The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1916-07-20
EUWER PUBLISHES
new BOOK OF POEMS

During the past two summers tour
lists to the Upper Valley may have no.
ticed strolline through orchard tracts
or over the trails of the nationl forest
q young man who seemed dreamer.
He may have been seated In the shad-
ow Of some pine or fir tree, scribbling
notes or sketching. The young man
was Anthony Euwer. writer of liner
icks and poems, and a painter, too.
Mr.. Euwer, who ia known to the New
York literary fraternity at the Lambs
Club and In Washington Square, has
spent the past two summers visiting
his brother, Eugene C. Euwer, an Up
per Valley rancher.
Mr.. Euwer. who has already won
recognition for his Christopher Crick-
ct on Cats" and his Wilson limerick:
"As a beauty I'm not great star,
There are others more handsome by far,
But my face don't mind it.
Because I'm behind it.
'Tis the folks in front that Jar"
during the past winter has written a
book of verses entitled, Rhymes Of
Our Valley" Critics have termed him.
because Of his insight into the life Of
the fruit rancher, "The Robert W.
Service of Northwestern fruit dis.
tricts." One of the selections of
"Ryhmes of Our Valley" MIR. Euwer
calls "The Blood in the Apple, an
excerpt from which follows:
You city folk who night and day
Loiter and stare along Broadway,
And pausing by some fruiterer's shop
You city folk-do you ever stop
To count the cost Of those radiant
wares,
Spitzenburgs luscious and d'Anjou
pears,
Winter Banana and Gravenstein,
Crimson and gold in their sun washed
sheen?
Winds of the West their cheeks have
famed
Down endless tracts of orchard land.
Each nectar drop In that golden feast
Was a drop of sweat from man and
beast.
The crimson thereof deep, rich hue
Had its complement in years of blue
The blue. blue awful first long years
OF faltering hopes and cankering
fears,
Of wondering how in the name Of God
You're going to hold your piece of
And 60 without the things you need
And pay your help and buy your feed,-
While it all goes out and there's moth
ing comes in,
And your credits called when you re
minus your tin.
"a Dry Mooley in Strawberry
Time," is another Of MIR. Euwer's
poems:
Picture place where the Strawberries
grow
Acre upon acre and row upon row.
Picture meadow all carpeted over
With clover just bobbing and beautiful
clover
Picture a pedigreed Alderny beast
Browsing all day on the honey-topped
feast,
Picture a mother who's willing to bake
Shortcake that only mother can make
Then answer me true IL It isn't a crime
To have dry mooley in strawberry
time.
In strawberry time when you are like
to dream
OF pouring out cream in a golden
stream,
Dripping and trickling and splashing
down
Over crust of the richest brown,
Into the drooly and notified food
Uf shortcake and sugar and strawberry
blood.
Picture your having an automobile
In perfect condition except for one
wheel;
Picture motor boat built for the race
Dry docked on Sahara's unlimited
space;
Picture yourself gotten up in your best
And nowhere to go when once you were
dressed,
Picture hammock, soft breezes, a
moon.
And no signing mortal with whom you
could spoon,
Picture ad lib-and the worst is sub
Beside a dry mooley in strawberry
time.
The new book of verses will be is
sued on September ] by James B.
Pond. publisher, of New York city.