Philip Freneau: Poet of the American Revolution

We learned this back in elementary school. If one poet’s name sits atop the poetry of the American Revolution, that name is Philip Freneau (1752-1832). And like the new nation he was part of, he kept re-inventing himself.  

The Freneau family came from La Chappelle, France, in the Ardennes Forst and near the current Belgian border. The family was Huguenot, not exactly the best faith option in Catholic France. In 1707, Andre Freneau emigrated to New York in America and became part of the Huguenot colony there. He married and had five children. One of his sons, Pierre, became part of the family business married in 1748. His oldest child was born in 1752 and named Philip. Ten years later, the well-to-do family moved to New Jersey, although Philip remained in boarding school in New York. In 1768, aged 16, the boy entered Princeton University, set upon becoming a minister.

 

At Princeton, however, Pilip discovered writing. He’d read widely in the English poets and Latin classics, and he was already composing poetry. In his class at Princeton was a young man who became a lifelong friend – James Madison. Freneau, Madison, and others were beginning to get up in the spirit of the times, and it was an anti-British, increasingly independent spirit. (In 1770, the senior class voted to wear only clothes of American manufacture for commencement.)

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Illustration: Philip Freneau.

Some Thursday Readings

 

Dust – poem by Sonja Benskin Mesher.

 

Metastatic – poem by Maureen Doallas at Writing Without Paper.

 

Orphan Lamb – poem by David Whyte.

 

Kurt Vonnegut’s Ambivalent War on AI – Joel Miller at Miller’s Book Review.

 

“Chicago,” poem by Carl Sandburg – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

“The Battle of Blenheim,” poem by Robert Southey – Joseph Bottum at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

Reading Moby Dick – Chris Arnade Walks the World.

Poets and Poems: May Swenson and "Collected Poems"

“A characteristic of all poetry,” poet May Swenson once wrote, “that more is hidden it in than in prose. A poem, read for the first time, can offer the same pleasure as opening a wrapped box.” The pleasure, I suspect, was both in the anticipation and the discovery. 

Swenson (1913-1989) is considered a major poet of the 20^th century. She published nine collections during her lifetime; three additional collections were published posthumously. Her poems were widely published in literary journals and magazines. She received a bevy of awards, ranging from the American Introductions Prize in1955 to Guggenheim and MacArthur fellowships. For the last nine years of her life, she served as chancellor of the Academy of American Poets. She also translated and published a volume of poems by Tomas Tranströmer.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Some Tuesday Readings

 

Dust to Dust: W.H. Auden writes poetry for a world marked by death – Helen Rouner at Commonweal. 

 

Good Intentions – poem by Warren Bonham at Society of Classical Poets.

 

The English Epigram: Two poems from Walter Savage Landor – Joseph Bottum at Poems Ancient and Modern.