Ina D. Coolbrith
Biography of Ina D. Coolbrith
Born Josephine Donna Smith, oldest daughter of Don Carlos and Agnes Coolbrith Smith, in Nauvoo, Illinois, March 10,1842, she entered California through the Beckwourth Pass in a covered wagon train in 1852. Her first poems were published in the Los Angeles Times in 1854. After a brief and tragic marriage at 17, and the death of her child, she moved to San Francisco in 1862 adopting a new name Ina and her mother’s maiden surname Coolbrith. Arriving with a reputation as a poet, she soon began writing for The Golden Era and The Californian, forming intimate friendships with Bret Harte, Charles Warren Stoddard, and Mark Twain, among others. She worked as a journalist on the Overland Monthly. Later she was librarian of the Mechanics Institute Library and the Bohemian Club library, and was the first librarian of the Oakland Public Library. She lost her San Francisco home and all her possessions in the earthquake and fire of 1906. Through the generosity of the best known California writers of the day, another home was built on Russian Hill, where she lived until the infirmities of age led her to share the home of her niece in Berkeley in 1923 until her death.
Ina Coolbrith received many honors. She was the first person asked to write a Commencement Ode for the University of California, which she did on two occasions. She was the first woman member of San Francisco's Bohemian Club. In 1915, the president of the University of California and the Board of Regents presented her with the title “California’s loved, laurel-wreathed poet, ” and the California state legislator confirmed her position as (California’s first Poet Laureate) —the first in the United States—in 1918. She bore the honor until her death in 1928, , but she was quickly forgotten; her grave was unmarked until 1986, when the Ina Coolbrith Circle donated a headstone in her honor, and she is now acknowledged as a significant literary figure.She held correspondences throughout the nation and the world, including Tennyson, Whittier, Longfellow, Lowell and others. She counted amongst her close friends the likes of Mark Twain, Bret Harte, Gertrude Atherton, Joaquin Miller, Charles Warren Stoddard, and William Keith. Jack London called her his 'literary mother.' Isadora Duncan recalled in her memoirs 'the beauty and fire of the poet's eyes.'
At the Panama Pacific International Exposition in 1915 she was appointed President of the Congress of Authors and Journalists; in arranging for the Congress she wrote over 4,000 letters to the leading writers and journalists in every country. At the Exposition a formal presentation of a laurel wreath was made to her by Dr. Benjamin Ide Wheeler, President of the University of California, and the Board of Regents, with the title 'loved, laurel-crowned poet of California.' The title of Poet Laureate was confirmed by the State Legislature.
In 1924 Mills College awarded her the honorary degree of Master of Arts; as a young woman she had attended Mills, known at the time as Benicia College for Women. On the day of her funeral the Legislature adjourned in her memory and soon afterward named a 7,900 foot peak near Beckworth Pass 'Mount Ina Coolbrith.'
Some of Ina Coolbrith's most powerful poems were written after her 80th birthday. Her published works include 'A Perfect Day and Other Poems, ' 'Songs from the Golden Gate, ' and the posthumously published 'Wings of Sunset.'
Ina D. Coolbrith's Works:
Born: Josephine Donna Smith; Married Name; Josephine Donna Carsley moved to San Francisco in 1862, adopting a new name Ina and her mother’s maiden surname Coolbrith. Arriving with a reputation as a poet, she soon began writing for The Golden Era and The Californian, forming intimate friendships with Bret Harte, Charles Warren Stoddard, and Mark Twain, among others. With Harte and Stoddard, Coolbrith formed the group dubbed the “Golden Gate Trinity, ”
or “Overland Trinity” which edited the influential Overland Monthly. Early on she proved a constant mentor to writers and artists from Joaquin Miller to Jack London and Isadora Duncan. Coolbrith published five collections: My Cloth of Gold (xxxx) , A Perfect Day (1881) , The Singer of the Sea (1894) , and Songs from the Golden Gate (1895) , Wings of Sunset (1929) published after her death.
Ina D. Coolbrith Poems
When The Grass Shall Cover Me
When the grass shall cover me, Head to foot where I am lying; When not any wind that blows, Summer-blooms nor winter snows,
A Perfect Day
I will be glad to-day: the sun Smiles all adown the land; The lilies lean along the way; Serene on either hand,
California Poppy, The (Copa De Oro)
Thy satin vesture richer is than looms Of Orient weave for raiment of her kings. Not dyes of old Tyre, not precious things Regathered from the long forgotten tombs
A breath of balm—of orange bloom! By what strange fancy wafted me, Through the lone starlight of the room? And suddenly I seem to see
It’s O my heart, my heart, To be out in the sun and sing- To sing and shout in the fields about, In the balm and the blossoming!
What were this human World without woman? Think –just a minute! – Without one in it –
From Russian Hill
Night and the hill to me! Silence no sound that jars; Above, of stars a sea; Below, a sea of stars!
A New Leaf
Here’s the volume: stain nor blot Mars a leaf to-day; Sin and folly, they are not; Sorrow is away.
After The Winter Rain
After the winter rain, Sing robin! -sing, swallow! Grasses are in the lane, Buds and flowers will follow.
Was it the sigh and shiver of the leaves? Was it the murmer of the meadow brook, That in and out the reeds and water weeds Slipped silverly, and on their tremulous keys
O foolish wisdom sought in books! O aimless fret of household tasks! O chains that bind the hand and mind- A fuller life my spirit asks.
A pearl-foam at his feet The waters leap and fall; The sentry treads his beat Upon the sun-girt wall.
O Mother Earth, how couldst thou let him go? Thy son, whose every touch was a caress To blossom into all of loveliness- This gentle son of thine who loved thee so!
“And love will stay-a summer’s day! ” A long wave rippled up the strand; She flashed a white hand through the spray, And plucked a sea-shell form the sand.
I think I would not be
A stately tree,
Broad-boughed, with haughty crest that seeks the sky;
Too many sorrows lie
In years, too much of bitter for the sweet.
Frost-bite, and blast, and heat,
Blind drought, cool rains, must all grow wearisome,
Ere one could put away
Their leafy garb for aye,