Tag: poems

Niagara by Timothy

timothy
Two ladies posing in front of a Niagara Falls backdrop, one with an umbrella. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library

There’s nothing (saving six,) great blustering Fall,
Thou may’st not to the fancy’s sense recall,
A drove of bleating, wooly-coated sheep,
Each other chasing in a headlong leap ;
The flaunting flounces of a dancing rout :
A cask of whiskey with the head knocked out ;
A stormy fury, jealous of her spouse,
Smashing the total crockery of the house ;
The frothy bombast of some learned dunce ;
Ten thousand bawling children whipt at once ;
A city’s soap-suds on a washing  day,
Or rowdy hubbubs of a drunken fray ;
     The present times, so meatless—’ out of joint,’
Or breakfast cascades, off rough Judith’s point,

Oh may the spray that flusters o’er thy water,
Making a fuss much greater than it oughter,
There spend its rage, nor shower upon the hills,
To wet those natives who’ve no umberills !

Source: Geneva Courier, August 16, 1842

At head of poem: “Our Tim has left at the Falls the following.”  This note and the tone of the poem suggests that Timothy may have written this poem in the Table Rock Album, kept at Table Rock House in Niagara Falls, Ontario. There is no other information identifying Timothy.

Click here to see other poems in the Table Rock Album.

Also published in The Ovid Bee, August 10, 1842

Kayaker Takes Plunge at Niagara by E. R. Baxter III

kayak
Jesse W. Sharp Going Over Niagara Falls in His Kayak. June 5, 1990. Photographer unknown.
Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library

Down through
The rapids above the falls he
comes floating, kayak like a blunt
arrow, a twig, a hollow stick, him waist-
up from the center paddling, the white noise
of falling water thrashing the air. People
running along the shore as if in a dream,
arms waving, tiny mouths shouting
without sound. He imagines cameras
pointing, himself on millions of television
screens around the world—gets hung up
on rocks, lifts himself heart thudding
awkwardly out, has legs again, pulls
the kayak clear, settles into it, shoots
forward toward the lip, paddle digging
water jumping to bare arms and chest, imagining
himself sailing clear, beyond the rocks, down,
down, triumphant—lifts the paddle
over his head, whirling it in salute
as he hits the edge, thinks
I’m going to make it! sees
the open maw of the gorge, mist, sunlight
on the far side, sees he’s not sailing clear
realizes the weight of bad judgement
the error of imagination, tons
of water, heavier than shame.

Source: E. R. Baxter III. Niagara Lost and Found: New and Selected Poems.  Yarmouthport, MA: Abyss Publications, 2013.

Read about Jesse Sharp, who went over Niagara Falls in his kayak on June 5, 1990.

Read about E.R. Baxter III

Niagara Falls by Alexander Duringer

 

duringer
Joseph Avery Stranded in the Niagara River
Photo by Platt Babbitt, July 19, 1853. Image courtesy Niagara Falls Public Library (NY)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Source:  Niagara Falls by Alexander Duringer was originally published in Passengers Journal, volume 3, issue 1

Alexander Duringer is a reformed English teacher from Western New York currently living in Raleigh, NC where he studies as an MFA candidate at North Carolina State University with a concentration in poetry. He received his Masters in English Education from SUNY Buffalo in 2015. He is a winner of the Academy of American Poets Prize and received an Honorable Mention for the Dorianne Laux Prize for Poetry.  In addition to this poem in Passengers Review, his poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The South Dakota Review, &Change, Plainsongs, Cola Literary Review, The Shore, and Poets.org among others. 

 

Niagara History and Poetry Podcast

 
 
history
I’ve talked about it for a while, but I’ve finally started up a podcast called Niagara History and Poetry, in which I discuss the history of Niagara Falls through the poetry that has been written about it.
The first episode is an introduction to the podcast, the second is about bears at the falls, and the third is about Captain Matthew Webb, who attempted to swim the rapids & whirlpool.

Click here for the video version

Click here for the audio version or go to your favourite podcast distributor and search for “Niagara Falls History & Poetry”

 
 
Please give it a listen, and feel free to comment, subscribe. like and share

The Death of Captain Webb by William Topaz McGonagall

mcgonagall

Alas brave Captain Webb has acted the part of a fool
By attempting to swim the mighty Niagara whirlpool,
Which I am sorry to say and to relate,
Has brought him to an untimely fate.

’Twas in the year Eighteen hundred and eighty-three,
With the people of America he did agree,
For $10,000, to swim through that yawning whirlpool;
But alas! He failed in doing so — the self-conceited fool.

Captain Webb, he courted danger for the sake of worldly gain
And the thought of gaining for himself — world wide fame;
And although many people warned him not to throw his life away,
He rushed madly to his fate without the least dismay.

Which clearly proves he was a mad conceited fool,
For to try to swim o’er that fearful whirlpool,
When he knew so many people had perished there,
And when the people told him so, he didn’t seem to care.

Had it not been for the money that lured him on
To the mighty falls of Niagara, he never would have gone
To sacrifice his precious life in such a dangerous way;
But I hope it will be a warning to others for many a long day.

On Tuesday the 24th of July, Webb arrived at the falls,
And as I view the scene in my mind’s eye, my heart it appalls
To think that any man could be such a great fool,
Without the help of God, to think to swim that great whirlpool;

Whereas, if he had put his trust in God before he came there,
God would have opened his blinded eyes and told him to beware;
But being too conceited in his own strength, the devil blinded his eyes,
And all thought of God and the people’s advice he therefore did despise.

But the man the forgets God, God will forget him;
Because to be too conceited in your own strength before God it is a sin;
And the devil will whisper in your ear — there’s no danger in the way,
And make you rush madly on to destruction, without the least dismay.

At half-past three o’clock Webb started for the river,
Which caus’d many of the spectators with fear to shiver,
As they wondered in their hearts if he would be such a fool
As to dare to swim through that hell — whirlpool.

Webb was received by the people with loud and hearty cheers;
And many a heart that day was full of doubts and fears;
A many a one present did venture to say –
“He only came here to throw his life away.”

The Webb entered a boat, in waiting, and was rowed by the ferry-man;
And many of the spectators seem’d to turn pale and wan;
And when asked by the boatman how much he’d made by the channel swim,
He replied $25,000 complete every dim.

Have you spent it all? Was the next question McCloy put to him,
No, answered Webb, I have yet $15,000 left, every dim;
“Then” replied McCloy, “You’d better spend it before you try this swim;”
Then the captain laugh’d heartily but didn’t answer him.

When the boat arrived at point opposite the “Maid of the Mist”
The captain stripped, retaining only a pair of red drawers of the smallest grist;
And at two minutes past four o’clock Webb dived from the boat;
While the shouts and applause of the crowd on the air seem’d to float.

Oh, Heaven! it must have been an awe inspiring sight,
To see him battling among that hell of waters with all his might,
And seemingly swimming with ease and great confidence;
While the spectators held their breath in suspense.

At one moment he was lifted high on the crest of a wave;
But he battled most manfully his life to save;
But alas! all his struggling prov’d in vain,
Because he drown’d in that merciless whirlpool God did so ordain.

He was swept into the neck of that hell — whirlpool,
And was whirl’d about in it just like a light cotton spool;
While the water fiend laughingly cried ”Ha! ha! you poor silly fool,
You have lost your life, for the sake of gain, in that hell — whirlpool

I hope the Lord will be a father to his family in their distress,
For they ought to be pitied, I really must confess;
And I hope the subscribers of the money, that lured Webb to his fate,
Will give the money to Mrs. Webb, her husband’s loss to compensate.

Source: Hunt, Chris. McGonagall Online. The Death of Captain Webb.

This poem is featured in episode 3 of the Niagara Falls History and Poetry podcast

Previously published in The Real McGonagall: Poetic Gems Selected from the Works of William McGonagall, 1948.

Read more about McGonagall

Read about Captain Webb here