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 ...
A simple, lovely poem. The idea of wise trees sleeping is very appealing.
ReplyDeleteI have never read this before, but I am gobsmacked by its simplicity and beauty.
ReplyDeleteI love this! The liquid moon, the wise trees sleeping in the cold...such few words to paint such a beautiful picture. :D
ReplyDeleteI have not read this one before but I like it ! I only know the poet's red wheelbarrow poem so let's have more!
ReplyDeleteThe trees that enter winter sleep are wise, indeed. This poem was beautiful in its simplicity.
ReplyDeleteI bought a book of William Carlos Williams' poetry at a bookstore in Paris called The Red Wheelbarrow. Williams writes with such beautiful simplicity.
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