From chips and shards, in idle times, I made these storied, shaped these rhymes; May they engage some friendly tongue When I am past the reach of song. --BHR


About
Byron Herbert Reece


Home

Letters

Broadrick
Dickson - pg 1
Dickson - pg 2


Notes for Lecture in Ohio

Notes for Sermon

Photographs
Farm
Family

Bibliography



About the BHR Digital Library

Production Notes



Other useful links:


Byron Herbert Reece Society


Young Harris College

 



Faithfully, Reece

The Byron Herbert Reece Digital Library

Byron Herbert Reece was born in the isolated mountains of North Georgia. He grew up in a rural community, steeped in the King James Bible, the ballads of his neighbors and the rhythms of the farming life. His poetry attracted the attention of fellow Appalachian writer Jesse Stuart who helped him secure a contract with Dutton. Between 1945 and 1955, Reece published four volumes of poetry and two novels. Economic success eluded him and much of his time was spent caring for his ill parents and trying to keep up with their small farm. He fought mental and physical illness until 1958, when he committed suicide.

Scholars of Reece compare him to Hemingway and Frost, and interest in his work is again growing. This digital library has been developed to give researchers further insight into the author and the surroundings that were so central to his writing. The letters and notebook in the Young Harris College Collection are fragile and their publication here is designed to help scholars understand Reece.

Photographs from the collection of
Young Harris College

Elbows on the Sky

If man might lean his elbows on the sky
As farmers lean their weight upon a wall
To look upon their ample fields that lie
Heavy with harvest in the yellow Fall
Then he might dicker with close-fisted fate,
Himself decide what to reject or keep
Before he comes at length beyond the gate
Where he may choose not anything but sleep.

Yet if he leaned but once upon a star
And saw his earth, and himself a fugitive,
As long as breath could keep life's door ajar
He would be happy but to breathe and live,
With little care for what he shall be when
Of death's gray waste he is a citizen.

from Ballad of the Bones and Other Poems 1945





Updated on November 28, 2003.
Send any comments to Debra Branson March
This digital library has been prepared in partial fulfillment of the requirements of
ILS655-70 at Southern Connecticut State Univeristy.