So this morning I woke up with the tiniest bit of end-of-summer blues – and I was put in mind of this poem of Emily Dickinson’s.
Because, really, few things are better than poetry for the blues, and one can almost always trust Emily to have written something that will fit the occasion. In truth, what I mostly remembered of this one was “August burning low”, and off I went on a morning quest to unearth it. I can think of worse ways to start the day.
So here it is, shimmering with that exquisite unexpectedness that always feels so right…
Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.No Ordinance be seen
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.Antiquest felt at Noon
When August burning low
Arise this spectral Canticle
Repose to typifyRemit as yet no Grace
No Furrow on the Glow
Yet a Druidic Difference
Enhances Nature now
It’s not that it swept away my blues – but it gave them a new quality. Will it sound fanciful if I say it illuminated a peculiar beauty of end-of-summer blues?
And being in this rather poetical mood, I also subscribed to Poem-a-Day on Poets.org – the website of the Academy of American Poets. I read it was supposed to be for National Poetry Month, which was back in April, so I’m not entirely sure I’ll really get a new poem each day – new works on week-days, classics on weekends. So far I have confirmation email, though, and I’m hopeful.
Scribblings 