1930-1939‎ > ‎

-Alice B Johnson


Biography:

Alice B Johnson was born in St. Paul, Minnesota in 1901 to immigrant parents from Sweden. Throughout her life, Alice's Swedish heritage would be a source of pride for her,
and play a large role in the raising of her family. 

Alice married Albert M Johnson whose parents were also immigrants, but from a different Scandinavian country, Norway. The couple had a large family of children; Arthur, Florence, Clarence and Alice. The family moved to Maryland and lived many years in Baltimore.




Santa Lucia, 
Swedish Christmas tradition

Alice B Johnson loved to celebrate the holidays, especially Christmas, with her Swedish
traditions, and her smorgasbords to entertain family and friends became legendary. She would spend weeks baking dozens of varieties of Scandinavian cookies for Christmas to present to friends, and box them up to go to hospitals. In this way, Alice shared her heritage with others, a dedication that prompted her to write a cookbook, The Complete Scandanivian Cookbook  in 1964 which remains a standard in this culinary niche.

Alice also had articles on Scandinavian cooking published in several magazines and newspapers, including House and Garden magazine. Even her poetry was peppered with references to her Swedish traditions, particularly her poems about Christmas, which was by far her favorite holiday.

Alice published three books of poetry in addition to her highly regarded cookbook; Silver Threads in 1938 when she was 37 years old, followed by The Fruit Thereon in 1941 and Where Children Live in 1958. I have all three volumes in my collection.

Many thanks for her help with this page to Alice's great-granddaughter Jody Costa who is herself a fine poet and posts her great-grandmother's poetry along with her own on her blog, Press Send Poetry.

 
The author and her small daughter, Alice
From a painting by Martha M. Bilger

 
Alice B Johnson


 

Silver Threads 1938
 

 The Fruit Thereon 1941

 

Where Children Live 1958

 Beyond the Hills


Why grieve? What you mistook for love has fled
Like dew that settles on each opening flower
That lifts its face for but a fleeting hour
Up to the sun. Feed not the days ahead
With memories that rise among the dead
Of countless loves, though tortured ghosts, that tower
Above the wounded held in hunger's power,
Beg humbly for but half a loaf of bread.

Tread softly on the spot whereon you laid
Your heart to rest. New flowers will arise
Above the singing earth and, unafraid,
Will lift their petaled beauty to the skies--
Casting their fragrance to the winds that blow
Beyond the hills -- to verdant plains below.





(The Fruit Thereon)
 Morning Glories


What shall I plant
Against the garden wall?
Blue morning glories?
I know that they grow tall.

Morning-glories opening
With the rising sun--
Awakening the dew-drenched earth
To each new day begun?

Blue morning-glories
I'll plant extravagantly,
Reflecting all of heaven
As they smile at me.


(The Fruit Thereon) *morning glories are one of my
favorite flowers
 Autumn Leaves


Still Autumn leaves
Upon the ground,
Withered, torn and
Scattered around.

Poor wayward heart,
Blundering feet,
Ripe red berries
Of bitter-sweet!

Dead leaves-- ashes-- 
Pungent token--
Cover each heart 
Newly broken.




(Silver Threads)
 Little Star


One night, high on a hill,
I saw a star,
When truant, erring feet
Had wandered far.

For many years I searched
On hilltops high
Just for that little star
To light my sky.

You see,  I was so young
I didn't know
That even brightest stars
Will come-- and go.


(Silver Threads)
 The Difference

A man may love
A woman to-day,
To-morrow forget
And ride away.

When a woman loves
She still remembers
When flames are ashes
And buried embers.







(Silver Threads)
 The Yarn Spinner


Intent on every word, the small boy hears
A story woven of an old man's years
That, with the telling, finds a space to grow
In splendor for a boy who wants it so,
And, as the truly wondrous tale unravels,
Along an old world trail a small boy travels--
A boy who hangs upon each chosen word,
As with the spinning yarn the air is stirred,
Until the hero-worshipper is led,
His hand held fast in grandfather's-- to bed.


(Where Children Live)
  


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