Monday, September 28, 2015

Living in a Home

I am posting some of Edgar A. Guest's poems about the home and family because I believe home life needs so much more prominence in a people's minds.  Guest's poems emphasized the importance of the basic foundation of the home in people's lives, and that nothing is really more important. 

I believe reading this aloud will help emphasize the points much more, and his poetry should be read aloud in the family.His poems should be read over and over to instill in family members the importance of the family they are in, and how they can help to keep it strong and keep it a place where they belong; how little things, bit by bit, have meaning and contribute to the strength and importance of the home.

  This particular verse is one of the very few I have seen of Guest that uses the colloquial expressions, leaving off the g's and t's to give it a sound of the common man. Read it with expression and you will find yourself liking it more.  I especially love the phrase:  

 The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door. 

I have read poem aloud and recorded it on my computer but have not quite figured out how to post the recording  here. Any help you can give me will be appreciated.


It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, 
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam 
Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind, 
An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind. 
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be, 
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury; 
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king, 
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything. 

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute; 
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it; 
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then 
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men; 
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part 
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart: 
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore 
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door. 

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh 
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh; 
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come, 
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb. 
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried, 
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified; 
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories 
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these. 

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play, 
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day; 
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year 
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear 
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run 
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun; 
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome: 
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.


susie @ persimmon moon cottage said...

I love this poem by Mr. Guest, and all of the truths that it contains.

living from glory to glory said...

Hello, I find these poems can really move a heart emotion...
There is no place like HOME
Even a life that was not even close to perfect can still give a person's heart memories to last your whole life! Blessings, Roxy

Andrea R said...

That poem really moved me this morning. It is so incredibly full of truth. We've been in this home for so long..we've brought six more children into the world here..and the first four were so little when we moved the oldest is gone in the Air Force, and so much of my heavy heart revolves around feeling him everywhere here through the years, and his absence being so present many memories..each corner, each room..everywhere tells a story of life lived in this place, and the family it contains.

God Bless!

Nancy said...

When I was a young newlywed, my parents gave me a beatiful red leather bound set of Guest's poetry, and this one was one of my favorites among all his verses. It's so refreshing to see his work highlighted!

LogansMom122911 said...

Really like this poem a lot. I like how the dialect is intentionally common, to emphasize that home has nothing to do with how much you have. Enjoyed it a lot, thank you. Jennifer

Emmarinda said...

My father loved Edgar Guest and had a book of his poetry. He did read some of them aloud to me. Of all the crazy things I have ended up with now, I cannot find the book he left behind. I really am grieved about it.


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