Edward Vivian (Vance) Palmer was born in Bundaberg, Queensland, on 28 August 1885, the son of Henry Burnet Palmer, a school master with literary leanings and literary friendships. His youth was spent in a succession of country towns between Bundaberg and Stanthorpe. In 1899 he went as a boarder to the Ipswich Boys' Grammar School where he remained until December 1901.
In 1905 Vance went to London where he worked as a freelance journalist. After three years he made the return journey via Finland and Russia. Back in Australia he worked for some time as tutor and bookkeeper on a cattle station in the Maranoa district of Queensland. On his second visit to London in 1910, Vance met ... more »
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Vance Palmer Poems
NIGHT, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying, The wan trees whisper and the winds make moan, Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying In gaunt waste places that they made their own,
The Farmer remembers the Somme
Will they never fade or pass! The mud, and the misty figures endlessly coming In file through the foul morass, And the grey flood-water ripping the reeds and grass,
Youth and Age
Youth that rides the wildest horse, Youth that throws the deadliest steer, Spending strength without remorse, Grappling with the ghosts of fear,
The Road to Roma Jail
It's a long road, a cruel road, the road to Roma Jail, birds in all the branches mocking as you pass,
Song of the Old Boundary Rider
Fat and full of health are the valleys of the Condamine, There the yellow maize and the green tobacco grow,
Quotationsmore quotations »
''The voice of America has no undertones or overtones in it. It repeats its optimistic catchwords in a tireless monologue that has the slightly metallic sound of a gramophone.''Vance Palmer (1885-1959), Australian author and poet. repr. In Intimate Portraits, ed. H. P. Heseltine (1969). "Literary America," (1923).
Comments about Vance Palmer
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Night, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying,
The wan trees whisper and the winds make moan,
Here where in ultimate peace their bones are lying
In gaunt waste places that they made their own,
Beyond the ploughed lands where the corn is sown.
Death, and untrodden ways, and night before them,
From sheltering homes and friendly hearths they came;
Far from the mouldering dust of those that bore them
They rest in silence now and know no fame,
No proud stone speaks, no waters lip the name.
Brave and ...