Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: To the Light of September by W.S. Merwin

So here we are at the penultimate day of August. The last eight months could be eight years considering all that has occurred during them. But as the old song says, "the days get shorter when you reach September." At least in most years it seems that way. Schools are back in session in September and then there are the holidays of October, November, and December. Time seems to fly, but we'll see if that holds true in this extraordinary year.

The beginning of September means that we are getting a bit closer to the halcyon days of fall. The quality of light begins to change and occasionally one can feel just a touch of freshness in the air that promises cooler days to come. August is ending here with temperatures around 100 degrees F; we'll take all the freshness and coolness we can get.

W.S. Merwin had an appreciation of this time of year. He knew all about the advent of somewhat cooler weather and especially the changing light of September. 

To the Light of September


by W.S. Merwin


When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew
Labels:

Comments

  1. David M. Gascoigne,August 30, 2020 at 6:11 AM

    Beautiful verse. Of course, all of this only applies in the northern hemisphere. The austral spring is about to begin as we embrace fall. Our temperatures have become very pleasant of late. Yesterday was 22 degrees - nigh on perfect. If I never experienced it higher ever again that would be fine with me,

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 30, 2020 at 10:46 AM

      Yes, if the poem were written about the southern hemisphere it would be titled "To the Light of March!"

      Delete
  2. Deb Nance at ReaderbuzzAugust 30, 2020 at 6:29 AM

    The last weeks of August are always brutal here, and the arrival of September holds such promise, but September is generally just more and worse August. Still, I see some leaves falling, and we have our garden plants started.

    Wonderful poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 30, 2020 at 10:50 AM

      Yes, September brings the hope of relief but hope is generally about all. But Merwin's observation about the changing light does hold true even for us here in the subtropics.

      Delete
  3. Judy KruegerAugust 30, 2020 at 2:36 PM

    What a wonderful poem! We are having a respite with temps in the 80s and a respectable amount of moisture in the air. I am not fooled though because fall comes very late at my home and the dog days are yet to come. Still I anticipate!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 30, 2020 at 2:51 PM

      Still too little moisture and too much heat in the air here but, like you, I anticipate.

      Delete
  4. AlanaAugust 30, 2020 at 3:24 PM

    We are starting to feel a chill in the air some mornings where I live in New York State. The light is becoming fall light, with a golden quality to it later in the morning and earlier in the afternoon each day. Yellow leaves are appearing on some black walnuts. For us, who don't have as harsh summers as you do, I hope that September lasts for many months. Of course, it won't.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersAugust 30, 2020 at 4:16 PM

      The September that you experience was most likely what Merwin had in mind when he wrote this.

      Delete
  5. Dorothy BordersSeptember 3, 2020 at 2:32 PM

    It is a lovely poem. It addresses September as I would like it to be, not necessarily the reality where I live.

    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