Tag Archives: Hartford Setting

To the Reader

TO THE READER.

Preface to Essays; Including Biographies and Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose and Poetry by Ann Plato

by James W. C. Pennington

I Have now taken up my pen to introduce to the notice of the public, a book containing productions of an interesting young authoress. The occasion is one relatively of importance, and certainly of great interest to myself.

I am not in the habit of introducing myself or others to notice by the adjective “colored,” &c., but it seems proper that I should just say here, that my authoress is a colored lady, a
member of my church, of pleasing piety and modest worth.

The book contains her own thoughts, expressed in her own way. The best way to do justice to young writers, is to weigh their thoughts without so strict a regard to their style as we should pay in the case of elder writers.

The matter of this book is miscellaneous, in prose and poetry. The topics are judiciously selected, and it must be pleasing to the friends of youthful piety to see that religion is placed first; and the more so when it is known, that in this, the writer has followed her renewed turn of mind. The article on religion is full of piety and good sense.

This is itself a high commendation to the book. It contains the pious sentiments of a youth devoted to the glory of God, and the best good of her readers. This is an example worthy to be imitated. I know of nothing more praise-worthy than to see one of such promise come
before the public, with the religion of Christ uppermost in her mind. It will be well for our cause when many such can be found among us. In her biographical sketches, she shows in a very interesting way, her social piety. She has paid a just tribute to the memory of a number of her departed companions. This has been well conceived. Departed worth deserves permanent tributes. If they were youth, what is more fit than that their surviving youthful companions should pay those tributes?

My authoress has a taste for poetry. And this is much to the advantage of any one who makes an effort in this difficult part of literature. The opinion has too far prevailed, that the talent for poetry is exclusively the legacy of nature. Nature should not be charged of withholding her blessings, when the only cause of our barrenness is our own indolence. There is no doubt that the talent for poetry is in a high degree attainable. My authoress has evinced her belief in this position. She is willing to be judged by the candid, and even to run the hazard of being severely dealt with by the critic, in order to accomplish something for the credit of her people. She has done well by what nature has done for her, in trying what
art will add. The fact is, this is the only way to show the fallacy of that stupid theory, that nature has done nothing but fit us for slaves, and that art cannot unfit us for slavery!

My authoress has followed the example of Philis Wheatly, and of Terence, and Capitain, and Francis Williams, her compatriots.

These all served in adversity, and afterwards found that nature had no objection, at least, to their serving the world in high repute as poets. She, like as Philis Wheatly was, is passionately fond of reading, and delights in searching the Holy Scriptures; and is now rapidly improving in knowledge.

Should her book which is here offered, meet with due encouragement, her talents will receive an impetus which will amply repay her patrons, and the generation in which she lives.

To those with whom my authoress is more particularly identified, I must remark, that so far from having a pretence to disparage her book, we have many considerations which enforce the obligation to give it a prompt and ready patronage. To some of these I beg leave to
advert, in conclusion.

1. Young writers are always in peculiar need of patronage to enable them to set out in a successful and useful career. It is often the case, that their fortune turns upon their first attempt, and that they fail, not so much for want of merit, as for want of that patronage which their merit deserves. Elder writers, in general, have gained a reputation, and therefore have this acquisition to augment their chance for patronage in any particular effort. But the young writer has no such capital to begin with. In their first effort for patronage the odds is against them, since they have, at the same time, to try for reputation. Under these circumstances they more naturally look to those whose sympathies ought to be in favor of their success.

2. From the above general principle, our young authoress justly appeals to us, her own people, (though not exclusively,) to give her success. I say the appeal is just. And it is just because her success will, relatively, be our own. A mutual effort is the legitimate way to
secure mutual success. Egypt, Greece and Rome, successively, gave their own authors success, and by a very natural consequence, the reputation which they secured to their authors became their own. The history of the arts and sciences is the history of individuals, of individual nations. When Egypt was a school for the world, all the Egyptians were not teachers of the arts and sciences. The Romans were not all Ciceros, nor were the Greeks all Homers, or Platos. But as Greece had a Plato why may we not have a Platoess?

3. This book has a claim upon our youth, and especially those of the writers own sex. She has a large heart full of chaste and pious affection for those of her own age and sex; and this affection is largly interspersed over the pages of her book. If you will reciprocate this
affection you will, I doubt not, read this book with pleasure and profit. With these remarks, and my best wishes to you and our authoress, I close, that you may pass on to her own pages, and read for your improvement.

JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON,
Pastor of the Colored Congregational Church.
Hartford , June 1st, 1841.

Public domain. Source: New York Public Library scan.

A Cup of Coffee

A Cup of Coffee

by Bessy Reyna

“Watch me!” I Tell Rob,
the lovely dark-haired friend
who has joined me for lunch
“Watch me, I’ll have to pretend
I don’t know that the coffee is a gift from him.”

We dance the tango

Ricardo, the Argentinian man,
is so happy to see me.
It’s been so long since I had lunch
at this small place
hidden on the second floor of an old building

Rob and I sit by the window
talking about books and watching
the people below us
as they stroll on Pratt Street.

Ricardo whispers to me in a voice
with the cadence of the pampas,
¿Querés un café?  Do you want a cup of coffee?
I know I shouldn’t
it would be one too-many for the day,
but I can taste the offer
the I-want-to-give-you-something
because-I-am-so-happy-to-see-you!
bursting behind the smile

we dance the tango

“Watch me” I say to Rob,
I now have to pretend
that I want to pay for the coffee
and he will refuse to take the money.

The proper behavior
the warmth, generosity,
the nostalgia that engulfs me now
In how many restaurants can you get free coffee
just because the owner is happy to see you?

A native language coming back
to rescue me
transforming me
transporting me

At lunch, we danced the tango.

I say goodbye to Rob,
turn and give Ricardo gracias por el café
before I descend the narrow wooden stairs
that return me to
another culture my brave new world.

Around the corner
a homeless man awaits
“Can I have a dime for a cup of coffee?” he asks
His voice startles me,
I smile
“Come with me and I’ll buy you a coffee”
I tell him, pointing at the
“COFFEE AND PASTRIES” sign a few feet away
“No! Not from there”  he shouts annoyed
“From Dunkin Donuts!!”

Of course, he does not want a cup of coffee
I place some quarters in his extended hand
and walk away smiling
dancing the tango
having paid for my coffee after all.

Previously published in She Remembers by Bessy Reyna Andrew Mountain Press. 1997.

Used by permission of the author.

Lunch Walk

Lunch Walk

by Bessy Reyna

He came bouncing down the street,
heavy body, long hair, jacket and tie.
There was an oddness about him.
Then, as he approached
I heard the sound of maracas
coming from his pockets.
Was it candy?
I pictured hundreds of multi-colored sweets
crashing against each other,
he, oblivious to the crackling rhythm.
Along Capitol Avenue
our paths crossed,
lunch break nearly over.
How can I explain
being late for work
because I was following a man
who sounded like maracas?

(1997)

Used by permission of the author.

Backlog Studies (Excerpts)

Backlog refers to the large piece of wood that supports the fire in a large fire place (and therefore lasts longest). In the beginning of the book, Warner expresses his fear that fireplaces are going out of style with the introduction of new technologies for heating homes and that the important things that happen around fireplaces are also destined to disappear, namely conversations with family and neighbors and the contemplation and reflection that fireplaces inspire. The book is a “study” or demonstration of the conversation that fireplaces inspire. Continue reading Backlog Studies (Excerpts)

Fall of the Charter Oak

Sigourney wrote several poems in homage to the famous Connecticut tree known as the Charter Oak. This poem was written in the period of state-wide grief when the tree was struck by lightening and fell on August 21, 1856. Hartford even organized a funeral procession for the tree that drew crowds of mourners. The wood from the tree was harvested and turned into keepsakes that can still be viewed at places like the CT Museum of Culture and History and the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art. Charles De Wolf Brownell’s painting of 1857 is often on view at the Wadsworth, a spectacular homage to the tree whose frame is made from the Charter Oak’s wood. Read what Mark Twain had to say about the Charter Oak on his first visit to Hartford and to the Wadsworth in this anthology (see “Glimpse of Hartford” under Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain.) To learn what made this such an iconic tree and to see an image of Brownell’s painting, go to The Legend of the Charter Oak on Connecticuthistory.org. Continue reading Fall of the Charter Oak

St. Armorer’s Church from the Outside  

An armorer is a manufacturer of firearms. There is no real “St. Armorer.”  Stevens got the idea for him from the Church of the Good Shepherd on Wyllys Street in Hartford. This church was built to honor Samuel Colt, the wealthy manufacturer of firearms—most famously the Colt pistol—who lived in Hartford. It is now part of Coltsville National Historical Park.  The most striking aspect of this church is the Armorer’s Porch which features Colt pistols and other gun parts carved into its façade (see photos below). Continue reading St. Armorer’s Church from the Outside  

The Plain Sense of Things

“The Plain Sense of Things” also takes place in Elizabeth Park.  It is late autumn, the leaves have fallen, and the park looks bare.  The greenhouse is exposed in all its dilapidation.  The water lilies on the pond are now just “waste.”  It seems to Stevens that this is how the world would look if one had no imagination.  He wonders if the depression he feels, looking at this barren scene, means that his own imagination has failed.  But no.  He realizes that “the absence of the imagination had / Itself to be imagined.” His perception of this scene, his feelings about it, and his description of it in this poem are themselves imaginative acts.   Our imaginations are always at work. Continue reading The Plain Sense of Things

Nuns Painting Water-Lilies 

This poem was inspired by something Stevens saw in Elizabeth Park.  In a letter to a friend, he wrote, “Until quite lately a group of nuns came [to Elizabeth Park] each morning to paint water colors especially of the water lilies” (L 610).  In this poem he imagines the nuns’ thoughts.  As they paint, they ponder the miraculous beauty of life which seems to them “supernatural” in origin.  This experience awakens in them a refreshing clarity of mind and spirit.  They feel that this is a “special day” and that they themselves are an integral part of it.  There were several French orders of nuns in the Hartford area, which explains all the French terms in the poem. Continue reading Nuns Painting Water-Lilies 

Vacancy in the Park

During Stevens’s years in Hartford (1916-1955) he made sure he always lived near Elizabeth Park. His final home at 118 Westerly Terrace is only a short walk from the park. He walked in the park almost every day.  “Vacancy in the Park” is set in Elizabeth Park on a cold day in March. Stevens notices the footprints of someone who has walked across the freshly fallen snow. To describe the way this makes him feel, he invents three similes (“It is like…”).  How does each simile make you feel? The poem concludes, “The four winds blow through the rustic arbor, / Under its mattresses of vines.”  You can see that rustic arbor covered with vines in the center of the famous Rose Garden in Elizabeth Park.  (This is the first municipal rose garden in the United States and the third largest rose garden in the country today.) Continue reading Vacancy in the Park