Edgar Lee Masters

(23 August 1868 – 5 March 1950 / Kansas / United States)

Edgar Lee Masters
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Born on August 23, 1868 to Emma J. Dexter and Hardin Wallace Masters in Garnett, Kansas, his father had briefly moved to set up a law practice. The family soon moved back to his paternal grandparents' farm near Petersburg in Menard County, Illinois. In 1880 they moved to Lewistown, Illinois, where he attended high school and had his first publication in the Chicago Daily News. The culture around Lewistown, in addition to the town's cemetery at Oak Hill, and the nearby Spoon River were the inspirations for many of his works, most notably Spoon River Anthology, his most famous and acclaimed work. Spoon River was Masters's revenge on small-town hypocrisy and narrow-mindedness. It gained a huge ... more »

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Comments about Edgar Lee Masters

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  • charles keeble (1/9/2019 4:15:00 AM)

    At 78 i have just found him! Struggled with his poems at first and then they settled into a comfortable read and listen.Where has he been all my life Perhaps life in the East End of London drowned him out until rescued by decline and old age here in Devon?

  • Del Ritchie (6/28/2018 12:18:00 PM)

    I remember in high school when the test question asked what was Edgar Lee Masters famous for writing? My response was Master pieces.

  • Donald Simon Schofield (8/2/2012 9:33:00 AM)

    Hello, I cannot find the poem 'Tomorrow is my birthday’ by Edgar Lee?
    I think that he wrote this before his 80 birthday. A wonderful poem.
    I love your poems. Thank you.
    Schofield. Northallerton. Yorkshire. UK.

  • Donald Simon Schofield (7/18/2012 4:17:00 AM)

    Hello, I cannot find the poem 'Tomorrow is my birthday’ by Edgar Lee?
    I think that he wrote this before his 80 birthday. A wonderful poem.
    I love your poems. Thank you.
    Schofield. Northallerton. Yorkshire. UK.

Read all 4 comments »
Best Poem of Edgar Lee Masters

Fiddler Jones

The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off to 'Toor-a-Loor.' ...

Read the full of Fiddler Jones

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