eyes.
I saw my mother sitting
On the one good chair,
A light falling on her
From I couldn’t tell where.
Looking nineteen,
And not a day older,
And the harp with a woman’s head
Leaned against her shoulder.
Her thin fingers, moving
In the thin, tall strings,
Were weav-weav-weaving
Wonderful things.
Many bright threads,
From where I couldn’t see,
Were running through the harp-strings
Rapidly,
And gold threads whistling
Through my mother’s hand.
I saw the web grow,
And the pattern expand.
She wove a child’s jacket,
And when it was done
She laid it on the floor
And wove another one.
She wove a red cloak
So regal to see,
“She’s made it for a king’s son,”
I said, “and not for me.”
But I knew it was for me.
She wove a pair of breeches
Quicker than that!
She wove a pair of boots
And a little cocked hat.
She wove a pair of mittens,
She wove a little blouse,
She wove all night
In the still, cold house.
She sang as she worked,
And the harp-strings spoke;
Her voice never faltered,
And the thread never broke,
And when I awoke, —
There sat my mother
With the harp against her shoulder,
Looking nineteeen,
And not a day older,
A smile about her lips,
And a light about her head,
And her hands in the harp-strings
Frozen dead.
And piled beside her
And toppling to the skies,
Were the clothes of a king’s son,
Just my size.
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"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
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"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories
leleni at hotmail dot com
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(This post was edited by Aunt Dora Baggins on Dec 22 2012, 2:47pm)
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Ethel Duath
Gondolin
Dec 23 2012, 3:02am
Post #2 of 7
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Wow, I have never heard of this before!
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It reads like an old folk tale, like the shoemaker and the elves with such a tragic twist. Who is the author?
It also reminds me a little of the Menotti Opera, Amahl and the night Visitors (my favorite Christmas special growing up!): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_03iA_QvfWw
(This post was edited by Ethel Duath on Dec 23 2012, 3:03am)
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Aunt Dora Baggins
Elvenhome
Dec 23 2012, 3:28am
Post #4 of 7
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She won a Pulitzer Prize for it in 1923.
Yes, I love Amahl. I have it on LP. Our player is broken, but I listened to it over and over when I was younger and could probably sing most of it from memory. I love the song about the magic box :-)
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"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories
leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Aunt Dora Baggins
Elvenhome
Dec 23 2012, 3:31am
Post #5 of 7
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Longfellow's poem is so poignant, amid the horror of the Civil War. The one about the mail carrier is new to me. What a lot of lovely images!
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"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories
leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Ethel Duath
Gondolin
Dec 23 2012, 3:38am
Post #6 of 7
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or phrase, anyway. Anytime we find ourselves picking up one of those useful, square cardboard things, we start singing . . .
The original T.V. version was lost, I thought, but it turns out some versions of the production with most of the old cast are available and on sale! I got one on Amazon a couple of years ago (http://www.amazon.com/...d+the+Night+Visitors).
I have the L.P. too.
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Morthoron
Hithlum
Dec 25 2012, 3:51am
Post #7 of 7
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One of my Favorite Christmas Songs...
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A Christmas Song by Ian Anderson (of Jethro Tull)
Once in Royal David's City stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things He later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.
(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)
Here's the song...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdalBvgNAxI
Happy Christmas!
Please visit my blog...The Dark Elf File...a slighty skewed journal of music and literary comment, fan-fiction and interminable essays.
(This post was edited by Morthoron on Dec 25 2012, 3:53am)
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