Drumfire
in Letters, Poetry, and Prose
by
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My Creed
My creed is the creed of nature,
Because I am a part of it,
My creed is of the world,
Because I am in it,
Open to its loveliness,
Subject to its temptations
And variable with its changes.
My heart is the heart
Of the little flower on the turfy mound
'Neath the decaying cross
And faded, tattered flag
On the open fields of the chalky plains.
My heart is the heart of the breeze
That has not forgotten the resting place
Of the simple soldier, but visits it
In kind remembrance each lovely evening.
My soul is the soul of the day
And of the night, and in resonance
With their tranquility, in harmony
With their full measure, in tune
With their delicate promptings.
My belief is the belief of humanity,
Of and for their pleasure and happiness
In the sweetness and fullness of living.
My way is the way of Man,
Difficult but short,
And a picture and an ending --
The picture is the picture of an angel,
And she is the mother of me, and of my creed
For she taught me its virtues
In the tender days of my childhood.
Drumfire
They say it's done -- the tumult
And the drumfire
No more the gun -- breaks the
Sweet stillness
In the evening on the chalky plains.
No more the heavy shells
Shall rudely break
The eternal rest
Or profane with sudden disinterment
The doubly dead, on twice-contested fields.
Ah, but I know -- my ears shall hear them still
I can't forget, -- their voice --
It gives a strange uncanny thrill
And then -- at night -- their monotone
Seemed a necessity to sleep
The hard bunk, and the canvas windows
Flapping, vibrating with their detonation --
Ah, heart -- Forget?
Have you heard. them?
Then, you hear them yet.
On Return
With a full head of steam and a good strong ship
And a sea as calm as the day
I stand at the stern while the engines yearn
And Gibraltar fades away.
With Afric' to South and our bow to the West
We're hitting the home trail today
Toward the sunset gates we're making the straits
On the path of the parting day.
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About the Book
Goff Owen evokes the true spirit of rural life on the plateau overlooking the Tennessee River of Northeast Alabama early in the Twentieth Century. These were the years prior to, and including the intrusion of the First World War on that simple and lovely time. The boy becomes a young man, enlisting in the Coast Artillery of the military service, is sent overseas and serves in France during the war as Radio Sergeant. Devastated by the death of his mother due to the influenza epidemic of 1918, he returns after the war and is discharged in March 1919, to his Garden of the South on the Mountain – to the cottage now empty of his life’s treasure, now buried in Mt. Zion Church Yard. Born in Buford, Georgia, in 1893 the young boy moved with his family to the little farm on The Mountain, at Section, Alabama, a few miles distant from Scottsboro. Here was instilled in him the many impressions of this, his lovely Garden of the South, which sings to us throughout his writings, accompanied by the intensely burning love for his mother, who awakened his heart and spirit to the true beauty of this region, as she sat with him beneath the shade trees, by the cottage on The Mountain – that cottage where, for him throughout his life, an everlasting light burned the old time welcome. Goff Owen, Jr.
About the Author
Goff Owen 1893-1973 "Sand Mountain Boy" Goff Owen evokes the true spirit of rural life on the plateau overlooking the Tennessee River of Northeast Alabama early in the Twentieth Century. These were the years prior to, and including the intrusion of the First World War on that simple and lovely time. The boy becomes a young man, enlisting in the Coast Artillery of the military service, is sent overseas and serves in France during the war as Radio Sergeant. Devastated by the death of his mother due to the influenza epidemic of 1918, he returns after the war and is discharged in March 1919, to his Garden of the South on the Mountain – to the cottage now empty of his life’s treasure, now buried in Mt. Zion Church Yard. Born in Buford, Georgia, in 1893 the young boy moved with his family to the little farm on The Mountain, at Section, Alabama, a few miles distant from Scottsboro. Here was instilled in him the many impressions of this, his lovely Garden of the South, which sings to us throughout his writings, accompanied by the intensely burning love for his mother, who awakened his heart and spirit to the true beauty of this region, as she sat with him beneath the shade trees, by the cottage on The Mountain – that cottage where, for him throughout his life, an everlasting light burned the old time welcome. Goff Owen, Jr.