The Glebe 1913/09 (Vol. 1, No. 1): Songs, Sighs and Curses

In Short

This volume is a provocative anthology of radical poetry from 1913, acting as the inaugural issue of a short-lived, influential literary periodical. Through a series of fervent, free-verse poems, the work explores themes of labor, industrial inequality, sexual liberation, and the isolation of the artist. The collection is notable for its raw, unpolished sincerity and its rejection of traditional poetic structures. It has endured as a significant artifact of the American avant-garde, preserving the spirit of a time when art was explicitly viewed as a weapon for societal change.

The Story

The collection begins as an act of rebellion against silence. The poet positions himself as a voice for the voiceless—the underpaid, the imprisoned, and the forgotten—while simultaneously wrestling with the intensely private ache of unrequited love. The narrative arc moves from the observation of the "captives" of society, such as the animals in a zoo or the women working behind store counters for meager wages, toward a grand, sweeping vision of an "Industrial Commonwealth."

As the poems progress, the tone shifts from external social criticism to the internal landscape of the artist. The author examines his own contradictory nature: he is a man who loves all women with a "panerotic" intensity, yet he is haunted by his inability to possess the one who remains cold to him. He equates the "tyranny of rhyme" with the chains of the factory, demanding a freer form of expression that mirrors the chaos and beauty of life itself. The poet imagines himself a god who would reshape the world, turning the "dirty dollar sign" of his era into a paradise of artistic creation and sensual freedom.

Toward the final sections, the poems become increasingly personal and melancholic. The poet confesses his own envy of the martyrs and rebels, such as Arturo Giovannitti, who have suffered in jails for the sake of their ideals. He finds himself standing on the "Golgotha" of his own heart, where his conscience acts as a cross that crucifies his joy. The collection concludes with a cycle of poems addressed "To One Who Could Not Love," portraying the poet as a sculptor whose life’s work has been to shape a statue that remains forever unmoved. The ending is not one of triumph, but of poignant resignation—a recognition that while he has sung his songs to the stars and the sea, his own emotional life remains an "unhappy sculptor’s" struggle against an unresponsive, marble-cold world.

How It Unfolds

The declaration of purpose The collection opens with a proem that defines the poet’s mission: to sing, sigh, and curse. This framework sets the stage for a work that refuses to separate the joy of existence from the rage against injustice.

The observation of the oppressed The focus shifts to the city and the zoo, where the poet identifies with the "royal captive" behind bars. He views the marching garment strikers as the precursors to a great revolution, painting them as a chosen people crossing a modern Red Sea.

The assault on societal vanity The poet directs his scorn toward the symbols of wealth, specifically the Woolworth Building and the Easter parade on Fifth Avenue. He contrasts these "temples of lucre" with the squalor of those who actually built them, effectively stripping away the facade of progress.

The descent into the personal The rhythm of the work slows as the poet turns toward his own heart, reflecting on his failed loves and his admiration for historical figures like Shelley and Whitman. These poems function as a bridge, moving from the revolutionary struggle of the many to the solitary struggle of the one.

The final confrontation The collection concludes with a cycle of poems documenting the "death" of his romantic hopes. By the end, the poet is left alone with his memory, seeking solace in the beauty of the spring and the hope of a distant, kinder humanity.

The People

The author serves as the central consciousness, a figure who is equal parts prophet, lover, and rebel. He is a man perpetually at odds with his environment, constantly trying to bridge the gap between his grand, utopian dreams and his reality as a struggling, often lonely, artist.

The figures he encounters represent the poles of his world. There is the "Lady of Infinite Mercy," an idealized, mysterious woman who represents the beauty and compassion he finds lacking in society. In stark contrast are the "masters"—the faceless, wealthy figures who embody the "tyranny" of the current system. Elizabeth Gurley Flynn appears as a beacon of revolutionary strength, a "Jeanne d'Arc" of the working class who inspires him to continue the fight. Finally, the "one who could not love" acts as the cold, immovable reality that grounds the poet’s lofty visions. She represents the limits of his influence; despite his burning desire to reshape the world, he is ultimately defeated by the quiet, impenetrable barrier of an indifferent heart.

In Its Own Voice

"I sing and sigh and also curse, / Thus only can I give expression / To that which will not brook repression."

The poet sets his intent in the opening lines, signaling that this work will be as much a vent for his frustrations as it is a celebration of life.

"The dollar sign is traced upon this cloud!"

In describing the shadow that looms over his soul, the poet identifies the root of his existential gloom as the dehumanizing nature of capitalism.

"I spit upon the laws that thieves have made / To give the crooked strength to rob the weak."

This line encapsulates the poet's defiant stance against the societal structures he deems inherently corrupt and immoral.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that the health of a society can be measured by its ability to foster individual joy and artistic expression. The poet questions how a civilization can claim to be "advanced" while simultaneously shackling its people to poverty and moral hypocrisy. He argues that freedom is not merely the absence of prison walls, but the ability of the soul to create and be understood. The underlying question—to live or not to live—is not framed as a choice between existence and death, but between a life of numb conformity and a life of intense, revolutionary feeling. Ultimately, the book posits that love and labor are linked; when one is commodified or restricted, the human spirit is essentially crucified.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the raw, unadorned honesty of the early 20th-century radical poets will find this collection deeply compelling. It feels like an authentic artifact from a time when the stakes of poetry felt existential. The author does not shy away from the contradictions of his own nature—his occasional misogyny, his intense self-absorption, and his penchant for melodrama—which makes the work feel more like a genuine human document than a curated anthology.

The difficulty for the modern reader lies in the book's period attitudes, particularly its intense, sometimes objectifying focus on women as either "temples" or "beasts." The language can also be overtly hortatory, with a heavy reliance on the conventions of his era's revolutionary rhetoric. However, the persistence of his themes—the struggle for economic dignity, the alienation of the laborer, and the desperate search for connection—remains strikingly relevant. What stays with you is not necessarily the polish of the verse, but the persistence of the poet's voice. He is a man screaming into the wind of modernity, refusing to be silenced by the machines or the "muddy clouds" of his time. It is a brief, intense encounter with a mind that, despite its limitations, refuses to stop hoping for a world where people can finally be free.