Edward Alan Sullivan was a Canadian poet and author of short stories.
Born in St. George's Rectory, Montreal, Alan Sullivan was the oldest son of Edward Sullivan and Frances Mary Renaud. In 1869, his father became rector of Trinity Church, Chicago. The family moved to the city in 1871, and thus witnessed the Great Chicago Fire. When he was 15, Alan began attending Loretto in Musselburgh, Scotland, a famous school for boys.
On his return to Canada, he attended the School of Practical Science, Toronto. After this he did railway exploration work in the West, and later worked in mining. He was assistant engineer in the Clergue enterprises at Sault Ste. ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Alan Sullivan Poems
The Little Street
Listen. The clop of wooden soles still sounds along this crudely cobbled alleyway, a washerwoman sings a rondelet, and two young truants haggle over rounds of jacks.
Brébeuf and Lalemant
Came Jean Brébeuf from Rennes, in Normandy, To preach the written word in Sainte Marie– The Ajax of the Jesuit enterprise: Huge, dominant and bold–augustly wise.
Came Those Who Saw and Loved Her
Came those who saw and loved her, She was so fair to see! No whit their homage moved her, So proud she was, so free;
Upon the liquid tide of air It swayed beside a dappled cloud: It seemed athwart the sun to fare Full of strong flight, as though endowed
The ancient and the lovely land Is sown with death; across the plain Ungarnered now the orchards stand, The Maxim nestles in the grain, The shrapnel spreads a stinging flail
Grant me, dear Lord, the alchemy of toil, Clean days of labour, dreamless nights of rest, And that which shall my weariness assoil The sanctuary of one beloved breast:
Comments about Alan Sullivan
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Little Street
Listen. The clop of wooden soles still sounds
along this crudely cobbled alleyway,
a washerwoman sings a rondelet,
and two young truants haggle over rounds
of jacks. Somewhere an unseen bell resounds,
tolling the passage of an August day;
yet nothing moves. These shutters never sway.
These children never leave their checkered bounds
beside the entryway. The clouds diffuse
a dropp of rain or flush with sunset's blush.
No bargeman hauls; no windmill fills a sluice.
Upon some far-off field of war, a truce
as time stands still beneath the artist's brush.