The Palatka daily news. (Palatka, Fla.) 1884-1888, 1886-10-10
-AUUNES HIS LYRE.
BILL NYE'S LINES ON THE DEATH
OF A MARRIED MAN.

Written the Theory Of Conveying an
Idea, and Still Not InAaming the Pub
lic-Specimens of Fine Word Paint
ing by the Bard.
have been waiting patiently for the COM
ing poet to take up and treat a theme which
has for years been knocking on the door Of
the slumbering bard, and asking for admission
and recognition. The slumbering bard has
ignored that call. He has slumbered on. He
has turned over and put pillow in each ear,
as it were, in order to avoid the loud, clamor-
Gus appeal of this theme He has shown
that he would rather continue to be the slum-
bering bard at his present salary than the
coming poet at better pay.
So have been compelled to attune my own
Tyre, and, in haling numbers, handle it my
self 1t is out of my line to write poetry, but
those who think l cannot write a poem that
will be ravenously snapped up and published
by the American press do not thoroughly
understand my true nature.
Any of us may be able to write poetry, no
doubt; but will it be publishedl That is
the test. VIII it, l ask, or will it not be pub
lishedl
To write true poetry, therefore, we must
not do so solely to crafty ourselves. We
tor and the public have feelings, also. My
theory has always been and still is that poetry
should be so written that it will convey an
idea and still not infiame the public. Infiam-
matory poetry is unworthy and transitory in
its results. do not know that l am making
myself perfectly clear, but let those who read
these lines attempt to write lucidly and
learnedly on a subject of which they are en-
tirely ignorant and they will see at once how
/ am hampered.
But to continue the thought. l say that
poetry should, in my judgement, awaken q
throb in every heart. Is it not pleasing sem
sation for the true poet to know that he holds
in his hand the consolidated throbbers Of 5O-
100000 people, exclusive of Indians, not taxed
and therefore exempt.
believe so.
1t is therefore a great boon to me to realize
on this pleasant morning that a mighty null
titude weep together with me over the follow
ing poem, which is founded on fact. There
are tears in it 1 know. l would spare the
reader these tears if could, but cannot l
have run the poem through the wringer three
or four times, but it is still damp.
VIII the reader forgive me and loan me his
lachrymal glands for few momentsl
The poem itself is based upon the sudden
drowning of a married man, who had been for
years connected with the eel business. By his
death his widowed wife was left with no hus-
band The poem seeks to disclose her woe
and still reveal to the thinking mind how she
muzzled her great grief and battled on through
life.
In the third and fourth stanzas aim to do
some fine word painting, and present to the
careful student n delicate little picture Of the
humid and yet hungry, moaning sea-
Later on may write some more sad poems,
and finally print them in a small, dark blue
volume that will be within the reach of ALL
Writing poetry with me is not irksome It
is not hard work. 1t does not strain my mind
In fact can write poetry readily while using
my mind for other purposes 1t is not ac-
quired in my case. 1t is a gift. Ever since I
got jerked around in a cyclone two years ago
and stepped on peal of thunder and broke
my leg and concussed my brain, 1 could write
poetry like this:
a BRAVE HEART
BEING LINES ON THE DEATH OF A MARRIED NAN
BY FELLOW SUFFERER.
Out where the blue waves come and go,
Out where the zephyrs kiss the strand,
Down where the damp tides ebb and flow.
Down Vhere the ocean monkeys with the sand,
William, the hungry, r,istles for his meal,
Slim William, the eelist, gathers the eel
u
Up where the Johnny Jump Ups smile,
Up where the green hills meet the sky,
Where, out from her window for many a mile,
She watches the blue and dimpling lie,
The wife of the eelist, with visage grim,
Sits in the cleaning and watches for him.
Down in the moist and moaning sea.
Down where the day can never come.
With staring eyes that can never
And lips that will ever continue dumb.
With ees in his breast, in a large wet wave,
William is filling watery grave
w.
Up where the catnip is breathing hard,
Up where the tanzy is fecked with dew,
Where the vesper soft as the onion peelS
WakenS the echoes the twilight through,
The new-made widow still watches the shore
And sits there and waits, as said before.
They come and tell her the pitiful tale,
With trembling voice and tear-dimmed eye,
They watch her cheek grow slightly pale,
Yet wonder at the calm reply:
'All our tears are but idle gentlemen,
Go bring in the eels and set him again"
Bill Nye in Boston Globe.