Category Archives: Poetry

C. Russel Christian: The Irish Plowman (1887)

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in Logan, Poetry, Wyoming County

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C. Russell Christian (c.1861-1889) was a well known regional poet born in Logan County, WV. A son of B. and E. (White) Christian, he married Marian Trent, fathered at least one son (Carl), and died of typhoid fever at Kirbyville in Wyoming County, WV. He is buried in Oceana, WV.

THE IRISH PLOWMAN

One bright and balmy morn in May,

Ere the sun had kissed the dew,

Mick Hurley trudged the broad highway

In search of aught that he could do.

With heart so light and conscience free,

Each farmer he would ask:

“An’ have ye got a job for me,

No matter phwat the task.”

At last he met a farmer who

Did need a steady working man,

Who asked if he could farming do;

“Begorra,” said Mick, “you’re right I can.”

“Then hitch the horses right away–

You’ll find them in the barn–

The near one’s black, the off one gray–

And start to plowing corn.”

Though Mick spake up in accents bold

When the farmer asked the question fair,

He knew full well a lie he told,

For the beam he wot not from the share.

“Howly mother,” says Mick, “phwat’ll I do?

May the good St. Patrick now kape me from harm.

Begorra, but won’t the ould farmer look blue

When he sees Mick Hurley a-plowing his farm?”

But Mick made a start. In his throat was a lump.

He felt like a man just sentenced to death.

He hadn’t gone far when the plow struck a stump,

And heels over head went Mick, out of breath.

Ne’er daunted by fear, he tried it again.

“Be jabers,” says Mick, “I’m doing immense!”

But to steady the plow his trials were vain,

And each furrow resembled a crooked trail fence.

Old Sol had arisen quite high in the skies

When the farmer concluded to visit poor Mick:

But a glance at the field was such a surprise

That to look at the man you’d think he was sick.

“Stop! stop!” said the farmer, “or you surely will rue it;

To hold a plow with that team is nothing but play.”

“Howld it?” says Mick; “how the devil can I do it,

When two horses are trying to pull it away!”

Source: Huntington (WV) Advertiser, 9 July 1887.

C. Russel Christian: The Song of War

24 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in Logan, Poetry, Wyoming County

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C. Russell Christian (c.1861-1889) was a well known regional poet born in Logan County, WV. A son of B. and E. (White) Christian, he married Marian Trent, fathered at least one son (Carl), and died of typhoid fever at Kirbyville in Wyoming County, WV. He is buried in Oceana, WV.

THE SONG OF WAR

Of War to overturn a thousand thrones–

War to establish Barbarism and Night–

Loud War to drown a thousand victims’ groans.

Sing–fiery Muse!–and guide the strains aright!

The voice of War–to say the least–is doom;

The tread of War is Death’s most horrid plume;

The rights of War are written in the sand;

War roars–and horrid thunder shakes the spheres!

War sleeps–and Peace attempts to heal the wound;

War speaks–and vengeance of a thousand years

Urges the gray, and scatters bale around:–

Thus hath it been–shall be–since War began.

Foe to the world–to Science–and to man!

Source: Logan (WV) Banner, 13 May 1927.

C. Russel Christian: Liberty Bell

07 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by in Logan, Poetry, Wyoming County

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C. Russell Christian (c.1861-1889) was a well known regional poet born in Logan County, WV. A son of B. and E. (White) Christian, he married Marian Trent, fathered at least one son (Carl), and died of typhoid fever at Kirbyville in Wyoming County, WV. He is buried in Oceana, WV.

LIBERTY BELL.

The aged bell-man sat aloft,

Revolving in his soul full oft

The varied fortunes of the band

Warring for his native land.

While in the rugged hall of State

The new-born Congress proudly sate

Advising in the face of Death

Freedom or the open heath.

Ev’n as the Sun with kindling light

Dispels the horrid dark of Night,

So Freedom when her time had come

Claimed her own Columbian home.

The great assembly gave the word

That broke the reign of George the Third;

And thousand Ages paled before

Sights they had not seen of yore.

And friendly gods beheld the sight

Of Freedom’s Eagle bathed in light;

“Ring! ring!” the small boy shouted forth;

The grand evangel shook the earth!

And shouts of Freedom broke upon

Yankee snows and Dixie’s sun.

And voices cried from out the Past,

“Ye shall have reward at last!”

Source: The Logan Banner, 13 May 1927.

C. Russel Christian: The Mountain Bard (1886-1887)

05 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by in Huntington, Logan, Poetry, Wyoming County

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C. Russell Christian (c.1861-1889) was a well known regional poet born in Logan County, WV. A son of B. and E. (White) Christian, he married Marian Trent, fathered at least one son (Carl), and died of typhoid fever at Kirbyville in Wyoming County, WV. He is buried in Oceana, WV.

C. Russel Christian Poet LB 05.13.1927 4

C. Russel Christian, Logan (WV) Banner, 13 May 1927.

C. Russel Christian has written a card denying that he is the author of an ode to Grover Cleveland which graced the columns of the Milton Star recently. We have not read the ode, but have no doubt that it is much better than the Mountain Bard’s “Epistle to Jefferson Davis.” It could not be much worse.

Source: Huntington (WV) Advertiser, 3 July 1886.

***

THE MOUNTAIN BARD ON THE WAR PATH.

The Mountain Bard has dedicated a poem to one of the editors of this paper and that unfortunate mortal confesses that he regards it as the most calamitous and disastrous thing that ever happened to him in the course of his existence. He does not pretend to understand such figures as “the angry bard for vengeance swarming far years,” and “spying a groveling farm along his path,” but supposes them to be esoteric. Here is the poem, in its naked sublimity, as it appeared in the Commercial last week:

THE CRITIC

WRITTEN FOR THE INSTRUCTION OF AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO EDITOR WIATT, OF THE HUNTINGTON (W.VA.) ADVERTISER, JULY, 1886.

BY C. RUSSEL CHRISTIAN

Author of “Epistle to Jeff Davis,” “Epistle to Useless Gibson,” “General Johnston and the Dude,” “The Rebel Holiday,” &c., &c.

When hungry critics quit their lawful prey,

And rise in arms where real Muses stray,

The faithless public greets with loud applause

The first attack–and then its aid withdraws!

Meanwhile, the Bard upon the scene appears–

The angry Bard, to vengeance swarm for years!

Along his path a groveling farm he spies,

And hurls the dart that rankles as it flies!

The stroke once o’er, the victor hides for shame,

And yields the vanquished half of all his fame.

So once a bull attacked a lightning train;

The world applauded, but applause was vain.

The cars, careering, darted o’er the line–

I’m glad Sir Bull was never bull of mine!

Source: Huntington (WV) Advertiser, 21 August 1886.

***

The many friends and admirers of C. Russel Christian will be pleased to learn that that brilliant poetic luminary will not go to North Dakota, as was recently reported, but will continue to lift the torch of poesy upon his native hills. Like the immortal Homer, the Mountain Bard is wandering from house to house–not the songs of love and war, but the praises of the “Life and Adventures of Sam Jones,” for which valuable and interesting book the bard is taking subscriptions. This work, which combines the spicy flavor of Brick Pomeroy’s Democrat with the dignity and humor of a patent medicine almanac, ought to be somewhere about the premises of every householder, and we hope that the bard will be abundantly successful in its distribution.

Source: Huntington (WV) Advertiser, 2 April 1887

***

We publish on the fourth page of this impression a job lot of the “Mountain Bard’s” poetry. This does not necessarily imply that we think the Bard is improving. We publish his poetry as the evidence of a witness of doubtful veracity is given to a jury–for what it is worth.

Source: Huntington (WV) Advertiser, 9 July 1887.

NOTE: To see Mr. Christian’s marriage record, follow this link: http://www.wvculture.org/vrr/va_view2.aspx?FilmNumber=571278&ImageNumber=41

NOTE: To see Mr. Christian’s death record, follow this link: http://www.wvculture.org/vrr/va_view2.aspx?FilmNumber=597573&ImageNumber=138

NOTE: To see Mr. Christian’s widow (a “washerwoman”) and son Carl in the 1900 Logan County (WV) Census, follow this link: https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:S3HY-68V3-3TX?i=11&wc=9BWW-L2W%3A1032173901%2C1030658301%2C1033170701%3Fcc%3D1325221&cc=1325221

NOTE: For samples of Mr. Christian’s poety, follow this link: https://archive.org/details/mountainbardseri00chri

Edgar Allan Poe v. Thomas Dunn English (1847)

19 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by in Logan, Poetry

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From the Logan Banner, of Logan, WV, comes this item of interest relating to Thomas Dunn English, former mayor of Logan, and Edgar Allan Poe:

EDGAR ALLAN POE AND DR. ENGLISH, LOGAN’S POET, HAD VERBAL DUEL

Some interesting matters are brought to light by Roy Fuller in an article titled “Edgar Allan Poe in West Virginia” in the January number of West Virginia Review.

Of special interest is what he writes of the hostility between Poe and Thomas Dunn English, who was probably the most widely known citizen this city or county ever had.

Fuller, a Charleston newspaper man of real talent, smashes the tradition that Poe visited St. Albans and wrote “The Raven” in a house long afterward named “Ravenscourt” by a resourceful real estate agent and still an object of reverent interest to credulous folk.

“Oddly enough, Poe really spent three summers in what is now West Virginia, but this is never mentioned if it is known here,” says the Review article. “The unsubstantiated tale has precedence over the truth, a situation not at all rare. He came into West Virginia not as a wanderer but as the recently adopted son of the Richmond tobacco merchant. The three summers following his adoption by the Allans he was taken to White Sulphur Springs, then the most popular resort in the south. This is the only claim that the State’s romantic folk can establish, so far as it can be learned from his biographers, except his dealings with Thomas Dunn English, whom West Virginians claim as one of their poets…

“As to ‘The Raven,’ it is generally believed that he wrote it while living near West Eighty-fourth Street, New York. It was published in the ‘Evening Mirror’ January 29, 1845.

Poe wrote “The Literati” condemning and puffing some thirty-eight of his contemporary New Yorkers, including Mr. English. Poe called him “Thomas Dunn Brown” and spoke further of him in such a light way that the author of “Sweet Alice” became peeved. The versatile gentleman lately of West Virginia poured out his heart in a few columns of “The Mirror.” Poe replied four days later in the Philadelphia “Saturday Gazette” and followed his answer with a suit for damage. He got $225 on February 17, 1847. Thus Poe got perhaps his greatest “stake” from Mr. English, an amount great in comparison with $10 he got for his greatest work “The Raven.”

“English also brought out one issue of the ‘Broadway Journal’ after it was given up by Poe. Thus good West Virginians may claim that one of their boys ran a Broadway paper–for a day.”

Source: Logan (WV) Banner, 18 January 1927.

Poet Norman Schlichter Visits Logan, WV (1926)

17 Thursday Aug 2017

Posted by in Coal, Logan, Poetry

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From the Logan Banner of Logan, WV, we find this item dated 5 November 1926:

“Norman Schlichter, poet and story writer, has been reading from his books to the pupils of schools of the Island Creek Coal Company properties, at Whitmans, Mud Fork, Monaville, this week. His coming was due to the desire of General Manager Beisel and General Superintendent Hunt to give the schools an opportunity to hear work that is being received with delight by boys and girls all over the United States.

“Mr. Schlichter was for many years National Industrial Secretary of the Y.M.C.A. and is widely known among the mining men of the State. Recently he has been devoting all his time to writing and lecturing. His children’s poems and stories are attracting wide attention. The Chicago News radioed his book, ‘Fancy’s Hour.’ The author is loud in his praise of the great educational advances in West Virginia, especially in the mining communities. Last week he was the guest of Mr. J.G. Bradley at the properties of the Elk River Coal and Lumber Company. He is the author of the ‘Rivers of West Virginia,’ a poem widely known in his state. This poem is reproduced in another column.”

Ranger News 05.21.1926

01 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in Harts, Logan, Poetry, Ranger

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An unknown local correspondent from Ranger in Lincoln County, West Virginia, offered the following items, which the Logan Banner printed on May 21, 1926:

Luther Midkiff and family of Branchland were seen out car riding Sunday.

Mr. and Mrs. C.L. Wilson and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Evans and families of Hubball were the Sunday guests of Mr. and Mrs. C.C. McCoy.

Hardin Marcum was seen out car riding Sunday. We think he was on his way to Bradyville.

Jennings Smith was seen walking the lonesome road Sunday evening. We wonder where Maggie was?

Mrs. Jim Fulks left Friday evening for Williamson where she will spend a few days with relatives.

Rev. C.C. McCoy and little son Herman attended preaching at Camp Branch Sunday.

Ora Clay was seen out car riding Sunday. We wonder where the widow was?

Sunday is our regular church meeting at this place. Everybody come.

Troy Adkins and family of Midkiff were seen in our little town Sunday evening.

We wonder when Ray Fulks will accept his position back as driving taxi from Logan to Williamson?

Mr. and Mrs. Ollie Saunders of West Logan were visiting relatives here one day last week.

Wonder what has become of Harts?

Miss Oma Estep of Hubball is visiting her sister here this week.

Pearl Hargis, who received a serious burn by starting a fire in the cooking stove with kerosene, is reported much worse, we are sorry to say.

Miss Ena McCoy who has been ill for some time is much better we are glad to say.

Ora Clay was visiting home folks at Hubball Sunday.

He met her in the meadow

When the sun was low.

They strolled along together

In the twilight after glow.

She patiently waited until

He lowered all the bars.

And her soft bright eyes

Beamed upon him as

Radiant as the stars.

Yet she neither smiled nor thanked him

For she knew not how

For he was only a farmer

And she was a jersey cow.

NOTE: I dedicate this entry to my late friend, Harold Ray Smith of Ranger.

Memories Recalled (1946)

25 Monday May 2015

Posted by in Big Harts Creek, Poetry, Spottswood

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This history of early life in Logan County, West Virginia, was written by Howard and Daisy Adams. Howard (1906-1976) and Daisy (b.1915) were children of Major and Belle Dora Adams of Trace Fork of Harts Creek. Titled “The life of pioneers during the latter half of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the 19th century” and written in the late 1960s or early 1970s, their history marks the only known attempt by local people to reconstruct the story of pioneer life. This poem, dedicated to their father, appears at the end of the history. It is dated March 15, 1946.

There by the road stands our dear old home

Where once we did dwell.

With Mother and Dad we would roam

O’er our homestead we loved so well.

We would sit by the fire on a winter night

Talking happy and gay.

Sometimes Dad would read while the fire burns bright,

The Bible, and then, he would pray

That God would watch over his loved ones dear

And our neighbors all around.

We would feel God’s presence near

As we knelt in that circle round.

Mother was a favorite of us all.

Dad loved her very dear.

We did love to hear her call

When the evening time was near.

She could soothe away our worries and frowns

And make us want to smile.

Oh, how I wish we could now sit down

With Mother and Dad for a while.

On January tenth, nineteen and thirty-nine,

I shall never forget that day,

God called our mother, leaving us behind

To worry along on life’s way.

God needed another angel fair

To live in His heavenly domain,

So He took our mother, with her love so rare,

To dwell in that home of fame.

We sure loved our dear old dad,

Though he ruled us with a vim.

He was the best friend we ever had

And we thought the world of him.

I shall never forget that Saturday night,

As the clock was striking nine,

As we sat around the fireside bright

Dad left us behind.

It was on December 16, 1944,

While our friends were standing around,

We had done all we could and could do no more.

The Death Angel of the Lord came down.

He took the breath from our darling dad,

And Dad will suffer no more,

But our hearts will always be lonesome and sad

Until we meet on that golden shore.

Sunrise With You

07 Monday Apr 2014

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Sunrise With You

(Life In The Woods)

 Soft yellow sunshine

Breaks atop the rolling peaks

Of West Virginia mountains.

Together we sit

On the banks of a muddy river,

Gazing sheepishly upon

The scenery before us.

It is dawn —

The beginning of a new day.

For some it’s the beginning of a new life.

For us,

It can be regarded

As a reminder

That we were created for each other.

See the great golden orb rising

Up into the violet sky,

Glowing brighter and stronger with each second.

Many creatures stir in the forest

Beneath the light of the rising sun

And give life to woody slopes and brown riverbanks.

Such is our love…

It brightens a dull life

And warms a chilly heart.

Fate, perhaps coincidence, managed to uite

Two paths which began

So far apart.

Here at this wonderful

Sunrise

We are where we should

Have always been:

Together.

Two Innocents

03 Thursday Apr 2014

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Two Innocents

An image of us

Captured in yesterday’s mist:

Two innocents snuggle close

With only love betwixt.

 With an arm about your shoulder

I offer you a sweet gift:

I lean toward your cheek —

A kiss, which you shyly resist.

 Although disheartened at this refusal,

My inclination does not disappear.

I console myself in realizing that

There’s always us next year.

BRK

December 8, 1995

A Time to Love

30 Sunday Mar 2014

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A Time to Love

(Anniversary)

Though I did not think it possible,

I feel myself growing fond of someone.

It is a scary feeling —

One of uncertainty and curiosity.

I can feel myself ebbing toward you.

Is it time to love?

Though our eyes seldom behold each other,

Though we never have brushed lips or hands,

I can feel me loving you.

You are the girl I have dreamed of.

I have wanted you for years.

Nothing can change that.

I can not make these feelings go away.

I could conceal them longer

But I do not wish to do that.

I have wanted you for so long.

I know that it is time to love.

Do not be frightened or uncomfortable.

It is not the occasion for such negativity.

Frolic in the meadows God has created for us.

Laugh with the joy that you will finally know contentment.

I will make you happy.

I will make you love.

Have you ever truly?

O’ it is time to love.

The Spririt is everywhere around me.

It is our time to love.

Bless me with an opportunity to prove myself.

“Shew forth thy loving kindness in the morning.”

It is morning.

It’s our morning.

Let us grip hands

And love each other throughout the days.

Our sun will shine a little brighter, I think.

BRK

May 7, 1991

Missing You This Day

29 Saturday Mar 2014

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Missing You This Day

Never have I felt so lonely,

So helpless,

As I have today.

Never have I cried for another

In frustration,

As I have today.

Never have I longed for one’s company

So desperately,

As I have today.

Today is the day

I miss you.

I am alone

And for the first time in my life,

I do not want to be.

I want my love to be here

Or I to be there.

So long as we are together.

I want to hear you laugh,

See you smile.

I want to smell your beautiful aroma

And feel your touch.

I want to love you in deed,

As well as in thought.

I want you to understand how

Lonely

I am.

Lonely, helpless, frustrated, longing.

This should convince you of my love.

See me as I weep like a child

At his dead mother’s grave.

See me as I stand alone,

Reaching for you.

Digging, clawing

In the muddy mound for what can not be had.

In this cold, desolate autumn wasteland

See me drowning in my lake of self-pity

Screaming at an unanswered echo,

Being bashed against a rocky shore,

Bleeding in the churning waters,

Mingling with its fury —

The fury of my turmoil.

Help me.

Only memories and future optimism

Keep me alive.

How I yearn for you,

Oh how I wish we could be together,

Forever,

So these separations would not be.

Oh how I want to sweep you from your

Home and run the winds

With your love, leaving rules behind.

I dream of the day we can finally be

You and I,

Until then, I will

Miss you,

As I do on this day.

 BRK

October 10, 1990

Summer Blood

28 Friday Mar 2014

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Summer Blood

‘Twas a summer day

In the meadow

When I spied her.

She was a beauty,

A youth,

And I loved her.

She trod toward me,

And I could feel my leaves

Grow in pride.

She was to pick me

As her flower,

Her love.

As she neared me,

She smiled…

And I loved her.

She gently reached for me

And my eagerness to be hers

Grew.

As she caressed my proud stem,

She quickly pulled away

And I wept.

A drop of blood ran down my petals,

And the angel ran from the meadow.

“Take no heed to my black petals.

Only my sharp, brazen thorn.

Is it always the harmless rose

Which is chosen to adorn?”

 BRK

July 11, 1990