Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: Midsummer by William Cullen Bryant

June 24 is the traditional Midsummer Day in the northern hemisphere, but, in fact, we have just a few days ago passed the middle summer day on the calendar, so let's stretch the point and enjoy a William Cullen Bryant poem. I can certainly relate to his line about plants fainting in the field beneath the torrid blaze of the sun and "life is driven from all the landscape brown." August in Southeast Texas seems almost unbearable and yet there are many places in the world where it is truly unbearable and getting more so as the planet heats up. Places where it is...

"As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent
Its deadly breath into the firmament."

Midsummer

by William Cullen Bryant (1794 - 1878)

A power is on the earth and in the air,   From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid,   And shelters him in nooks of deepest shade, From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. Look forth upon the earth—her thousand plants   Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize   Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze; The herd beside the shaded fountain pants; For life is driven from all the landscape brown;   The bird hath sought his tree, the snake his den,   The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men Drop by the sunstroke in the populous town:   As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent   Its deadly breath into the firmament.

Labels:

Comments

  1. Brian JosephAugust 16, 2020 at 3:21 AM

    That is a powerful and destructive description of summer! Though I am not in air conditioned places all the time, I suppose living in a world without it, and dressing like the people did in the nineteenth century, might make me feel like summer was more ominous.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2020 at 10:38 AM

      Yes, the nineteenth century style of clothing, at least what we see in pictures, was certainly not conducive to summer comfort.

      Delete
  2. David M. Gascoigne,August 16, 2020 at 4:52 AM

    Hot weather and I are not good friends, so I can't imagine what it is going to be like as the planet continues to heat up. I shudder to think of the migrations that will be triggered as places become too hot for humans to survive,

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2020 at 10:39 AM

      The migrations have already begun and are sure to increase as the century ages and gets hotter.

      Delete
  3. Judy KruegerAugust 16, 2020 at 10:55 AM

    The heat is on! Thankfully we had some clouds with it this week. Love the poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2020 at 12:36 PM

      Our fluffy white clouds haven't given much respite recently.

      Delete
  4. AlanaAugust 16, 2020 at 4:45 PM

    The New York Times magazine recently devoted an entire issue to climate change migration. I couldn't bring myself to read it - one more set of troubles. I lived through a massive heat wave in Wichita, Kansas in 1980 with air conditioning at work but not at work (long story). It was hard. I can identify with this poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 16, 2020 at 6:05 PM

      We would be utterly miserable without air conditioning. We do have ceiling fans in every room, but when the air they are moving is hot, they just don't help that much.

      Delete
  5. The Butterfly ReaderAugust 17, 2020 at 4:55 PM

    I love this poem, it really captures the true feeling of a very hot summer!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...
19 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...
6 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...
24 comments
Read more