Few lives have left so vivid an impression upon a native environment asthat of James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier Poet. His folksy, down-home rhymes arestill enormously popular in his native state and beyond. This publication bringsback into print the complete Riley repertoire of more than 1,000 poems, includingsuch all-time favorites as Little Orphant Annie (far and away thebest-loved of all Riley characters), The Raggedy Man,
Our HiredGirl,
A Barefoot Boy,
The Bumblebee, Granny, and When the Frost Is on the Punkin. It issaid that Indiana’s best-known poet did not portray but invented the typicalHoosier. Applying imaginative skill, Riley altered and adapted the people around himto suit his purpose. As Jeannette Covert Nolan once put it, the figure who emergedwas a mellow, humorous rustic, a quaint, bucolic philosopher, unlettered butgifted with an earthy shrewdness, a peasant wisdom, a heart of gold, speaking adrawling, hybrid tongue, a dubious dialect as yet unidentified by anyphilologist. In his heyday Riley was famous all over the world.Though often called a children’s poet, he actually wrote about children for adults, delighting in emotional reminders of an irretrievable past – perhaps one that neverquite existed. Throughout his life Riley looked back wistfully and sentimentallyupon his childhood days, turning the longings and unfulfilled dreams of youth intoverse. So celebrated was he in Indiana that in many public elementary schools, students were required to memorize and recite one of his poems every week foradmiring audiences of visiting parents.If I Knew What PoetsKnowIf I knew what poets know, Did I know what poets do, If I knew whatpoets know, Would I write a rhyme Would I sing a song, I would find athemeOf the buds that never blow Sadder than the pigeon’s coo Sweeter thanthe placid flow In the summer-time? When the days are long? Of the fairestdream: Would I sing of golden seeds Where I found a heart in pain, I wouldsing of love that livesSpringing up in ironweeds? I would make it gladagain; On the errors it forgives: And of rain-drop turned to snow, And thefalse should be the true, And the world would better growIf I knew whatpoets know? Did I know what poets do. If I knew what poets know. – JamesWhitcomb Riley