Polar Bear Expedition Digital Archival CollectionMain MenuIntroductionContextTimelineMapAll Archive ItemsResourcesSelected additional resources for further information and research.Angela Schöpkea9b85985047875065a895f217f6d9371b9e08ba7Natalia Holtzman3bc8196281034c0edcbedc5566da15e84a149850Robert Pfaff26e53fe8d0a26f48a7d0471c72f29e971c17bb65
"Quoth the Russian: 'Harashaw'" poem, by R.S. (reprint from American Sentinel, Dec.31, 1918) & "Ode to the Shackleton Boot" by E.J.H. (American Sentinel, Dec.24, 1918)
12017-11-09T21:15:03-08:00Angela Schöpkea9b85985047875065a895f217f6d9371b9e08ba7253259The first page is a reprint of a poem written by R.S., originally published in the American Sentinel (a weekly journal “DEVOTED TO. The defense of American Institutions, the preservation of the United States Constitution as it is, so far as regards religion or religious tests, and the maintenance of human rights both civil and religious.”). The poem describes what seems to be the author’s experience on the Russian Bakaritza shore requesting that a boatman row him across a body of water as quickly as possible in order that he may make his meeting. The boatman does not assist him and repeats the phrase “Harashaw”. The poem ends with R.S. pushing the boatman, rowing away himself, and looking back on the boatman cleaning himself of mud. This poem seems to make some statement about U.S.-Russian relations, or perhaps a soldier’s relationship with Russians at the time of the poem’s writing. The second page is a reprint of a poem written by E.J.H., originally published in the American Sentinel. The poem describes what seems to be a metaphor for the author’s stumbling search through the snows of Russia for some promised but elusive treasure (“Shackleton boot”)of some kind. The poem concludes with a sense of desperation and disillusionment that the treasure does not exist.plain2017-12-15T09:57:51-08:00Michael J. Macalla papers, Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan12/31/1918 - 12/24/1918Publication1000054R.S. (soldier, poet); E.J.H. (soldier, poet)Statement of rights from archival material host organization, Bentley Historical Library: “Copyright to this material has not been transferred to the Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan. Complying with copyright law is ultimately the responsibility of the author, producer and publisher. To the extent that the Bentley Historical Library possesses rights to this material, you are granted permission to publish or use images/quote one time only in the work described above.” This archive uses these materials under the above premises and in consideration of Fair Use principles.38.9778882, -77.0074765"Quoth the Russian: 'Harashaw'" poem, by R.S. (reprint from American Sentinel, Dec.31, 1918) & "Ode to the Shackleton Boot" by E.J.H. (American Sentinel, Dec.24, 1918), Box 1, Folder 1, Item 11, Michael J. Macalla Papers, 1918-1956, Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan. https://quod.lib.umich.edu/p/polar/851792.0001.011/1?rgn=full+text;view=imageThe collection was donated by Michael Macalla, of Detroit, Michigan, in 1965 (Donor no.: 4274).Angela SchöpkeOctober 27, 2017QUOTH THE RUSSIAN: "HARASHAW” Once upon a morning dreary, I was standing, cold and weary Waiting for a Tug or Ferry, On the Bakaritza shore. There was little more afloat than one small craft with Russian boatman - "Do not play I cried "the boat, man; You must quickly row me o’er." Clear, indeed, he had the leisure, When I shouted "Row me o’er" Quoth the Russian "Harashaw". "Quickly", said I "time is fleeting. Quickly, lest I miss the meeting. Roubles fifty I will pay thee, If you get me there by four". Signal of agreement made he; Not a moment longer stayed he Wasting words. I was afraid he might ask three roubles more. He appeared a sluggish fellow - Never asking roubles more, Answering merely "Harashaw". Not a movement made he, lonely sitting in his boat spoke only That one word, although to move him I did threaten and implore When all weary of entreating - Cuss-words tired of repeating, I arranged for his unseating - With the heavy starboard oar. Deep he sank into the river When I thrust him with that oar. (Rising, quoth he "Harashaw".) Thankful for the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, In the boat vacated jumping, I rowed off the Smolny shore. Close behind I saw him standing On the Bakaritza Landing To his injuries attending, Wiping off the mud and gore. Bruised and dripping, I could hear him, Busy with the mud and gore, Softly murmuring "Harashaw". R.S Reprint from American Sentinel December 31, 1918Natalia Holtzman3bc8196281034c0edcbedc5566da15e84a149850