Later nicknamed the "Sweet Singer of Michigan," Julia Ann Davis was born on December 1, 1847 in Plainfield, Michigan. In the 1870s, a decade at least one historian refers to as the "Dreadful Decade" in the United States, she married and became Julia Moore.
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Mrs. Moore herself was apparently unaware that she was being mocked, making her bad poetry that much funnier. In an 1878 edition of her poems, she included 74 pages of praise for her previous book. Or, perhaps, the joke was on the reader. In her preface to that edition, she wrote, "although some of the newspapers speak against it, its sale has steadily progressed." One story, possibly apocryphal, is that she led a public reading, and a large audience turned out solely to mock her. Amid jeers, she said to them, "You have come here and paid twenty-five cents to see a fool; I receive seventy-five dollars, and see a whole houseful of fools."
From her poem, "To My Friends and Critics":
Come all you friends and critics,
And listen to my song,
A word I will say to you,
It will not take me long,
The people talks about me,
They've nothing else to do
But to criticise their neighbors,
And they have me now in view...
Perhaps you've read the papers
Containing my interview;
I hope you kind good people
Will not believe it true.
Some Editors of the papers
They thought it would be wise
To write a column about me,
So they filled it up with lies.
The papers have ridiculed me
A year and a half or more.
Such slander as the interview
I never read before.
Some reporters and editors
Are versed in telling lies.
Others it seems are willing
To let industry rise...
Dear Friends, I write for money,
With a kind heart and hand,
I wish to make no Enemies
Throughout my native land.
Kind friends, now I close my rhyme,
And lay my pen aside,
Between me and my critics
I leave you to decide.
*Some information from this post is from Essays On American Humor: Blair Through The Ages
Some soar in the literary world because their work is awful; some lie on the bottom of the literary sea, their work a pearl obscure in the oyster.
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