Читать книгу Lines from Collings Hill - Nellie Hunt Collings - Страница 4

INTRODUCTION

The following pages contain all that I have been able to locate of the many verses written by my paternal grandmother, Nellie Hunt Collings. Most are drawn from one of two sources: 1) a typescript prepared by her youngest surviving son, Ralph Willard Collings (my father), sometime after her death, drawing on her handwritten journals, scrapbook, and other primary materials; and 2) a second typescript of just the poetry, prepared by Ralph Willard even later and mimeographed for a number of her descendants—the copies of this mimeographed version that I have seen are now almost illegible. Unfortunately, as far as I have been able to determine, most of the original materials were subsequently destroyed or have been lost.

Several months ago, another of Nellie’s grandchildren, Brian Cooper, contacted me about a transcription he had made of the poems for an internet site—as a result of our email discussion, he sent me a copy of his transcription, which I added to the two already available to me. From these varied sources, then, comes this book, composed variously of Grandma Collings’ poetry, segments of her journals that introduce, discuss, or otherwise relate to her poetry, photographs illustrating her life and her history, especially as they relate to the subjects of her poetry, and several life records—including the marriage certificate that, startling to many of her descendents, gives her full name as Nellie Eliza Hunt.

In part this project has been aimed at the dozens of cousins—first, second, and third, by now—who knew Nellie only as an elderly and increasingly frail woman…or who never knew her at all. By reproducing her verses and bits from her journal, I hope to help us all recover who she truly was, the kind of mind and spirit she preserved throughout her life, the compassion she felt for others’ losses, and the joy she felt in their happiness.

In a larger part, however, Lines from Collings Hill is a personal tribute as well. I did not know until after her death that my grandmother wrote poetry. No one ever mentioned it; no one ever showed me one of her pieces; I have no recollection of her mentioning it. Of course, at thirteen, I was probably too young when she passed away to care much for poetry, but that perception has changed radically over the years. For over three decades now, I too have turned to poetry in times of sorrow and loss, of joy, of loneliness, of fear. And in doing so, I have discovered connections with my grandmother that I never imagined existed, I have felt nearer to her than ever before, and I have understood in greater detail the strengths that supported her throughout her life.

—Michael Robert Collings

Thousand Oaks CA

September 2001