Hilda Conkling

[Lili]

Ooh--I like the idea of a poetry forum. Fun! Share poems with me, do!

I'm sure I have already shared these with a few of you, but here are a few written by Hilda Conkling, a child poet (1920s). She wrote this one (link)when she was 5-6 years old (!) and the next two (link) when she was 10-11. (The poem comes after a short bio about her). Hmm... I can't find an online transcription of the 3rd one I wanted to share, so I'll transcribe it now:

I Was Thinking

I was thinking
The tenderness children need
Is in soft shadow-things;
Is a kind of magic . . .
Petals of a dark pansy . . .
Cloudy wings . . . .
(But the sun can touch me
With fingertips like flowers . . .)

And the tenderness children need
Is in old thoughts and songs of all the world
People have not forgotten . . .

It is in the way mothers look at tired children.
It is in the half-voice fathers use
Feeling some surprise and gladness
To see their children there at all.

[Tuly]

How very perceptive of this young girl to understand mothers and fathers. What was her childhood like?...thanks, Lili

[Tuly]

Any more poems by Hilda?

[Edward]

I think the last to lines of that poem are some of the best bits of poetry I have ever read. I think every parent should try to adopt such a profoundly simple attitude--I know that for me, as a child and now, nothing makes me feel more loved that when people are "surprised and glad" to see me.

What a wonderful poem!

[Lili]

Did you read the two that I linked to? I think I'll just copy them in:

About My Dreams (written at age 5-6)

Now the flowers are all folded
And the dark is going by.
The evening is arising . . .
It is time to rest.
When I am sleeping
I find my pillow full of dreams.
They are all new dreams:
No one told them to me
Before I came through the cloud.
They remember the sky, my little dreams,
They have wings, they are quick, they are sweet.
Help me tell my dreams
To the other children,
So that their bread may taste whiter,
So that the milk they drink
May make them think of meadows
In the sky of stars.
Help me give bread to the other children
So that their dreams may come back:
So they will remember what they knew
Before they came through the cloud.
Let me hold their little hands in the dark,
The lonely children,
The babies that have no mothers any more.
Dear God, let me hold up my silver cup
For them to drink,
And tell them the sweetness
Of my dreams.


I Shall Come Back (written at age 10)

I shall be coming back to you
From the seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers.
Brooks braided in with sunbeams
Will hang from my fingers.
My heart will be awake . . .
All my thoughts and joys will go to you.
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant's feather;
Moons will glitter in my hair . . .
Will you know me?
I shall come back when sunset has turned away and gone,
And you will untangle the moons
And make me drowsy
And put me to bed.

[Tuly]

I love how nurturing Hilda is as a poet. I love when children nurture other children.

[arxpoetica]

Link 1: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hilda_Conkling

Link 2: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/1612

Link 3: http://oldpoetry.com/oauthor/show/Hilda_Conkling

[Tuly]

yeah! thank you Robert!!!