I read this poem on Marya Hornbacher's blog a few days ago and I thought it was quite lovely - and a bit unusual. There are plenty of cozy brisk-air-and-turning-leaves autumn poems, but I don't want one of those right now, because that's not all autumn is to me. This one has more of the feeling that I get in the fall.
Autumn
Not working, not breathing,
the beehive sweetens and dies.
The autumn deepens, the soul
ripens and grows round;
drawn into the turning color of fruit,
cast out of the idle blossoms.
Work is long and dull in autumn,
the word is heavy.
More and more heavily, day by day,
nature weighs down the mind.
A laziness like wisdom
overshadows the mouth with silence.
Even a child, riding along,
cycling into the white shafts of light,
suddenly will look up
with a pale, clear sadness.
-Bella Akhmadulina
Poetry Friday round-up at Picture Book of the Day
Oh, I love love that.
ReplyDeleteOh, that last stanza. So gorgeous, so sad.
ReplyDeleteAmazing - I shivered a little. :)
ReplyDeleteI LOOVE the poetry you post.
ReplyDeletethis is extraordinary. you do search far and wide, don't you. I keep imagining the poet you will be ten years hence, the teacher, perhaps.
ReplyDeleteYes. Heavy.
ReplyDeleteThat is a beautiful meditation on autumn . . . Sort of reminds me of Ferlinghetti's:
ReplyDelete"Outside the leaves were falling and they cried 'too soon! too soon!'".
Great blog!