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    The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure: "We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom."
    The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure: "We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom."
    The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure: "We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom."
    Ebook78 pages52 minutes

    The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure: "We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom."

    By Stephen Vincent Benét

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    Stephen Vincent Bene't (22 July 1898 - 13 March 1943) was from a family with roots in Florida, which explains the Spanish name. Although born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, his father was a colonel in the U.S. Army, and hence he grew up in California and Georgia. He attended Yale starting in 1915 and that same year published his first book of poems, `Five Men and Pompey'. `Young Adventure' (1918) is considered his first mature book of poetry, and he went on to win two Pulitzer Prizes, in 1929 for `John Brown's Body' and in 1944 for `Western Star'. It appears that the whole family had great talents, as his grandfather was a Brigadier General, his father a Colonel, and both Stephen and his brother William Rose Benet won Pulitzer Prizes for poetry.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateApr 23, 2015
    ISBN9781785432309
    The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure: "We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom."

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      Book preview

      The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet - Young Adventure - Stephen Vincent Benét

      The Poetry of Stephen Vincent Benet

      Young Adventure

      Stephen Vincent Bene't (22 July 1898 - 13 March 1943) was from a family with roots in Florida, which explains the Spanish name.  Although born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, his father was a colonel in the U.S. Army, and hence he grew up in California and Georgia.  He attended Yale starting in 1915 and that same year published his first book of poems, `Five Men and Pompey'.  `Young Adventure' (1918) is considered his first mature book of poetry, and he went on to win two Pulitzer Prizes, in 1929 for `John Brown's Body' and in 1944 for `Western Star'.

      It appears that the whole family had great talents, as his grandfather was a Brigadier General, his father a Colonel, and both Stephen and his brother William Rose Benet won Pulitzer Prizes for poetry.

      Index Of Contents

      I. The Drug-Shop, or, Endymion in Edmonstoun. Prefatory Note.

      The Song

      II. Miscellaneous.

      Rain After a Vaudeville Show

      The City Revisited

      Going Back to School

      Nos Immortales

      Young Blood

      The Quality of Courage

      Campus Sonnets:

      1.  Before an Examination

      2.  Talk

      3.  May Morning

      4.  Return - 1917

      Alexander VI Dines with the Cardinal of Capua

      The Breaking Point

      Lonely Burial

      Dinner in a Quick Lunch Room

      The Hemp (A Virginia Legend.)

      The Planting of the Hemp.

      The Growing of the Hemp.

      The Using of the Hemp.

      Poor Devil!

      Ghosts of a Lunatic Asylum

      The White Peacock (France - Ancient Regime.)

      Colors (For D. M. C.)

      A Minor Poet

      The Lover in Hell

      Winged Man

      Music

      The Innovator (A Pharaoh Speaks.)

      Love in Twilight

      The Fiddling Wood

      Portrait of a Boy

      Portrait of a Baby

      The General Public

      Road and Hills

      Elegy For an Enemy

      To W. R. B.

      Dedication

      And so, to you, who always were

      Perseus, D'Artagnan, Lancelot

      To me, I give these weedy rhymes

      In memory of earlier times.

      Now all those careless days are not.

      Of all my heroes, you endure.

      Words are such silly things! too rough,

      Too smooth, they boil up or congeal,

      And neither of us likes emotion

      But I can't measure my devotion!

      And you know how I really feel

      And we're together.  There, enough,...!

      Foreword by Chauncey Brewster Tinker

      In these days when the old civilisation is crumbling beneath our feet, the thought of poetry crosses the mind like the dear memory of things that have long since passed away.  In our passionate desire for the new era, it is difficult to refrain oneself from the commonplace practice of speculating on the effects of warfare and of prophesying all manner of novel rebirths.  But it may be well for us to remember that the era which has recently closed was itself marked by a mad idealisation of all novelties.  In the literary movements of the last decade, when, indeed, any movement at all has been perceptible, we have witnessed a bewildering rise and fall of methods and ideals.  We were captivated for a time by the quest of the golden phrase and the accompanying cultivation of exotic emotions; and then, wearying of the pretty and the temperamental, we plunged into the bloodshot brutalities of naturalism.

      From the smooth-flowing imitations of Tennyson and Swinburne, we passed into a false freedom that had at its heart a repudiation of all law and standards, for a parallel to which one turns instinctively to certain recent developments in the political world.  We may hope that the eager search for novelty of form and subject may have its influence in releasing us from our old bondage to the commonplace and in broadening the scope of poetry; but we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that it has at the same time completed that estrangement between the poet and the general public which has been developing for half a century.  The great mass of the reading world, to whom the arts should minister, have now forgotten that poetry is a consolation in times of doubt and peril, a beacon, and an ever-fixed mark in a crazed and shifting world.  Our poetry, and I am speaking in particular of American poetry, has been centrifugal; our poets have broken up into smaller and ever smaller groups. Individualism has triumphed.

      To the general confusion, critics, if they may be

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