General Chat

One of the few possessions that I have from my mother is a small book of poetry, "Modern Poetry", which was given to her in 1931 when she would have been thirteen or fourteen.

There are also one or two poems that my mother had also collected and or copied on loose paper.

One of these is titled "Plain Folk" and has the first and second lines of:

Since flaming angels drove our sire,
From Eden's green to walk the mire

The poem is not a very long one and has been typed on what appears to be baking paper using a very old typewriter.

There is no author given for the poem and a Google search of the title and the first line (separate searches) has drawn a blank.

It may, of course, been written by my mother herself, although I doubt it.

Any advice on how I can search further would be most welcome

Sounds like Rudyard Kipling..

Try this site.

http://www.green-ebook-shop.com/ebooks/0/0/3/2/00323/00323.html

Plain Folk by John Buchan, Allan.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/8540775-Plain_Folk-by-John_Buchan

Many thanks to you both.

You are spot on Sue. My mother must have only copied a part of the poem as the copy I have finishes at the line:

But we forgot died far away.

Thanks for the link, Sue, I'll print out the full version and keep it with my mother's.

Kind Regards

Allan

It's a lovely poem, Allan.

Sue I've has a quick look, and yes, it is a lovely poem. I can see why my mother would have liked it.

Incidentally, would it be the same John Buchan who wrote 'The Thirty-Nine Steps'?

I don't think so Allan - but I could be wrong. I think John Buchan was a poet and didn't write any novels.

It was just a passing thought, Sue :-)

It was the same John Buchan who wrote both the poem Plain Folk and The Thirty Nine Steps.

The poem comes from a book called The Moon Endureth: Tales and Fancies, first published in 1912 and reprinted 2008
.http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6031568-the-moon-endureth

Looking at various bibliographies for the John Buchan who wrote 39 steps it may well well be the same man

http://www.ajbhope.net/john-buchan-bibliography/

I stand corrected :-)

Many thanks, GlasgowLass and MarieCeleste.

I've just done a bit more research on John Buchan and he did write both. A very interesting man :-)

A man of many talents it would appear Allan :-)

Indeed Sue!

I must read more of his works. I say more, but I must confess I haven't read any :-(

That fragment of the poem has intrigued me for years.

There was also another fragment of a poem that had obviously been cut from a newspaper which had been ripped in half vertically. there was enough for me to know that it was a Walt Whitman poem which I have managed to identify.

It is called Plain Folk & goes something like this...

Since flaming angels drove our sire
From Eden's green to walk the mire,
We are the folk who tilled the plot
And ground the grain and boiled the pot.
We hung the garden terraces
That pleasured Queen Semiramis.
Our toil it was and burdened brain
That set the Pyramids o'er the plain.
We marched from Egypt at God's call
And drilled the ranks and fed them all;
But never Eschol's wine drank we,--
Our bones lay 'twixt the sand and sea.
We officered the brazen bands
That rode the far and desert lands;
We bore the Roman eagles forth
And made great roads from south to north;
White cities flowered for holidays,
But we, forgot, died far away.
And when the Lord called folk to Him,
And some sat blissful at His feet,
Ours was the task the bowl to brim,
For on this earth even saints must eat.
The serfs have little need to think,
Only to work and sleep and drink;
A rover's life is boyish play,
For when cares press he rides away;
The king sits on his ruby throne,
And calls the whole wide world his own.
But we, the plain folk, noon and night
No surcease of our toil we see;
We cannot ease our cares by flight,
For Fortune holds our loves in fee.
We are not slaves to sell our wills,
We are not kings to ride the hills,
But patient men who jog and dance
In the dull wake of circumstance;
Loving our little patch of sun,
Too weak our homely dues to shun,
Too nice of conscience, or too free,
To prate of rights--if rights there be.

I hope this has helped you.

Thanks BlackKnight