The Sunday Oregonian., August 13, 1922, Magazine Section, Page 4, Image 88

4
THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAX, PORTLAND, AUGUST 13. 1922
WHOSE ASHES ARE ON
O ' . IT . "il
o
J.&JA.
BOSOM OF COLUMBIA
RIVER
OurvP
- i
oet
Legacy of Heroic Verse.
Left by Soldier-Dreamer
Stamped as Immortal .
by World Authorities
5
mm
Joseph Andrew Galahad, the cavalryman-poet.
APRJLV3.11922
Nay mite forme no vtcird. obituaries
WdSi vreary. mournful tune and dirgelike time;
For of such, though limned vrith grief, none real grief
came ;
Grief s oof a iking of mltl Grief is sublime
Of tragedy and bitterness bom. tl&a.
Like vultures feeding on the heart. I know I
Grieve not for me grieve not! I em not dead-
The body is a transient, useless thing
Which I have laid cnxrjj. Bat far ahead
My spirit leaps still left alive to sing
You many songs you've heard not from me yet
ril smg them high and clear lest you forget.
And singing, as I go. among you here.
Sometimes you'll catch an echo from my voice
And knofv TpUh subtle heart thai I am near.
Then yon will lay your requiems.- from choice. . . .
Aside upon an old and anusued shelf.
My epitaph? . . f ve written it myself.
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BY DeWITT HARRY.
OREGON has lost one of her most
talented sons. Joseph Andrew Gal
ahad, poet, philosopher, soldier,
died in Portland April 13 this year. His
body was cremated and his sister scat
tered his ashes on the bosom of the Co
lumbia, the stream he loved so well.
These were his last insxiunions. Though
by 34 years of age. Galahad had already
chieTed an enTiablo place In the writer's
world. The marvel of it & was that this
man. knowing that his days were cam
bered, worked for three years at feTer
heat to leave a heritage of Terse to
posterity. Born in Portland In 188S.
Galahad loved Oregon with an Intense
fervor. This feeling for his home
breathes throughout many of his poems.
Galahad, though he had achieved a
rrominent place in the foreground of
world poets at the time of his death, left
a Bomber of posthumous poems in charge
of his sister, his only surviving relative,
with minute Instructions for giving them
to the public. He did cot write with the
idea of commercialism, but because he
was Imbued w'.th a fire that conld not be
quenched. H!s works are pregnant with
this consuming element and vital with
meaning and life. Knowing that he was
to die. he labored to the last to tell as
much as he could of what be knew must
be told, and almost the last thing he did
was to write hU own epitaph. leaving the
original in care of his sister with in
structions that it be published after his
death and the date of his passing be the
title,
Hvtry Mormtit Viu Precioon.
Strange though it may seem to many
that Portland did not know more of this
man. the reason was that he was forced
to keep to himself and conserve every
bit of his energy during those last pre-
His sister Betty, who has charge of his
works.
PUb to by Flat
clous days so that he could carry on hit
work. Prolific days they were, and his
facile pen was never still. He left, in
charge of his sister, - a vast store of
: poetry. She is now placing the first collection-of
these posthumous poems. There
are six large filing cases of this work
and she has not, yet exhausted the first
of them. Galahad worked methodically
and in his last letter to her stated that
the first case would contain his earlier
and cruder efforts and . that the work
would get better as she went along. If
this is the case the world will undoubt
edly wait with bated breath for the im
mortal works of this poet, for already the
word has gone forth that some of the
earlier ones he has written are death
less. Galahad was well and favorably known
to some of the most noted critics and
publishers In the world. -His poems have
attracted universal attention. The first
volume of them is now on the press and
will soon be released. Already they have
appeared in some of the leading maga
zines of the country. Life was the first -publication
to take him up seriously and
this weekly has given scores of his verses
to the public. Others have appeared in
the North American Review, Poetry, the
Delineator, the Bookman, the Lyric West,
the Writer, Country Magazine, the Mid
west Bookman, the American Legion
Weekly and Contemporary Verse. The
last named publication dedicated its July
number to Galahad. Contemporary
Verse says:
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House near Gresham where he wrote epio verse.
A ! Lived Hl For try.
Ths record of Jo Galahad's life can b
summed up vry brif'.y. He was born Sep
tember JO. 1$8I. His mother died of con
sumption when be was born, and seven
years later his father. The boy was thus
left with, only om near re.la.tlve. a. hait-
ister. He had to leave school before grad
uating on account of weak eyes. Finally
he got Into the army, where he served ev
eral years. In some way or other, "by"
jrrubbing" as he put it, he picked up an
education. After leaving the army, appar-
ently In (rood health, he was suddenly
smitten with pneumonia, which developed
Into consumption. For a time he played the
piano and pipe organ In theaters and or
rhemras alons the Pacific coast. He went
south In a vain attempt to save his life, and
finally, after several " operations, c'amt to
his sister at Portland, Or., in. 1S19. Here,
finding- that the normal life of a man was
denied: him, he built- up for himself a. life
of the spirit. Lying on, his death-bed In al
most continuous agony for three years, he
recorded his conviction that every , moment
of life was good, that friendship was a
miracle, and that God's dispensation was
true and righteous altogether. For with
the increased suffering came an increased
exaltation of the spirit. Thus when he died
on tha 13th of. last April, his character
.seenilnlywuori)ermanent-thaotieforavto-
The Tent Maker's Pupil.
"Old Khayyam teaches, tho' long dead,
And I have gone to join his class.
Soon they will lay my weary head
Among the guest stars, scattered on the
grass.
And you. wJio most remain behind
Let no- regrets make your heart sore.
I now depart keep this in mind
And, once departed, may return no more.
' Remember me 'tis all I ask. V
And never fail, for I will know!
I am but one who's done with task,
I came like water, and like wind I go.
.
I shall go out beyond the stars.
Where all the bells of heaven ring.
For. like a bird, soul bursts its bars,
And lo the- bird- is on the wing. .'
I charge you, while you walk the earth.
The wine of life to never spurn.
The road is short to death from birth
Drink! For, once dead, you never shall
return!
Drink the wine of life is sweet;
And I shall watch just how you fare
From my high tomb. And, I repeat-
Drink! for you know not why you go,
nor where!
And say "He would not have mo weep,
Since for us all, when task is done,
"We see the eager shadows creep
' Whether the cup with. sweet or bitter run.
"Nor may I hold to heart the pain
That lives in every yesterday.
Since he, who now' in dust is lain, '
Abode his destined hour, and went hij
way."
I beg you do not grieve for me '
I stroll not wake to hear you pass. '
But in your heart. In memory.
Turn down an empty glass!
i Joseph Andrew Galahad.
those of us who knew him- by the written
word. It was the immortal Joe whom we
had come to love, whom we still love.
His important poems are nearly all auto-1
blograpiy, the heroic interpretation of his
sufferings and his triumph. "The Knife,"
describing an operation, appeared 'rn the
North American Review for May, 1920, and
at once brought a letter from John Mase
field, which Joe called his V. C. From then
on he never doubted his mission. He came
"to us in-the fall of that year and we had the
privilege" of publishing "Vanguard"' in
March, and "Argosy" in August, 1921. The
latter won the greatest and deepest re
sponse of any poem we have ever brought
out, the issue being exhausted at once.
Everybod.y wanted- to know the man, to
write and tell him that he had given- a new
largeness, a new glow to their lives. Hun
dreds of people were waiting for his first
volume. s .
What was it in this man's poetry that
swept us along with him as we had not
been ewept by any poet of America in this
generation? Simply, we are sure, that he
wrote what-he lived, physically and spirit
ually. He wrote with, fervor and color, with
a virile rhythm, yet with simple inodesty
and a suggestion- of humor as to the
triviality of all his bodily ills. His -tory
was one that ' .
Saddened our lives yet made it great to live.
Who of us had suffered as he did, and
who of us could: as indomitably affirm his
belief in the glory of human destiny?
.The letter -from ilasefield. alluded to
, that Galahad liked to refer to as' hia
V. C. was as fallows:
Boar's Hill, Oxford, England, June 11,
1921.
Dear Sir I don't quite know how much
of your name is real, nor whether this, ad
dress will find you, but I am sen-ding this
on the chance -that it may some day reach
the author of "The Knife."
I expect that a good many people have
written to congratulate you on the com- .
VIeteness and Tightness of that poem, but I
should like to join their number, and to
say that It is the one poem of the kind, and
as true, -as it is feeling. Well done! Well
done! .
The best of good luck to you!
Yours sincerely,
JOHN MASEFIELD.
In his recollections Galahad tells of the
urge to write even when a boy. As far as
known his first real poem was written, at
the age of 12 during a competition staged
by The Oregonian and G,alahad won the
first prize. Regarding one of his earliest
poems he says:
"When I was a very little shaver I
used to love poetry passionately. I had a
sort of an inherent something that told
- me when it was real and fine and when
"it was only cheap Imitation. I never "had
the education I would have liked to have
had, since my health necessitated remov
ing' me from school when I was- in the
eighth grammar grade. J can remember
poems coming my way when I was only
10 years old.
Inspiration Comes When Youngster.
"I wrote a little two verse thing con
cerning an old bridge that had been taken
down and replaced by a modern steel
structure. I had never seen such a bridge
nor known &t such an instance but
there was in my young mind a clear pic
ture of the whole thing and the feeling
of regret at seeing the beauty replaced by
unromantical ateel. The verse began
"They Ijave taken the ord bridge down
They have blasted the arch of stone:
They have carried the steel from the
town, etc.
"My feelings were not the feelings of
. a child nor were the words of the verses
the words of a 10-year-old child. But
the picture came to me and the words
came out of the air like a voice speaking
clearly."
Always close to the fountain of inspira
tion during his entire life, in his last
days Galahad must have come near the
head of , our .. being. He speaks of this
again: '
"I mentioned, I believe, the fact that
my schooling was limited, all the educa
tion I have I secured by my own effort
after I became a man. But I have suf
fered from limited opportunities, even
so, and there is so much that is unknown
to me. There are many words that are
perhaps common to the more fortunate
people who are educated to a high de
gree but these words are unknown to
me. Now here often in speaking to me
those men 'over there' use words I have
never even heard of. The first time it '
' Concluded on- Pa-go -5.J