» N.S. Books
April 16th - May 7th, 2000.
I tell of the poet of the tramps, William Henry Davies (1878-1940). Davies was an Englishman who had come to America and took up the life of a vagabond. One day, as the result of jumping a train, he lost one of his legs. He returned to England where he continued to live the life of a tramp and a pedlar. He wrote poetry (presumably he did right along) and, eventually, he determined to print his own book and did so with the little money he earned panhandling. A copy of this first work, A Soul's Destroyer, came into the hands of George Bernard Shaw; which, in turn, led to the popularization of the poet. Here is a poem of William Henry Davies which many will remember:
Margo and I have determined to take a few weeks vacation from our ordinary affairs. We are off to Spain to stand and stare. Thus, there will be a suspension of our usual activities, for a few weeks. In the meantime you may want to peruse the Archives.
"What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."
[To Blupete's Essays]
[Thoughts & Quotes of blupete]
April, 2000 (2011)