Sara Henderson Hay (1906–1987)
Author of Story hour
About the Author
Works by Sara Henderson Hay
The Stone And The Shell 1 copy
Associated Works
Don't Bet on the Prince: Contemporary Feminist Fairy Tales in North America and England (1987) — Contributor — 513 copies, 4 reviews
The Poets' Grimm: 20th Century Poems from Grimm Fairy Tales (2003) — Contributor — 70 copies, 1 review
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Hay, Sara Henderson
- Legal name
- Lopatnikoff, Sara Henderson Hay
- Birthdate
- 1906-11-13
- Date of death
- 1987-07-07
- Gender
- female
- Education
- Brenau College
Columbia University - Occupations
- poet
book editor
journalist
book reviewer - Organizations
- Alabama Academy of Distinguished Authors
Pittsburgh Bibliophiles Society
Poetry Society of America - Awards and honors
- Kaleidograph Award
Edna St. Vincent Millay Memorial Award
Pegasus Award
John David Leitch Memorial Prize
Lyric Memorial Prize - Short biography
- Sara Henderson Hay was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and began writing at a very early age. At 10 she published a poem in Judge Magazine, and during high school, her work was printed in her local newspaper, The Anniston Star. At Brenau College in Gainesville, Georgia, she became editor of the college magazine as a freshman. She transferred to Columbia University in New York City, and published her poems in its magazine. After graduating in 1929, she began working at the publishing house Charles Scribner's Sons, first as a secretary, then in the bookstore, and finally in the rare book department. In 1931, four anthologies included her work: Selected Magazine Verse for 1931, Younger Poets, Anthology of Garden Verse, and Columbia University Poets. She was introduced to New York literary circles and joined the Poetry Society of America. Two years later, her first volume of poetry, Field of Honor was published. In 1935, she went to work for syndicated columnist Gladys Baker as secretary-companion for a series of interviews of political figures for the New York Times that took them on a whirlwind trip through Europe meeting Pope Pius XI, Benito Mussolini and Kamal Ataturk, among others. After this European tour, she returned to work at Scribner's, reviewing poetry and fiction for the Saturday Review of Literature, and writing more poems. Her third collection of poems, The Delicate Balance (1951), received the Edna St. Vincent Millay Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. She married as her second husband Nicolai Lopatnikoff, a Russian-American composer and professor at Carnegie Mellon University, and returned to live in Pittsburgh, where she wrote her next book of poetry, The Stone and the Shell (1960). It received the Pegasus Award, and two of the poems included received individual awards. Her last book was A Footing on This Earth: New and Selected Poems (1966). She also edited the classic fairy-tale collection, Story Hour (1963).
- Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
- Places of residence
- Anniston, Alabama, USA
New York, New York, USA - Place of death
- Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
- Burial location
- Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
- Associated Place (for map)
- Pennsylvania, USA
Members
Reviews
Every culture—or so it seems—has its own sleeping beauty, or rose among the briars. All around the world there are cinder girls and beanstalks and handsome princes disguised as beasts or toad frogs, and grandmothers with a wolf at the door, and heroes in search of a holy grail.
And the stories get told over and over again: first, by peasant families around their firesides or under the starlit sky; then in children’s nurseries by peasant women hired as nursemaids; then by governesses and show more school dames, then in scholarly editions collected by antiquarians or courtiers; then by librarians and sophisticated storytellers, then in translations, and abridgments and adaptations; then in children's editions with color illustrations by well-known artists; then by lyricists and composers in Broadway musicals or Hollywood extravaganzas; then by existentialists writing a modern novel from the point of view of the monster or the wicked stepsister; and finally by parodists, turning the story on end, for fun—and to see its underside.
I call these stories “classics and their cousins.” And there are many cousins: first cousins, second cousins, third cousins once removed. You can almost tell that it’s a classic by the number of cousins it has. Anne Sexton called them “transformations,” using a term familiar to psychologists, anthropologists, and intertextual critics.
Sara Henderson Hay actually beat Sexton to the punch with her Story Hour (1963), a collection of poems based on familiar fairy tales. And what fun she must have had:
He swung the axe, the toppling beanstalk fell.
Hurrah, hurrah, for Jack, the self-reliant.
The townsfolk gathered round to wish him well.
Was no one sorry for the murdered giant?
That’s the title poem, “Story Hour.” Then there’s “The Builders":
I told them a thousand times if I told them once:
Stop fooling around, I said, with straw and sticks;
. . . . . . . . . .
Brick is the stuff to build with, solid bricks.
Or, “I Remember Mama”:
The trouble is, I never felt secure.
There we were, crammed into that wretched shoe. . . .
Or, “The Grandmother”:
You wouldn’t think they’d let me live alone
Away out here in the woods, so far from town . . . .
Or, “The Investigator”:
It’s unprovoked and wanton cruelty.
In the first place, the unfortunate mice were blind.
Or, “One of the Seven Has Something to Say”:
Remember how it was before she came—?
The picks and shovels dropped beside the door,
The sink piled high, the meals any old time,
Our jackets where we’d flung them on the floor?
What one may not notice on first reading, however, is that Sara Henderson Hay’s works are not mere verses. They are all—every one of them—full-fledged sonnets, with fourteen lines, an octave and sestet, with rhyme schemes like ABABCDCD EFGGFE (in the title poem). What is almost more fun than the satiric twists is seeing this elegant form used in such a playful way.
This collection has been reprinted several times, and a number of the individual poems have been selected for anthologies. Find it if you can. Just remember:
How requisite to every fairy tale
A round-eyed listener with no foolish questions. show less
And the stories get told over and over again: first, by peasant families around their firesides or under the starlit sky; then in children’s nurseries by peasant women hired as nursemaids; then by governesses and show more school dames, then in scholarly editions collected by antiquarians or courtiers; then by librarians and sophisticated storytellers, then in translations, and abridgments and adaptations; then in children's editions with color illustrations by well-known artists; then by lyricists and composers in Broadway musicals or Hollywood extravaganzas; then by existentialists writing a modern novel from the point of view of the monster or the wicked stepsister; and finally by parodists, turning the story on end, for fun—and to see its underside.
I call these stories “classics and their cousins.” And there are many cousins: first cousins, second cousins, third cousins once removed. You can almost tell that it’s a classic by the number of cousins it has. Anne Sexton called them “transformations,” using a term familiar to psychologists, anthropologists, and intertextual critics.
Sara Henderson Hay actually beat Sexton to the punch with her Story Hour (1963), a collection of poems based on familiar fairy tales. And what fun she must have had:
He swung the axe, the toppling beanstalk fell.
Hurrah, hurrah, for Jack, the self-reliant.
The townsfolk gathered round to wish him well.
Was no one sorry for the murdered giant?
That’s the title poem, “Story Hour.” Then there’s “The Builders":
I told them a thousand times if I told them once:
Stop fooling around, I said, with straw and sticks;
. . . . . . . . . .
Brick is the stuff to build with, solid bricks.
Or, “I Remember Mama”:
The trouble is, I never felt secure.
There we were, crammed into that wretched shoe. . . .
Or, “The Grandmother”:
You wouldn’t think they’d let me live alone
Away out here in the woods, so far from town . . . .
Or, “The Investigator”:
It’s unprovoked and wanton cruelty.
In the first place, the unfortunate mice were blind.
Or, “One of the Seven Has Something to Say”:
Remember how it was before she came—?
The picks and shovels dropped beside the door,
The sink piled high, the meals any old time,
Our jackets where we’d flung them on the floor?
What one may not notice on first reading, however, is that Sara Henderson Hay’s works are not mere verses. They are all—every one of them—full-fledged sonnets, with fourteen lines, an octave and sestet, with rhyme schemes like ABABCDCD EFGGFE (in the title poem). What is almost more fun than the satiric twists is seeing this elegant form used in such a playful way.
This collection has been reprinted several times, and a number of the individual poems have been selected for anthologies. Find it if you can. Just remember:
How requisite to every fairy tale
A round-eyed listener with no foolish questions. show less
A contemporary Rapunzel regrets her decision. Nice turn in the sonnet.
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Statistics
- Works
- 6
- Also by
- 3
- Members
- 38
- Popularity
- #383,441
- Rating
- 4.0
- Reviews
- 2
- ISBNs
- 6


