Ivor Bertie Gurney (28 August 1890 - 26 December 1937) was an English composer and war poet.
Born at 3 Queen Street, Gloucester in 1890, Gurney sang as a chorister at Gloucester Cathedral, from 1900 to 1906, when he became an articled pupil of Dr Herbert Brewer at the cathedral. During this time he met composer Herbert Howells, also a pupil of Brewer, and, in 1908, he met the future ... more »
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Ivor Gurney Poems
To His Love
He's gone, and all our plans Are useless indeed. We'll walk no more on Cotswolds Where the sheep feed
I shot him, and it had to be One of us 'Twas him or me. 'Couln't be helped' and none can blame Me, for you would do the same
The Songs I Had
The songs I had are withered Or vanished clean, Yet there are bright tracks Where I have been,
The Silent One
Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two - Who for his hours of life had chattered through Infinite lovely chatter of Bucks accent:
My Heart Makes Songs On Lonely Roads
My heart makes songs on lonely roads To comfort me while you're away, And strives with lovely sounding words Its crowded tenderness to say.
To England--A Note
I watched the boys of England where they went Through mud and water to do appointed things. See one a stake, and one wire-netting brings,
Ballad Of The Three Spectres
As I went up by Ovillers In mud and water cold to the knee, There went three jeering, fleeing spectres, That walked abreast and talked of me.
Half dead with sheer tiredness, wakened quick at night • With dysentry pangs, going blind among sleepers
The dearness of common things - Beech wood, tea, plate-shelves, And the whole family of crockery - Wood-axes, blades, helves.
Photographs (To Two Scots Lads)
Lying in dug-outs, joking idly, wearily; Watching the candle guttering in the draught; Hearing the great shells go high over us, eerily
There are strange Hells within the minds War made Not so often, not so humiliating afraid
Suddenly into the still air burst thudding And thudding and cold fear possessed me all, On the gray slopes there, where Winter in sullen brooding
Requiem Pour out your light, O stars, and do not hold Your loveliest shining from earth’s outworn shell
Certain people would not clean their buttons, Nor polish buckles after latest fashions, Preferred their hair long, putties comfortable,
Comments about Ivor Gurney
(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)
To His Love
He's gone, and all our plans
Are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswolds
Where the sheep feed
Quietly and take no heed.
His body that was so quick
Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn River
Under the blue
Driving our small boat through.
You would not know him now…
But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
With violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.
Cover him, cover him soon!
And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers-
Hide that red wet
Thing I must somehow forget.