The Historians Corner is the place where we honor and celebrate our members past and present. It is important to the Society that we honor members who have passed or moved on, with biographies and samples of their poems, as a way to celebrate their time with us.
We would also like to celebrate the successes of our current members by showcasing their book releases and other poetry news.
If you would like to showcase something on the Historian’s Corner, please feel free to reach out! We would love to hear from you at historian@poetrysocietyofcolorado.org or you can join us at one of our monthly meetings and share your interest during our members share time.
Marilyn Kay Moody was born on July 5, 1956, in Arcola, Illinois, to Dorothy, a first-grade teacher, and Merle, a farmer. In her own words, “[she] grew up on the pancake-flat prairie of Central Illinois—and [for the rest of her life preferred] open spaces and distant horizons.” In her youth, she participated in 4-H, played clarinet in the Arcola High School and University of Illinois Marching Band, and as a teenager, became an expert in pinball. She graduated with a B.A. in Teaching of Social Studies and a Masters in Library Science from the University of Illinois.
Marilyn’s love of learning, reading, and writing carried through into her long and successful career as a university librarian. Despite attending college just, a short distance from the Moody farm in Arcola, Marilyn embarked on a career that ultimately led to stops in a variety of cities across the country. She initially stayed in the Midwest, taking a position at Miami University in Ohio, followed by nearly a decade at the Iowa State University Library. She next landed in upstate New York, first at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and later at SUNY-Buffalo, where she first held a tenured position.
By 2000, she was ready to escape the cold and snowy Buffalo winters, and she took a job at the University of California, Santa Barbara. While there, Marilyn hosted many visits from friends and family, who marveled at her good fortune to be able to take lunchtime walks along the beautiful Pacific coastline. Her hard work and success throughout her career were rewarded when she was named the Dean of the University Library at Boise State University in 2006 (where she loved to cheer on the football team with its famous blue turf), and later Dean of the University Library at Portland State in 2012.
Throughout her career, Marilyn was a dedicated researcher, a prolific author, a caring friend, colleague, and a committed educator. Her former co-workers described her as a smart, strong, and no-nonsense leader. They recalled her as someone with strong opinions and standards but always willing to consider different perspectives and put students first.
In 2018, Marilyn retired from academia and moved to Colorado. In her retirement, Marilyn relished the freedom to pursue new passions, like writing and volunteering within the poetry and writing communities in Colorado. She quickly became accomplished as a creative writer and poet.
Marilyn became part of a close community of writers in Colorado. She was an active member of the Poetry Society of Colorado, Northern Colorado Writers, Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, and other writing organizations. Her fellow writers noted that the poetry community adored and respected Marilyn and appreciated that she could always be relied on to give honest and helpful feedback in a caring way. Marilyn was known for her Midwestern wit that she carried into her relationships and her writing. For several years, Marilyn served as the Membership Chair in the Poetry Society of Colorado. Marilyn strove to bring more people to poetry, with a dedication to encourage many different types of people to join the poetry world.
Marilyn published work in Progenitor Art & Literary Journal, Of Rust and Glass, The Solitary Plover, The Great Isolation: Colorado Creativity in the Time of the Pandemic, Chiaroscuro: An Anthology of Virtue & Vice, Fresh Starts: Tales from the Pikes Peak Writers, and the Poetry Society of Colorado Centennial Anthology. A 2020 Colorado Book Award winner, Rise: An Anthology of Change, also includes two of her poems. Her poem, “Bomb Friday at the Library,” is a 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee. She was a graduate of the 2021–2022 class of the Lighthouse Writers Workshop Poetry Collective.
Marilyn passed away on November 8, 2022, in Colorado. Her family posthumously published a manuscript that Marilyn had completed shortly before her death titled Flat Land. It is filled with memorable poems that capture rural and small-town life through movement, vivid imagery, distinct characters, and a strong poetic voice.
Climb onto the spider-webbed cushion of the tractor seat,
stretch legs to touch the floor as grimy as a burning barrel,
gold key dangles from the ignition, silver wire ring so tempting,
must not touch or turn or flip on the lights and blink blink them,
must be sure to leave them off, avoid my father’s wrath of finding
a dead battery, but I am the Tractor God and I make light appear,
not once but twice, blink, blink, recklessly then, a mistake
like death, I press the grey bruiselike welt of the tractor horn
button, it shrieks in pain, wonka! wonka! my father comes
running, Tractor God no more, only a child crouching on the floor.
~Marylin Moody
First published in Progenitor Art & Literary Journal, v 56, 2021, p. 53, then in her manuscript Flat Land
(Transcribed as written. Poems selected by the family and posted here with their permission.)
Running, no place to go, sun beating down,
horizon, treeless, figures in the distance,
my memory always takes me back to flat land.
The place where I was born, but I will not
die, the place where the old folks
stayed, never left, died without mercy.
Flat land where I was always in motion
hoping to disappear into the prairie itself,
to burrow into the rich earth, lose myself
in the endless rows of green tasseled corn,
lines and lines of soybeans stretching
illusory to nothing but more flat land.
~Marylin Moody
From her manuscript Flat Land
(Transcribed as written. Poems selected by the family and posted here with their permission.)
Anne H. Campbell was born Antonie Cirkl to Karel and Marie (Hejduk) Cirkl in Malesov, Bohemia, a city near the capital of Praha (Prague), where she spent her first 13 years with her family. She was born on March 7, 1900, the youngest child of the family. She had three brothers and three sisters who were (in order of birth) Jan, Anishka, Kamila, Josef, Karel and Mary.
Through the later part of her 13 years, Antonie’s older brothers and sisters gradually emigrated to the U.S. and were sending some of their earnings back to their parents, who were continuing to live on the homestead with Antonie and Mary. With the urgings of the family who already resided in America, they made the decision to sell their homestead and begin the trek to America. In October of 1913, after traveling there by train, the family of four boarded a ship from the port city of Bremerhaven, Germany and began their second leg of the trip across the ocean on a steamer ship called the Breslau.
After a very difficult crossing lasting three weeks, the Breslau made its first stop at the docks in Philadelphia, then continued down the coastline and around the state of Florida. Arriving at its destination one week later, at the port of Galveston, Texas. They disembarked on the American shoreline November 11, 1913. However, not long after they disembarked, the family moved to Cleveland, Ohio to be with relatives. The following January, they decided it was time to enroll the children in school, so they could resume their studies and begin learning the English language. At the time of their arrival both girls only knew how to speak Bohemian.
School proved to be a real psychological trial for Antonie, because she was a teen among elementary children, and she could scarcely fit into the desks provided. The other children also struggled with saying and spelling her name, finding it peculiar to the tongue and therefore often mispronouncing both her first and last name. When the principal of the school became apprised of the situation, he suggested her first name be shortened to Anne and her last name lengthened to Circkel, becoming Anne Circkel. Upon having learned basic English and passing all other academic testing, Anne was able graduate, and move onto high school with her appropriate age group. While in high school, Anne was offered a job working and living with the principal, a single lady, who helped her to perfect and expand her fluency with the English language.
Once she was more fluent, Anne decided to take an office clerk job in Cleveland, where she met and began dating Howard H. Campbell. They talked of marriage, but World War I prompted Howard to enlist in military service and Anne went back to Texas to help Camille, who had become ill. Howard took basic training at Ft. Sheridan and then traveled to New York City where he served in the Motor Transport Corps. They were reunited in Cleveland after Camille recovered and Howard was discharged from service. On February 19, 1921, Anne & Howard married one another. For legal reasons, when Anne changed her name she adopted the middle name of Helene, after Howard’s sister Helen, whom she was said to like very much. Her legal married name became Anne Helene Campbell. Their two children were born in Lakewood, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland. Shirley Anne was born on May 18, 1922, and Harry Williams was born on July 4, 1926.
As their lives and work changed, the family moved several times and worked a variety of different jobs from farming and accounting to housekeeping and nursing. Often doing whatever was needed to get by. They moved from Cleveland to Toledo and then up to Michigan where Anne made an impact as a Practical Nurse in the Napoleon area. Her reputation spread across the country, and she became known for her work with new mothers and babies, as well as other adults. She was active in the Napoleon Methodist Church and sang in its choir. She was also elected president of the Women’s Society of the church and was active in the P.T.A.
Due to a variety of circumstances, in 1946 Anne and Howard sold their home of 14 years in Napoleon and set out for Colorado with a travel trailer. They temporarily settled in with Shirley’s husband Bud in Idaho Springs where Howard worked in a lumber yard, until finding a job in the Physics Department at the University of Colorado. They moored their trailer in a park on Boulder Creek for a period and then moved to Littleton, Colorado. This began a 25+ year span for them in Denver, moving into a larger mobile home and then eventually into a house on South Knox Court in southwest Denver. Howard eventually transitioned to working as a carpenter/cabinet maker at Lowry Air Force Base, from which he retired in August of 1964. Howard and Anne both enjoyed being in the beautiful outdoors and were known to go fishing and hiking throughout the state.
During these years, Anne began an association with the Poetry Society of Colorado, which afforded her college instruction in the study and writing of poetry, and served as the vehicle that nurtured and expanded her talent. Anne won several awards and served several years as the treasurer of the organization. She was also a member of the Pen & Quill Club.
Anne suffered a stroke in 1962 in Denver but had regained most of her faculties and facility. However, she found it too difficult to compose serious poetry or submit any of her work after that. On occasion she was known to still write some light or humorous verses that she enjoyed. She suffered a serious fall in 1970 that caused her to begin restricting her activities and occasional mini strokes in her later years took their toll as well. Anne passed away on March 12, 1983 (5 days after her 83rd birthday) at the Care Center in Medford, Oregon.
Her family brought her to rest at Green Mountain Cemetery, at the foot of the Front Range of the Rockies, that she loved so much.
Hinged, steel jaws
Of this lumbering giant
Open wide
For a prodigious bite;
The mountain trembles
As cubic yards of earth,
Of rock, are forced
Into the cavernous mouth.
The clacking of jaws close
With meshing of teeth...
A mere fragment of a link
In the chain of our nation's
Roadways.
~ Anne H. Campbell
(Transcribed as written. Posted here with family permission.)
November winds, in accents weird and shrill,
Sound Autumn's requiem through stalwart pines,
And icy fingers mute the tumbling rill,
While tremolo is played on power lines.
The raindrops' steady, syncopated drill,
The wild geese honking in their V confines,
And saucy scolding's punctuate the trill
Of birds that must obey foreboding signs.
The snapping branch, the brittle fall of leaves,
Are sharp and hushed percussion section sounds.
A solitary crow voices his stand,
The raspy caw accents with sullen peeves
The winter's scheduled reign of full ten rounds.
And Autumn, bowing, listens to the Band.
~ Anne H. Campbell
(Transcribed as written. Posted here with family permission.)
Myrtle Marie Marmaduke (pictured, far right) was born Myrtle Marie Cook on June 20th, 1898, in Cathage, Missouri. When she was two years old her parents moved from Missouri to Cripple Creek, Colorado. After graduating from Cripple Creek High School, her whole family chose to move into Denver, where her mother ran a rooming house. At the age of twenty-three she married Samuel Earl Marmaduke with whom she had two children. Shortly after getting married, she settled down in Southwest Denver, just half a block from the Chamberlin Observatory.
Literary History
It is said that Myrtle wrote poetry from a very young age. She was of Irish heritage, and she wrote a few amusing poems about being Irish. However, she was known for primarily styling her poetry in the classical style and treatment of Edna St. Vincent Mallay, who was in fact one of her favorite poets of all time.
It is unknown to her family exactly when Myrtle joined the Poetry Society of Colorado, but during the time she became a member, one needed to have three sponsors to be able to join. Her poetry was published in the Poetry Society of Colorado’s Golden Harvest Anthology dated 1921 – 1971.
She won several times in the National Federation of Poetry, once with her picture printed in the spotlight section of the Denver Post. In those days, newspapers often printed club and poetry interests.
She also belonged to the National League of American Pen Women and the Quill Club. She had one book published by Peregrine Smith Books, titled After Many Million Heartbeats, which was the name of one of her poems in the book.
Lastly, she was published in the Daisie E. Robinson Sweepstakes Award and the Ann Woodbury Hafen Award. Her literary career ended when she passed away in 1992, at the age of ninety-two.
My hands have never touched a violin;
My fingers do not ache for string and bow;
Yet when its mighty tide comes surging in,
My heart has river beds to catch and flow,
Softly it moves as moonbeams on the night
And summer clouds that shed their droops of rain;
The glistening waves now whisper young delight;
Now moan, to mark the heart’s first stretch of pain.
The passions roar —the frenzied breakers leap —
The wind — the flash — the scream — the anguished roll!
The storm that thunders on the mighty deep
Is one with that which surges in the soul,
The current swells within my pounding breast
Flooding, like memory, my thirsting veins;
It leaves that flotsam of vast unrest;
Old heartbreak quivers in its dying strains,
Now mist lies purple on the lonely sea
And mist lies gray along the barren shore;
The waves, like tired tears, rise tenderly —
My rivers flow within their banks once more.
-Myrtle M. Marmaduke-
[Printed in the Golden Harvest 1921-1971 Anthology of the Poetry Society of Colorado. Selected by the family and posted here with their permission.]
I have been wound and set to the tick of earth,
feeling its heartbeat beautiful in my veins.
I have followed its lure from the stroke of
one — my birth — lure of the sun,
the winds and the sparkling
rains
all delights, all pains.
I have known grief and the cloister of long,
numbed rest
and paced bleak dawns in lonely awakening.
I have clutched new loves when old loves
vanished, lest
my heart forget its lovely tryst with spring
bursting! blossoming!
Let me never we wound and set to the loves ago,
caught in the drowsy mist of memory
when the lure would lose its red, the tick turn
slow;
when the winds and rains once lashing, fierce
and free
would lie soft for me.
There are dawns and darks ahead that have not
been spent —
I would not be spared earth’s impulsive
slash and scars.
If its ways are rash, then its rashness wonderment.
When my heart can no longer strum its
wild guitars
let me be rewound and set to the tick of
the stars!
-Myrtle Marie Marmaduke-
[After Many Million Heartbeats printed for Peregrine Smith Books. Selected by the family and posted here with their permission.]
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