A Poem for Hill Country: Tetrapharmakos --- "The four-part cure"

Posted by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

The philosophy of epicureanism is based upon the teaching of Epicurus. His advice on how to live the happiest possible life is summed up in these four short lines of poetry called Tetrapharmakos, "The Four-Part Cure" ---

Don't fear god,

Don't worry about death:

What is good is easy to get, and

What is terrible is easy to endure.

Attributed to Philodermus of Herculaneum, a student of Epicurus.

Suggested reading: Epicureanism at Wikipedia.

Two Poems for Hill Country: Months of the Year by Coleridge and Ellis

Posted by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

Today two poems by English authors are presented. Each writer attempts to describe the twelve months --- one takes one-hundred twenty-three words and the other takes only twelve words. Both poems are widely quoted --- both are widely used as examples --- but I've never seen them together.

Sara Coleridge, daughter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, wrote The Months. Compare her words to the older sparsely worded poem by George Ellis (who also used the wonderful pseudonym of Sir Gregory Gander), The Twelve Months.

The Months

by

Sara Coleridge (1802 - 1852)

January brings the snow,

Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,

Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,

Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,

Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,

Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,

Fills the children's hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,

Apricots and gilliflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,

Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,

Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant,

Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast,

Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,

Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

George Ellis (Sir Gregory Gander) clearly identified the months also with his one word description of each in this widely quoted small poem, The Twelve Months.

The Twelve Months

by George Ellis (1753 - 1815)

Snowy, Flowy, Blowy,

Showery, Flowery, Bowery,

Hoppy, Croppy, Droppy,

Breezy, Sneezy, Freezy.

I do believe that Snowy has continued into Flowy this year although here in the Deep South signs of Spring are rustling if you know where to look and take some time doing it.

SOURCES:

Coleridge, Sara. The Months. Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children; With Some Lessons in Latin in Easy Rhyme. London: John W. Parker and Son. 5th Edition. 1853. Pages 9 - 10.

Coleridge, Sara. Wikipedia. Click to access.

Ellis, George. The Twelve Months. A Book of Quotation, Proverbs and Household Words by W. Gurney Benham. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Company. 1907. Page 123.

Ellis, George. Your Daily Poem. Click to access.

A Book of Poems for the Hill Country

Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems by Patricia Neely-Dorsey (GrantHouse Publishers, 2008).

A review by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

It was a pleasure to read Patricia Neely-Dorsey's collection of poems, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems. Neely-Dorsey presents perhaps the most positive view of growing up in Hill Country of any current author I've found --- she is Mississippi first, second, last, and forever! She is a true Hill Country resident and her life experiences are lovingly recorded in her most readable poems.

Not only do her poems read with a voice of true Southerness, her poems are also pleasing to hear --- I think that some of them are best heard as songs of the South. Many of her poems caused a smile to form and some even caused me to laugh out loud. But it was the ones which caused my heart to sing that I'll treasure most along with the ones which caused tears to form in my eyes.

Reading Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems was an emotional experience for me. Neely-Dorsey's accounts of her life experiences are so vivid and so true to the region that what she writes of Lee County, Mississippi, could be universal events throughout the Hill Country and elsewhere. She came of age some twenty-five years after I did and she was across the vast racial divide many erroneously think defines Mississippi. Her experiences and memories, however, recorded as poems paint an accurate picture of hill country living as I too remember it.

The solid foundation for life which Neely-Dorsey received parallels the foundations which most parents were building all across the Hill Country --- and no matter that her life experiences were from Saltillo and Tupelo, they are remarkably similar to those of Parham and Splunge. And we are all the better for having these shared experiences which Neely-Dorsey explains as "having Mississippi in us."

My greatest surprise (and the greatest comfort) found in Neely-Dorsey's book is that those of us blessed by having Mississippi in us are more alike than different. She writes with a clear voice for all Mississippians --- and the fact that she writes from the black perspective in a positive and loving way about her family, community, and region makes her book required reading.

The hardest task for me was to select three of Neely-Dorsey's poems as representative of her book -- so I selected four. Her recollections of country living paint compelling memories of country breakfasts and cures and of slopping hogs, cooking cracklings, hog killings, pea shelling and going to church for preachings. Her account of a "Baptismal Sunday" brought back many memories of Parham Pond and standing on Jordan's stormy banks watching friends and neighbors be submerged in the water. It was most difficult not to select a poem from that section of her work.

Further, it was difficult to not include her "Shades of Lovely" in which all of the hues of women of color are described in the most delicious terms: honey, spice, brown sugar, brown rice, nutmeg, cinnamon, gingerbread and toast, pecan, almond, walnut, coconut cream, white chocolate, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, caramel, toffee, coffee, coffee with cream, coffee black, espresso, mocha, cafe an lait, banana, licorice, hot fudge --- did I miss any? One cannot read "Shades of Lovely" by Neely-Dorsey without smiling!

But the following four poems were selected because of my interest in preserving and presenting the history of the Hill Country. The first two poems presented below, in my opinion, offer a little slice of history and viewpoint not widely available and the last two presented offer an explanation of how Mississippi gets in a person (Rules) and what it means to be a Mississippian.

Country Doctor

by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia, page 30-31.

My dad was a country doctor

And I have such memories galore;

I even remember the house calls,

As he literally traveled 'round door to door.

Sometimes, on Saturday mornings,

When I was just a young thing;

My daddy would let me go with him,

As he did all his doctoring.

He'd have his black bag in one hand,

And his stethoscope wrapped 'round his neck

He was most definitely the captain,

And I was his first man on deck.

We traveled way deep in the country,

And there were always such sites to see;

Believe you me, I noticed them all,

Down to the last bumblebee.

I'd always meet really kind people,

As I stayed close by my daddy's side;

He'd always give my introduction,

As he stood there beaming with pride.

Many of the people had no indoor plumbing,

And most of them were all very poor;

So my daddy would let patients pay him,

With whatever it was they'd procure.

Sometimes, he took brown eggs or slab bacon,

Fresh vegetables, hams and the like;

All of this was so amazing to see,

For me as such a young tike.

The old women, he'd always call "young lady",

But old and young all addressed him as sir,

We'd make so many stops on our journey,

I'm quite surprised that it's not all a blur.

I remembered learning about all of these people,

And all of the crops that they grew,

Each time, I'd learn something different,

Each time, I'd learn something quite new.

My eyes would grow wide with excitement,

As I saw all the animals and stock;

We'd see so much beautiful scenery,

As we'd drive to our next door to knock.

My dad had such a busy schedule,

I can't imagine how he got it all done;

All I remember is I loved tagging along,

And all I remember is fun.

Right to Vote

by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia, page 53

I love to hear the stories,

That my mama and daddy tell;

Sometimes, we'll just sit a while,

And they'll talk for a spell.

They've told me of how hard it was,

For them to get to vote;

They'd go down to the courthouse door,

And there would be a note;

"Out To Lunch" or "No One's In,"

"Come Back Another Day,"

In all kinds of ways you wouldn't believe,

They were turned away,

Even when they did get in,

There were more hurdles they had to cross;

They'd be asked to answer questions

That would put anyone at a loss,

"How many bubbles in a bar of soap?"

"How many pennies in that jar?"

"How many miles to a star?"

It seems almost incredulous

That this was how it was;

But, believe you me, no matter what,

I vote, now, just because.

The Rules

by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia, page 6 - 7.

Most Southern folk have rules we're taught,

From when we're very young;

And most of us throughout our lives,

To these rules have clung.

Life can be much easier,

When you know what to do or not;

And you're sure to learn a lot of them,

If Southern parents you have got.

One of the first rules you come to know is

Children are to be seen and not heard;

It's best if you just sit down somewhere

Quietly as a bird.

You always say "Please" when you're asking,

And "Thank you", when you receive;

You address all your elders

As "Ma'am" or "Sir",

And if you don't do it, you'll grieve.

Don't touch anything in the store,

Keep your hands to yourself;

If it's not something you plan to buy,

Leave it soundly on the shelf.

Always say good morning,

Soon after you awake;

And always greet people pleasantly,

If friends you are to make.

Don't slam a door as you walk out,

"You don't live in a barn;"

You'd better close it gently,

Is what they'd always warn.

If you open a cabinet or anything,

Always close it back;

Once you do it repeatedly

You'll always have the knack.

Don't call someone before 8 a.m.,

Or after ten at night;

If it's something you feel you must do,

It's an urge that you must fight.

Never ask for food when you visit,

Although the host may ask;

Sometimes it's best if you decline,

And let the moment pass.

These are just a very few of the things,

We Southerners are taught;

Without some rule for every occasion,

We are never caught.

If Mississippi's In You

by Patricia Neely-Dorsey, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia, page 86.

If Mississippi's in you,

It'll always be that way;

It matters not how far you go,

Or how long you stay.

If Mississippi's in you,

It always plays a part;

In how you live and move and breathe,

And in every notion of the heart.

If Mississippi's in you,

It's in you through and through;

It's who you are and how you be,

And it's in everything you do.

If Mississippi's in you,

There is some special glow;

A different something down inside,

That all the home folks know.

If Mississippi's in you,

It'll always be that way,

From the time you enter in the world,

Till in the grave you lay.

Every true Mississippian,

Can surely have it said:
"I'm Mississippi born,

I'm Mississippi bred,

And when I die,

I'll be Mississippi dead."

Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems is mighty fine reading for all who love the South and Mississippi and the Hill Country in particular. Neely-Dorsey offers those of us who already have Mississippi in us a reason to celebrate our good fortune and offers those from "off" a unique opportunity to start learning about the riches to be found in the Southern experience.

Patricia Neely-Dorsey, a native of Lee County, is a 1982 graduate of Tupelo High School. A graduate of Boston University, she currently lives in Tupelo where she is working on a new volume of poetry.

The book Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems, is available at Reed's Gumtree Book Store (Tupelo) and online at amazon.com. The author may be contacted at her website http://www.patricianeelydorsey.webs.com/

She will be in Fulton February 26 for a poetry reading and book signing at Itawamba County Library, Lunching With Books. Noon.

Patricia Neely-Dorsey will be the guest speaker at the Itawamba Historical Society monthly meeting, March 16, 6 PM, at the Society's auditorium in Mantachie (at the Corner of Church Street and Museum Drive). The public is invited to all meetings of the Itawamba Historical Society.

A Poem for Hill Country: THE SNOW MAN by Wallace Stevens

Posted by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

Wallace Stevens, 1879 - 1955, was an American poet. His first published book of poems, Harmonium (1923) included The Snow Man which is the poem for this week at Hill Country. The Snow Man was selected for this series not just because of the unusual snow event we've just had in Hill Country nor just because of the bitter bone-chilling temperatures currently in place across the South, but for both those reasons and primarily for the words of the poem.

No attempt will be made to explain Stevens' The Snow Man --- the poem, I think, is successful because of the numerous ways in which his words and phrases may be received. Stevens is credited with the quote "A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have." It is not known if he applied that notion to The Snow Man. In any event, I leave it to the reader to determine what, if any, meaning there is in The Snow Man.

Some have called this poem one of the best short poems in the English language but Harmonium with its collection of eight-five of Stevens earlier works only sold 100 copies before it was withdrawn. A second edition with additional poems was issued a few years later to greater success.

Stevens spent a lot of time in Key West, Florida, where he is reported to have fought with Ernest Hemingway (Stevens broke his hand in that encounter when he hit Hemingway in the jaw --- and Hemingway knocked him to the street several times) and he argued publicly with Robert Frost on at least two occasions.

The Snow Man

by

Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Sources and additional reading:

Stevens, Wallace, The Snow Man, Poetry, XIX, Number 1, October 1921, pages 4 -5, Modern Poetry Association, edited by Harriett Monroe. Available on Google Full-view Books. Accessed January 8, 2010. A sampling of several early Stevens poems are included.

"Stevens, Wallace". Wikipedia (click link to read). Accessed January 8, 2010. Short concise review of the man and his work.

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens. Wikipedia (click link to read). Accessed January 8, 2010. The poem and its possible meanings are discussed in this short Wiki article.

Harmonium by Wallace Stevens. Wikipedia (click link to read). Accessed January 8, 2010. A brief Wiki article about the first published book of Stevens poems.

A Poem for Hill Country: The Man Who Brings Up The Rear End by Sam Foss

Posted by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

Long-term readers of Hill Country know of my fondness for the poetry of American writer Sam Walter Foss. Today I've selected another of his Back Country Poems (Boston: Lee and Shepard Publishers. 1894), "The Man Who Brings Up The Rear End" from pages 206 - 08.

Foss' poetry can be funny and, at the same time, make some astute observations. Such is the case with his assessment of those who bring up the rear.

THE MAN WHO BRINGS UP THE REAR END

by

Sam Walter Foss

from BACK COUNTRY POEMS

Folks watch the drum major and say "see him come!"

And the fellow who plays on the fife,

And the rub-a-dub man who beats the big drum,

And the bugler who blows for dear life.

They go with the music; they march with the noise;

For the chief in the van they all hunt,

There is smiling of maidens and shouting of boys,

And cheering of men --- in the front.

But there's never a cheer that gladdens te ear,

Nor the shout of a brother or friend,

For the mud spattered man who has dropped from the van,

For the man who brings up the rear end.

Not a bravo is heard, not a word, not a word,

As they see him stub on round the bend;

Not a cheer from the churls, not a smile from the girls,

For the man who brings up the read end!

There are shouts for the victor whose name like a star,

Rose red from the hot clouds of fame,

Thro' the battle smoke of a lurid war,

To climb up the heaven of fame.

And his ears are beset with a tumult of tongues,

That prate of the danger he braved,

With a chorus of praise from the lusty lungs

Of the men of the land he has saved.

But I sing of the man who has dropped from the van,

From the front he could never defend,

Who could never await the harsh volleys of of fate ---

The man who brings up the rear end!

Then a good strong shout in the rear of the rout,

And the brotherly cheer of a friend;

A cheer that shall start from the core of the heart,

For the man who brings up the rear end.

And who are the men who bring up the rear end?

The laggards too weak to be great?

Time's water-logged timber too rotten to mend?

Abortions and weakling of fate?

Not so: There are poets whose songs are unsung,

And singers of wonderful tone,

Reformers whose thunderous words might have stung

To the roots of a tottering throne!

Then shout your huzzas and your loudest hurrahs,

Until the loud welkin shall rend;

Let your loud plaudits grace the world-weary face

Of the man who brings up the rear end!

Then shout without fear for the man in the rear,

Let your heaven-scaling plaudits ascend!

Cry aloud! cry aloud! you men there in the crowd!

For the man who brings up the rear end!

There are plebeian souls who sit on a throne,

And Kings who wear never a crown;

There are long-gowned priests who are devils unknown,

And saints in the frock of the clown;

There are hearts that are black 'neath the King's purple vest,

And white 'neath the swain's drilling frock,

And the laborer's coat may be armor the best

For meeting adversity's shock.

Then a cheer and a roar, and three cheers more,

For the man most in need of a friend;

Good cheer fo the man who has dropped from the van,

The man who brings up the rear end!

Then shout your cheer right into his ear,

Let your voices in unity blend;

One loud, long shout in the rear of the rout,

For the man who brings up th rear end!

A Poem for Hill County: "To Mrs. Eleanor Potts" by Francis Scott Key

by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

Every school child remembers Francis Scott Key (1779 - 1843) as the author of the words to the American national anthem. But Key also accomplished much more than just having some of the words his poem, Defence of Fort McHenry, set to the music of an English drinking song. Key's words and the music they were set to became known as The Star Spangled Banner --- and in 1931 formally adopted as our national anthem --- and most individuals forgot that Keys wrote other verses. See general article about Keys at Wikipedia (click here) and see the article about the national anthem at Wikipedia by clicking here.

From a collection of Key's poems, I've selected the following because it paints a lovely word picture and because it adds, in my opinion, to the historical understanding of times past.

To Mrs. Eleanor Potts,

For many years afflicted with blindness, on hearing her play on the guitar

by

Francis Scott Key

I sat beside an aged saint;

It was a pleasure there to be,

Her kind and gentle words to hear,

The calm contented face to see.

She sat in darkness --- day's fair light

Had often come and gone,

Gilding the scenes she long had loved:

No more for her they shone.

And fond, familiar voices paid

Affection's homage there;

And as their words of love and truth

Fell on her charmed ear,

She could but think how great the bliss

If she again could ever trace

The looks of love she knew were there

Upon each well-remembered face.

But she had long since felt and said

Of all this --- "It is well;"

And the bowed spirit rose, sustained,

Its peace and hope to tell.

She sat in darkness; but the gloom

Was only in the body's eye,

And covered with the clouds of night

Only the objects that were nigh.

But the mind's eye that cloud could pierce,

And things far off descry,

Beyond the bounds of this dull earth

And its encircling sky.

She sat in darkness; but a light

Was hers of heavenly ray,

Shining upon a home on high,

And lighting all her way.

The "light of other days' was hers,

Of happy days now past and gone;

It called up friends long loved and mourned,

And sweetly round her shone.

'Twas then, as by her side I sat,

She softly touched the light guitar,

And tones, that had my childhood charmed,

Fell, in sweet sadness, on my ear.

I had not heard them since; the sounds

Thrilled through my guiv'ring frame,

And scenes, and friends, and joys long past,

Quick at their bidding came.

Those sounds called up a mother's form,

Her voice, her love, and care,

When at her feet, a happy child,

I drank with greedy ear

The songs she loved, of power to charm

And to exalt the heart,

That thoughts and feelings like her own

They might to me impart.

And if the magic power of song

Its influence o'er me ever threw,

And haply some small meed of fame

To lay of mine be ever due,

These early teachings at her knee,

To these, the high-prized boon I owe,

With all the blessings I have known,

And all I ever hope to know.

I could but thank her for the strain

That called up these forgotten lays,

And kindly bade me share with her

"The light of other days."

And I prayed that the light of the days to come

Might brighter and brighter prove,

And the gloom of this darkened world be lost

In the light of the world above.

Pipe Creek, October 22nd, 1840

Key, Francis Scott, To Mrs. Eleanor Potts, From Poems of the Late Francis S. Key, Esq. New York: Robert Carter and Brothers.1857, pages 89 - 93. Available at Google Fullview Books.