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Subject Index A-B
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Subject Index C-F
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Subject Index G-K
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Subject Index L-O
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Subject Index P-Z
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Email: info@searcs-web.com |
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Searc's Web Guide to 20th
Century Ireland -
Padraig Colum (1881-1972) Padraic Columb was born in Longford and was educated locally. He joined the Gaelic League and the IRA in 1901 and changed his name to 'Padraic Colum'. He lived in where Dublin where he met James Joyce, with whom he developed a close friendship and counted W. B. Yeats, Lady Gregory, George Russell and James Stephens among his friends. Colum's first published poems appeared in the Irish Independent and United Irishman in 1902. The first production of one of his plays occurred in 1903, with the Irish National Theatre Society's staging of Broken Soil at Molesworth Hall. Colum was one of the original Abbey Theatre charter signatories and wrote several of the Abbey Theatre's early productions. His plays Broken Soil (1904), The Land (1905) and Thomas Muskerry (1910) were warmly received. His most notable collection of verse Wild Earth was published in 1909. Colum emigrated to the United States with his wife Mary in 1914, and began writing children's literature. Colum lived in France from 1930-1933 before returning to the Unites States and taking up a post at Columbia University in 1939. He published over fifty books of poetry, fiction, drama, children's literature and and folklore and was President of the American Poetry Society in the 1950's. Padraic Colum died on January 11th, 1972, in Endfield, Connecticut at the age of 90. © O, To have a little house! To own the hearth and stool and all! The heaped up sods upon the fire, The pile of turf against the wall! To have a clock with weights and chains And pendulum swinging up and down! A dresser filled with shining delph, Speckled and white and blue and brown! I could be busy all the day Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, And fixing on their shelf again My white and blue and speckled store! I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed and loth to leave The ticking clock and the shining delph! Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark, And roads where there's never a house nor bush, And tired I am of bog and road, And the crying wind and the lonesome hush! And I am praying to God on high, And I am praying Him night and day, For a little house—a house of my own— Out of the wind's and the rain's way. © Searc's Web Guide 1997-2008 |
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