Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: Late August by Margaret Atwood

I went searching for a poem for late August and there it was! Margaret Atwood had provided the perfect words to describe the season. 

Late August

by Margaret Atwood

Late August—
This is the plum season, the nights
blue and distended, the moon
hazed, this is the season of peaches

with their lush lobed bulbs
that glow in the dusk, apples
that drop and rot
sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands

No more the shrill voices
that cried Need Need
from the cold pond, bladed
and urgent as new grass

Now it is the crickets
that say Ripe Ripe
slurred in the darkness, while the plums

dripping on the lawn outside
our window, burst
with a sound like thick syrup
muffled and slow

The air is still
warm, flesh moves over
flesh, there is no

hurry

    Labels:

    Comments

    1. David M. Gascoigne,August 28, 2022 at 5:36 AM

      It is very easy for me to forget that Margaret Atwood is a prolific and accomplished poet in addition to being a novelist of the highest order. This example of her work is fabulous. Did you also know that she is a dedicated birder?

      ReplyDelete
      Replies
      1. Dorothy BordersAugust 28, 2022 at 9:06 AM

        I did actually and I'm sure that enhances her observations of and appreciation of Nature as expressed in this poem and many others.

        Delete
    2. The Butterfly ReaderAugust 28, 2022 at 11:31 AM

      One can never ever go wrong with Margaret Atwood. I love her work.

      ReplyDelete
    3. AlanaAugust 28, 2022 at 2:20 PM

      Another reason to like Margaret Atwood even more. Plums bursting with a sound like thick syrup....

      ReplyDelete
      Replies
      1. Dorothy BordersAugust 28, 2022 at 2:42 PM

        It's very graphic, isn't it? And having a plum tree, I know exactly what she means.

        Delete
    4. Lark August 28, 2022 at 3:09 PM

      I love this! And how cool that you find such perfect poems for every time and season. :D

      ReplyDelete
      Replies
      1. Dorothy BordersAugust 28, 2022 at 4:00 PM

        How cool that there seems to be a poem for every situation!

        Delete
    5. Deb Nance at ReaderbuzzSeptember 7, 2022 at 6:49 AM

      Ah, yes, there is no hurry.

      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