Leon Maxwell Gellert was born in 1892 and educated in Adelaide, Australia.His Grandparents were Hungarian immigrants. Leon was regularly beaten by his Father James, so at the age of 17 he began a course of self-defence lessons, which were to prove useful when, one day his father attacked him with a heavy piece of timber, James Gellert was thrown on his back. Leon, after leaving school worked for a time as a pupil-teacher until he enlisted as a private in 10th AIF. On October 22 1914, Gellert and the 10th Battalion set off for Egypt. Corporal Gellert became drunk for the first time in his life, on Melbourne Bitter whilst sailing on the Indian Ocean.
Gellert resumed writing poetry ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Leon Gellert Poems
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks: There’s a beach asleep and drear: There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea. There are sunken trampled graves:
The Last to Leave
The guns were silent, and the silent hills had bowed their grasses to a gentle breeze I gazed upon the vales and on the rills, And whispered, "What of these?' and "What of these?
The Attack at Dawn
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’ They told us in the early afternoon. We sit and wait the coming of the sun
We always had to do our work at night. I wondered why we had to be so sly. I wondered why we couldn't have our fight Under the open sky.
The night has come,, I feel the desert dew, I lie in Afric's sands And breath the night, for night like these are few In other lands;
Long before the dawn breaks With a bird's cry,
A Night Attack
Be still. The bleeding night is in suspense Of watchful agony and coloured thought, And every beating vein and trembling sense,
The island sleeps,-but it has no delight For em, to whom that sleep has been unkind. My thoughts are long of what seems long ago,
The Jester in the Trench
"That just reminds me of a yarn," he said; And look for the body of Lofty Lane
The Christmas Beetle
When Christmas comes the Christmas heat'll bring once more the Christmas Beetle The first inflammatory breeze'll set him buzzing like a diesel.
Bluebeard’s First Wife
I lie by the garden wall, Buried and all alone; The brown camellias fall One by one on the stone.
A red-roofed house is shining to the skies; A house red-roofed and brilliant in the wind: A house of colour filled with wandering eyes;
Waft on, thou upward breeze From the warm south! And on her wayward mouth Imprint my far farewells
The world rolls wet with blood, and the skinny hand of Death gropes at the beating heart.
Comments about Leon Gellert
(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)
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.