Oct. 8, 2002
The Kye-Song of St Bride
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Poem: "The Kye-Song of St Bride," by Fiona Macleod.
The Kye-Song of St Bride
O sweet St Bride of the
Yellow, yellow hair:
Paul said, and Peter said,
And all the saints alive or dead
Vowed she had the sweetest head,
Bonnie, sweet St Bride of the
Yellow, yellow hair.
White may my milkin' be,
White as thee:
Thy face is white, they neck is white,
They hands are white, they feet are white,
For they sweet soul is shinin' bright-
O dear to me,
O dear to see,
St Bridget white!
Yellow may my butter be,
Firm and round:
They breasts are sweet,
Firm, round and sweet,
So may my butter be:
So may my butter be O
Safe they way is, safe, O
Safe, St Bride:
May my kye come home at even,
None be fallin', none be leavin',
Dusky even, breath-sweet even,
Here, as there, where O
St Bride thou
Keepest tryst with God in heav'n,
Seest the angels bow
And souls be shriven-
Here as there, 'tis breath-sweet even
Far and wide-
Singeth thy little maid
Safe in they shade
It's the birthday of sci-fi writer Frank Herbert, born in Tacoma, Washington (1920). He's the author of the Dune series.
It's the birthday of children's author R.L. Stine (Richard Lawrence), born in Columbus, Ohio (1943). He is the best-selling children's author in history with over ninety million books sold. His series include Fear Street and the Goosebumps series.
It's the birthday of novelist Meyer Levin, born in Chicago, Illinois (1905). He was the one who arranged for Anne Frank's diary to be published in America (with the help of Otto Frank, Anne's father).
In 1871 on this day, the Great Fire of Chicago was started. It burned down most of the city and made it possible for the great architects, Louis Sullivan, Daniel Burnham, and Frank Lloyd Wright, to come in and rebuild the downtown.
It's the birthday of American writer and publisher Caroline
Howard Gilman, born in Boston (1794). She wrote Recollections of
a Southern Matron, 1838.
It's the birthday of the British novelist, essayist, poet, philosopher, and orator John Cowper Powys, born in Derbyshire, England (1872). He was picked on at school for being different, and he found that if he flaunted his eccentricities he could survive. In 1930 he retired to up-state New York and turned to full-time writing: it was here that he produced such masterpieces as his Autobiography, A Glastonbury Romance and Weymouth Sands. He returned to Great Britain in 1934, settling in North Wales in 1935, where he wrote the historical novels Owen Glendower and Porius, the critical studies of Rabelais and Dostoevsky, and The Brazen Head and other inventive fantasies. Powys was at heart a primitivist, for whom virtually every modern invention was anathema. He never drove a car and never used a typewriter. He thought television was pernicious. He didn't like talking on the telephone, because he didn't want his words violated by a tangle of wires. One neighbor said of him: "Now there was one strange guy. Used to walk around in the snow in his bare feet. He'd say he just forgot to put his boots on. And then you'd sometimes see him banging his head on the mailbox. Strange guy." He said: "A great modern novel consists of and ought to include just everything."
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