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Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Alan and Archibald Sullivan

Poets grow from rivers. Walt Whitman had the Hudson and the Potomac. WC Williams the Passaic. Even Emily Dickinson who, if we believe the rumours, did not get around much had a river that ran to her lover, imagined or otherwise. What’s so big about rivers? They divide space: rive, riven, river. They move through time: the same river twice. And they move toward the unknown. Rivers are a source of creativity, awe, and fear. One need only stand on banks threatening to flood to know the power of rivers.

Our river (Bawating, St. Mary's) is unique, of course. It’s the only natural outflow from the world’s second-largest body of freshwater. And like other rivers, The St. Mary’s has spawned a few poets.

The most famous early Sault poet is remembered more for his adventure novels than for his verse. The oldest son of the area’s second Anglican bishop, Edward Sullivan and wife Frances, Alan Sullivan (1868-1947) was born in Montreal, another river city, but came of age in the Sault. His novels, including The Rapids (1922) which fictionalizes the 1903 Lake Superior Consolidated riots, are rooted in the formative experiences of traveling with his father through the northern diocese. In one collection of poetry Venice and Other Verse (1893), now long out of print, Alan Sullivan recounts a discovery made deep in the woods:


A glade in a forest of beech and oak,
And a hurrying brook, which softly spoke
In ripples and eddies of field and fen,
And haunts unstained by the steps of men:
A little way back from the water’s edge
A great pine clung to a rocky ledge,
And flung its shadow athwart a cross
Of rough-hewn wood, half covered in moss:
Here in the peace of the deep woods’ breast
A worn old huntsman takes his rest,
With naught but the wash of the wandering stream,
And the sigh of the wind through the maples’ crest,
As the monotone of his endless dream.

“The Trapper’s Death” Alan Sullivan

Is it good poetry? Probably not. Is it important? You bet it is.


The Sault’s poetic heritage is well represented by the Sullivan family. Archibald, the youngest of the Sullivan family, was born in Sault Ste Marie in 1885, making him the city’s first genuine literary export. According to a biography of Archibald in Canadian Singers and Their Songs (1919), “The music of the waters of Lake Superior in their wild rush over the rapids was the first sound to greet his ears” (265). But for all that watery influence, Archibald seems to have been obsessed with flowers not rivers, judging by a series of descriptive horticultural poems. In his short lifetime, he died in New York at the age of 34, Archibald was met with a critical appreciation that had eluded his older brother. Archibald’s poems and short stories were published widely, and for good reason.

Notice the religious imagery and the speaker’s frustration at the social conditions he witnesses in “The Cold Poor”:


High crucified on every winter's night,
Bound to the cross of every wind that blows.
Frost on my lips that leaves a kiss of blue.
And on my head the thorns of driven snows.

Sleep may not lay her hand in that of Pain
Or Hope trail silver gannents through the dust,
For Fate decrees the lines I have to read,
Hell is what is and Heaven but a crust.

This little poem, published in Appleton’s Magazine (1907), juggles Christian imagery, images of winter, and the cruel fact of poverty – not an easy task. It was writing like this that brought an international audience to the works of poet Archibald Sullivan, the Sault’s first literary export.