Swansea University is a public research university located in Swansea, Wales, United Kingdom. It was chartered as University College of Swansea as the fourth college of the University of Wales and in 1948 became the first campus university in the UK.
Poem in October BY DYLAN THOMAS It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled and the heron Priested shore The morning beckon With water praying and call of seagull and rook And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall Myself to set foot That second In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water- Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name Above the farms and the white horses And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days. High tide and the heron dived when I took the road Over the border And the gates Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill’s shoulder, Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly Come in the morning where I wandered and listened To the rain wringing Wind blow cold In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour And over the sea wet church the size of a snail With its horns through mist and the castle Brown as owls But all the gardens Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud. There could I marvel My birthday Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country And down the other air and the blue altered sky Streamed again a wonder of summer With apples Pears and red currants And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother Through the parables Of sun light And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine. These were the woods the river and sea Where a boy In the listening Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide. And the mystery Sang alive Still in the water and singingbirds.
And there could I marvel my birthday Away but the weather turned around. And the true Joy of the long dead child sang burning In the sun. It was my thirtieth Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon Though the town below lay leaved with October blood. O may my heart’s truth Still be sung On this high hill in a year’s turning. — Dylan Thomas : From allpowtry.com : For Educational Purposes only.
“Poem In October”A Birthday Poem in 7 Stanzas , each of 10 lines set in his home townof Swansea,Welsh, U K , By Dylan Thomas is Aboutbelief in ‘Pantheism’ : a belief that God is everything and that everything is God’. The poem tells of a speaker’s journey out of autumn and up a hill to reclaim childhood joy, the summer season and his spirituality. . There are three long lines, then two very short ones. These are followed by two more long lines, two more short, and one final long line in each stanza. This “sylabic” varying lines in the Stanzas is wave like imitating the ‘haphazardness’ of the imageries which move back and forth , for instance in the “wringing” of rain, or the speaker’s ascending upward : ( just like forest of lines of the trees or the Sea – Waves) :::::::::: ::::::::: ::::::::: ::::::::::: Thomas tells of a speaker’s journey out of autumn and up a hill to repossess childhood joy, the summer season, and this way his spirituality. He was 30 years old when he wrote / states this. He chose to go on a walk on his birthday.. He left his home, traveled alongside the water’s edge, listened to the seabirds and the woods.
He left the town behind and began a climb up a nearby hill. As he rose the town appears contracted with reduction in size. The season began to change. Autumn with it’s cool air, became feeble and the summer seems returned. The rain continued as he climbed, as did the presence of birds. Thescene made himfeelhappiness andchildhood.
The poem is characterised by the haphazard imagery, drawn from nature — for instance , “whistling/Blackbirds and the sun of October”, “lark full cloud’”, “birds of the winged trees” , etc. There is also a sense of place; “dwindling harbour”, “sea wet church’”, ‘”castle”, “green chapels”. The effect is luxurious , a filmic outpouring of linguistic communication. The double – quick change in images play with reader’s mind memorably.
Notes for each of the 7 Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India May 5 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
Helen Maria (Maria Fiske) Hunt Jackson ( October 15 ,1830 – August 12 , 1885 , At San Francisco CA died due to Stomach Cancer ) : Aged 54 years ) was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, and was a friend and classmate of Emily Dickinson. Gifted and prolific in all genres, Helen was best known as a passionate defender of Native American rights; Jackson was especially moved by the speech of the chief of the Ponca tribe, Chief Standing Bear. She then used her literary talents to champion their cause. The result, the 1881 A Century of Dishonor, not only chronicled the tragic relationship between the U.S. government and Native Americans, but was also written to affect government policy. In fact, Jackson sent a copy to each member of Congress. Her work was a sensation and brought the plight of Native Americans to the general public. : : one account refers to her as “the most brilliant, impetuous and thoroughly individual woman in her time.” She hoped her novel, Ramona, would impact society as much as Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a novel written by her friend Harriet Beecher Stowe. Ultimately, it did–though Helen didn’t live long enough to realize it; a plau based on Ramona has been performed in California every year since 1923. A New York Times reviewer said of Ramona that “by one estimate, the book has been reprinted 300 times.”Sixty years after its publication, 600,000 copies had been sold. There have been over 300 reissues to date and the book has never been out of print. The novel has been adapted for other genres, including four films (the last in Spanish), stage, and television productions. : Her friend Emily Dickinson once described Jackson’s literary limitations: “she has the facts but not the phosphorescence.” : : For all her success as a writer, Helen suffered much personal tragedy; she was plagued with poor health for most of her life, lost both parents before she was eighteen, lost her first husband to a war incident, and watched both of hersons die from illness.
Native American :
A Calendar Of Sonnets : October : : : : By Helen Hunt Jackson ( 1830-85 ) : Amherst, Massachusetts : : : :
The month of carnival of all the year, When Nature lets the wild earth go its way, And spend whole seasons on a single day. The spring-time holds her white and purple dear; October, lavish, flaunts them far and near; The summer charily her reds doth lay Like jewels on her costliest array; October, scornful, burns them on a bier. The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew, Oar empress wore, in Egypt’s ancient line, October, feasting ‘neath her dome of blue, Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!
— Helen Hunt Jackson : 1891 : University Press: Illustrations( From gutenberg.org ) The full-page Designs By Emilé Bayard. Vignettes to the Text By E. H. Garrett. Engravings by John Andrews & Son Co. John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.AFriday, : From poemhunter.com For Educational Purposes only. ( 2 ) : : October’s Bright Blue Weather : : : : : : O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October’s bright blue weather;
When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
When gentians roll their fingers tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour, October’s bright blue weather.
O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October’s bright blue weather.
— Helen Hunt Jackson.
Washington, D.C., and its surrounding communities in Maryland and Virginia host a myriad of happenings celebrating the colorful fall season. October sees pumpkin festivals, corn mazes, Halloween activities, and Oktoberfests throughout the Capital Region—some geared toward younger crowds, others adults-only. There’s something to suit the runner, wino, bookworm, and lover of classic cars during this jam-packed month. George Washington’s Estate and Gardens, known as Mount Vernon, hosts an annual Wine Festival and Sunset Tour event from 6 to 9 p.m. nightly from Friday through Sunday, October 9 to 11, 2020. At the event, guests can taste unlimited samples from more than a dozen Virginia wineries and learn the history of winemaking at Mt. Vernon. The festival also includes wine-cellar tours and live music, plus an exclusive evening tour of the historic mansion and cellar : The National Zoo’s world-renowned science, research, and animal care facility at the Smithsonian Biology Conservation Institute in Front Royal, Virginia, opens its doors to the public only once a year on Conservation Discovery Day. The 3,200-acre institute is the headquarters of the National Zoo’s conservation science initiatives—it’s a research center for animal behavior and reproduction, ecology, genetics, migration, and conservation sustainability, and on the first Saturday in October each year, curious students may come in and explore the natural sciences up. : America’s biggest 10-mile races, the Army Ten-Miler attracts 20,000 runners each year. It typically begins at 8 a.m. at the Pentagon and winds through some of the most iconic vistas and landmarks in the city. The race includes U.S. service members, military veterans, and their families, but also non-military members who simply fancy a patriotic, 10-mile run. The event includes a health and fitness expo at the D.C. Armory all weekend long.
The Old Guard Drill Team and Fife and Drum Corps perform throughout the event and on Saturday evening, you can carbo-load at the pasta buffet traditionally attended by the Sergeant Major of the Army, Sergeants Major of the Reserve and Guard, and more than 900 runners from around the world, as well as Wounded Warriors. All race proceeds benefit the U.S. military’s Family and Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) programsSmithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute Kids love to see bats, spiders, owls, and other animals while trick-or-treating at Boo at the Zoo around the time of Halloween. The National Zoo in Washington, D.C., holds this family-friendly event every year to celebrate the autumnal holiday in a mildly spooky way. It’s a rare opportunity to enjoy zookeeper talks and festive decorations along the “haunted” trails dotted with Halloween candy stations. Also known as “The People’s Marathon,” the annual Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) is one of the biggest in the world. It warrants a full weekend of events, including a health and fitness expo, a Healthy Kids Fun Run, a Historic Half in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and the Marathon Finish Festival. Runners of all experience levels, from all 50 states and more than 60 countries participate in the race held in October. Washington International Horse Show : Each year, the Capital One Arena in Washington, D.C., hosts a world-class equestrian competition featuring top riders, Olympic veterans, and superstar horses. More than 500 prize-winning horses and riders from all over the globe gather to compete for more than half a million dollars in prize money. The Washington International Horse Show in October.Kids Euro Festival in October. Made possible by the cooperation of Washington-based European Union embassies and more than a dozen major local cultural institutions, the Kids Euro Festival features more than 200 free performances around Washington, D.C., mostly geared toward children from ages 2 to 12. Touted as one of the largest performing arts festivals for children in America, it brings two weeks of performances, concerts, movies, storytelling, puppetry, dance, and more to the Capital Region. Mount Vernon Fall Harvest Family Days. : Celebrate the season in October, with horse-drawn wagon rides, wheat treading in the 16-sided barn, a straw bale maze, early-American games, music, and demonstrations at historic Mount Vernon. The famous venue’s annual Fall Harvest Family Days feature a variety of 18th-century activities and reenactments at the Pioneer Farm. Entry is included in the price of admission (free for Mount Vernon members). Taste of BethesdaUrban PartnershipIn early October, : Bethesda brings together more than 60 restaurants, jazz performers, and traditional dance troupes from around the world for a food and music-centered extravaganza. More than 40,000 people turn up each year to dine on Bethesda’s best while jamming to live music on five stages. Rain or shine, it’s held at Woodmont Triangle.
Taste of DC : Every October, area foodies flock to Audi Field for a rare opportunity to taste dishes from more than 50 of the area’s best restaurants, all in the same place. Taste of D.C. not only offers the best bites in town, it also has a massive beer garden, two stages of live music, and culinary entertainment such as chef demos and classes. There are opportunities to mingle with local celebrity chefs as you savor their offerings. Each restaurant provides at least one tasting item priced between one and three Taste Tokens and, in addition, select menu favorites are available for up to eight Taste Tokens. The annual Rockville Antique & Classic Car Show at Maryland’s Rockville Civic Center grounds, you can peruse more than 550 antique and classic automobiles on display. From Packards to Ferraris, the iconic vehicles are displayed by their owners and more than 30 classic car clubs. There’s also a car sales area, in case you’re in the market for one, food and drink vendors, and a flea market. October in New Orleans, U S. The weather is warm, sunny, and pleasant, and the fall festival season is in full swing, including art, music, film, and other events. Second line parades are marching through the old neighborhoods every Sunday and Oktoberfest entertains locals and visitors with a celebration of German culture and food. Also, the New Orleans Saints football team is rocking out in the Mercedes-Benz Superdome while the New Orleans Pelicans are just getting back to basketball at the Smoothie King Center.
Calendar of Sonnets , October By Helen Hunt Jackson is About October accompanied by related illustrations. Her description about the month is devoted simply and beautifully tothe shifting wonder of nature through the seasons.
October is smack in the middle of the beautiful fall season, and a great month for traveling in the United States. Temperatures across the country typically stay above 50 degrees Fahrenheit, Sky appears Blue. Leaves begin to change color, and winter’s headache-inducing snowstorms are still far off. There are also many holidays throughout the month, with activities and processions that Americans as well as every traveler can enjoy, from cultural festivals and parades to Halloween traditions.
NYC Hispanic Day Parade , 2018.
The time between September 15 and October 15 has been designated in the U.S. as Hispanic Heritage Month. Schools, museums, and other venues use the month to educate others on Hispanic culture and the significant contributions made by Hispanic-Americans with ancestry in Spain and the Americas.
In the Northeast, the Smithsonian Museums in Washington, D.C., will host events like readings, special art viewings, and music demonstrations all month in recognition of Hispanic history and culture. Check out their ¡Muévete! Hispanic Heritage Month Community Day for a bilingual dance and music celebration of Hispanic traditions that little and big kids can enjoy. As for the west coast, Los Angeles goes all out, with dancing demonstrations, historical reenactments, art, and food trucks during Latino Heritage Month.
Columbus Day and Indigenous People Day Celebration On the second Monday in October, the U.S. celebrates the anniversary of the arrival of the Italian explorer Christopher Columbus to the Americas. Since Columbus Day is a federal holiday, government offices and financial markets are closed, but it is not widely celebrated. throughout the U.S.
Festivities are most popular in the Northeast, particularly in New York and New England. The annual Columbus Day Parade in New York City marches down Fifth Avenue—as a celebration of Italian-American heritage with traditional dancing and music. Arrive early to ensure a good view of the floats and musicians.
For those with indigenous roots in the U.S, celebrating Columbus Day is somewhat controversial. Indigenous-Americans choose to skip the parade and have instead a two-day Indigenous People Day Celebration on New York’s Randall’s Island. The activities include a sunrise ceremony, dance, music, educational programs, prayers, and spoken word performances.
Women with Children dressed for Halloween Party Walking On Street. The Smithsonian night of living Zoo. Halloween offerings.
Halloween Halloween is not a federal holiday, but it is one of the most popular holidays in the nation, celebrated every year on October 31. On this day, people of all ages dress up in costumes, kids go trick-or-treating, scary stories are told, and Halloween parties and tours can be found all over the nation.
If you’re looking for an over-the-top way to spend your Halloween, head to New Orleans. Thought to be America’s most haunted city, it puts on quite a show for the holiday. The annual Krewe of Boo! Halloween parade takes place on October 19 and the costumes and freaky floats that make their way through the historic French Quarter of the city are a lovely sight. Brave spectators can say “throw me something monster” to one of the parade participants and receive a unique New Orleans souvenir or treat—throws are collectible and consumable items.
A costume is required at the “Monster Mash” afterparty, but don’t worry if you made the trip without one, as the city is filled with stocked shops selling every mask and getup imaginable.
Think of October, the images that instantly come to mind are typically ghouls, goblins, your annual family trip to the pumpkin patch and, of course, the celebration of Halloween. So while you get wrapped up in planning the best Halloween costume and enhancing your house with seriously spooky decorations you may miss out on all of the other wonderful holidays and observances that the month has to offer. Guide to All October 2022 Holidays and Observances Including national and school days you can celebrate during the month is given HERE In BELOW : : The Carnivals Calendar : October:
October 1 World Vegetarian Day
International Music Day
National Homemade Cookies Day
National Hair Day
International Coffee Day
International Day of Older Persons
October 2 National Custodian Day
National Name Your Car Day
International Day of Non-Violence
World No Alcohol Day
October 3 Child Health Day
Butterfly and Hummingbird Day
National Boyfriend Day
Mean Girls Day
World Habitat Day
October 4 National Taco Day
Feast of St Francis of Assisi
Yom Kippur
World Animal Day
National Cinnamon Roll Day
National Golf Lovers Day
National Taco Day
October 5 National Walk and Bike to School Day
National Do Something Nice Day World Teachers’ Day
World Financial Planning Day
Random Acts of Poetry Day October 6 National Coaches Day
National German-American Day
National Noodle Day
National Plus Size Appreciation Day
World Cerebral Palsy Day
October 7 World Smile Day
National Frappe Day
National Body Language Day
National Inner Beauty Day
October 8 National Depression Screening Day
World Hospice and Palliative Care Day
National Chess Day
National Pierogi Day
World Octopus Day
October 9 Leif Erikson Day. orld Post Day
October 10 Columbus Day (Most regions)
Indigenous Peoples’ Day
World Mental Health Day
World Homeless Day
October 11 National Coming Out Day
International Day of the Girl Child
October 12 National Emergency Nurse’s Day
Farmers Day
National Savings Day
National Stop Bullying Day
World Arthritis Day
October 13 United States Navy Birthday
National No Bra Day
World Sight Day
International Day for Disaster Risk Reduction
October 14 National Dessert Day
National Fossil Day
October 15 National Grouch Day
Global Handwashing Day
National Mushroom Day
National Fetch Day International Day of Rural Women
October 16 National Train Your Brain Day
World Singing Day
National Sports Day
Boss’s Day
World Food Day
Dictionary Day
Global Cat Day
Department Store Day
World Spine Day
October 17 International Day for the Eradication of Poverty
Christina Rossetti ( 1830 in London – 1894 London) Christina Rossetti, the author of Goblin Market and Other Poems, is a major Victorian Poet. Live Red Roses, Rosaceae Rosoideae Rosa, Flower blossoms on a plant with green leaves in garden, showing early signs of decay and aging, and beginning to wither and wilt, in autumn. Pink rose blossoms in late bloom in autumn under mostly cloudy sky and distant tree with leaves that have turned color for the fall season.
An October Garden Christina Rossetti – 1830-1894
In my Autumn garden I was fain To mourn among my scattered roses; Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses To Autumn’s languid sun and rain When all the world is on the wane! Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June, Nor heard the nightingale in tune.
Broad-faced asters by my garden walk, You are but coarse compared with roses: More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses, Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk, That least and last which cold winds balk; A rose it is though least and last of all, A rose to me though at the fall.
— Christina Rossetti
Autumn Rose
“October Garden” 15 lines rose poem , By Christina Rossetti ( December 5 1830 – December 29, 1894 ) is About her all time devotion to roses 🌹🌹🌹🌹 even to the scattered roses in the Autumn Garden in October. The Autumn bespeaks before “Fall”, with its unenergetic “languid sun” and “rain” and “balky”, that is unwilling weak “cold wind which is holding back and that “all the world is on the wane ! which has not felt the constraints of June, Nor heard the nightingale in tune”, that is, surely overcoming the June causing to slow the growth. Even that last rose to Christina “least and last of all,” is still a rose and still smells sweet. Still the choice is “rosebud” which uncloses ( opens ), faint – scented , pinched, that is lean thin , upon its stalk. which although in her garden walk , she finds fall – blooming ,” broad faced asters ” which are “coarse compared with roses ” in autumn. That is, when she is “fain to mourn among her scattered roses” in her autumn garden of October. She is having a disposed mindset with sad inclination for dispersed roses in place of earlier regular blooming inabundance in the Springtime. : :The Speaker expresses her grief and bemoans waning of last roses in her garden. A rose is still a rose and maintain the complete attention with its beauties and scent and hence such last rose in the autumn is fascinated . : : Listen to the poem recitation video by visiting cafe poem @ You Tube , the link given HERE In BELOW : : : :
“October Garden” , An October Poem By Christina Rossetti , Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India , May 3 , 2023 : : : : ::::
Close up of purple aster flowers growing in the garden in autumn. (Photo by: Nigel Kirby/Loop Images/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)
John Clare ( 1793 – 1864 ) Original Artwork: Engraving after Hilton. (Photo by Edward Gooch Collection/Getty Images) : Though his first book, Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery (1820), was popular with readers and critics alike, Clare struggled professionally for much of his life. His work only became widely read some hundred years after his death. :born into a peasant family in the small English village of Helpston in 1793. Clare’s favorite books included Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe and Izaak Walton’s The Compleat Angler. During his school days Clare met fellow student Mary Joyce and embarked upon a romantic relationship with her. Although the two eventually separated and Clare married Patty Turner, Clare would devote much of his later poetry to Mary. Clare was inspired to write his first poem, “The Morning Walk,” after reading James Thompson’s Seasons. Clare’s descriptive powers appears in the poem “Noon”: “All how silent and how still / Nothing heard but yonder mill; / While the dazzled eye surveys / All around a liquid blaze; / And amid the scorching gleams, / If we earnest look, it seems / As if crooked bits of glass / Seem’d repeatedly to pass.” : The success of Rural Life brought Clare recognition and the assistance of several benefactors. Clare’s next major effort to be published was The Shepherd’s Calendar (1827). Clare devises a poem for each month of the year, offering a celebration of rural life with a shepherd figuring throughout. The Rural Muse was the last major collection published in Clare’s lifetime. In 1836 Clare was admitted to High Beech asylum, In 1841 Clare walked away from the asylum and continued to walk until he reached his home four days later. written in 1860, reads: “Dear Sir, I am in a Madhouse & quite forget your Name or who you are you must excuse me for I have nothing to communicate or tell of & why I am shut up I dont know I have nothing to say so I conclude yours respectfully John Clare.” After more than twenty years at Northampton, Clare died in 1864. : : Scholars now recognize Clare as an important poet and prose writer. “As an observer of what it was like in England in the early nineteenth century, not only for the peasant but also from a peasant point of view, he is irreplaceable,” declared Thornton. In Clare’s prose, Thornton concluded, “we… see reflected there in sharp clarity the very essence of a period, a place, a language, a culture, and a time.”The only known photograph of Clare, 1862.
The Shepherd’s Calendar – October : : by John Clare ( 1793 – 1864 ) ( Northamptonshire / England )
Nature now spreads around in dreary hue A pall to cover all that summer knew Yet in the poets solitary way Some pleasing objects for his praise delay Somthing that makes him pause and turn again As every trifle will his eye detain The free horse rustling through the stubble land And bawling herd boy with his motly band Of hogs and sheep and cows who feed their fill Oer cleard fields rambling where so ere they will The geese flock gabbling in the splashy fields And quaking ducks in pondweeds half conseald Or seeking worms along the homclose sward Right glad of freedom from the prison yard While every cart rut dribbles its low tide And every hollow splashing sports provide The hedger stopping gaps wi pointed bough Made by intruding horse and blundering cow The milk maid tripping on her morning way And fodderers oft tho early cutting hay Dropping the littering forkfulls from his back Side where the thorn fence circles round the stack The cotter journying wi his noisev swine Along the wood side where the brambles twine Shaking from dinted cups the acorns brown And from the hedges red awes dashing down And nutters rustling in the yellow woods Scaring from their snug lairs the pheasant broods And squirrels secret toils oer winter dreams Picking the brown nuts from the yellow beams And hunters from the thickets avenue In scarlet jackets startling on the view Skiming a moment oer the russet plain Then hiding in the colord woods again The ploping guns sharp momentary shock Which eccho bustles from her cave to mock The sticking groups in many a ragged set Brushing the woods their harmless loads to get And gipseys camps in some snug shelterd nook Where old lane hedges like the pasture brook Run crooking as they will by wood and dell In such lone spots these wild wood roamers dwell On commons where no farmers claims appear Nor tyrant justice rides to interfere Such the abodes neath hedge or spreading oak And but discovered by its curling smoak Puffing and peeping up as wills the breeze Between the branches of the colord trees Such are the pictures that october yields To please the poet as he walks the fields Oft dames in faded cloak of red or grey Loiters along the mornings dripping way Wi wicker basket on their witherd arms Searching the hedges of home close or farms Where brashy elder trees to autum fade Each cotters mossy hut and garden shade Whose glossy berrys picturesquly weaves Their swathy bunches mid the yellow leaves Where the pert sparrow stains his little bill And tutling robin picks his meals at will Black ripening to the wan suns misty ray Here the industrious huswives wend their way Pulling the brittle branches carefull down And hawking loads of berrys to the town Wi unpretending skill yet half divine To press and make their eldern berry wine That bottld up becomes a rousing charm To kindle winters icy bosom warm That wi its merry partner nut brown beer Makes up the peasants christmass keeping cheer While nature like fair woman in decay Which pale consumption hourly wastes away Upon her waining features pale and chill Wears dreams of beauty that seem lovely still Among the heath furze still delights to dwell Quaking as if with cold the harvest bell The mushroom buttons each moist morning brings Like spots of snow in the green tawney rings And fuzz balls swelld like bladders in the grass Which oft the merry laughing milking lass Will stoop to gather in her sportive airs And slive in mimickd fondness unawares To smut the brown cheek of the teazing swain Wi the black powder which their balls contain Who feigns offence at first that love may speed Then charms a kiss to recompence the deed The flying clouds urged on in swiftest pace Like living things as if they runned a race The winds that oer each coming tempest broods Waking like spirits in their startling moods Fluttering the sear leaves on the blasting lea That litters under every fading tree And pausing oft as falls the pattering rain Then gathering strength and twirling them again The startld stockdove hurried wizzing bye As the still hawk hangs oer him in the sky Crows from the oak trees qawking as they spring Dashing the acorns down wi beating wing Waking the woodlands sleep in noises low Pattring on crimpt brakes withering brown below While from their hollow nest the squirrels (pop) Adown the tree to pick them as they drop The starnel crowds that dim the muddy light The crows and jackdaws flapping home at night And puddock circling round its lazy flight Round the wild sweeing wood in motion slow Before it perches on the oaks below And hugh black beetles revelling alone In the dull evening with their heavy drone Buzzing from barn door straw and hovel sides Where fodderd cattle from the night abides These pictures linger thro the shortning day And cheer the lone bards mellancholy way And now and then a solitary boy Journeying and muttering oer his dreams of joy
— John Clare
“The Shepherd’s Calendar”115 lines By John Clare is Abouta rural pictures slowly proceeding through the shortening day of October over and above it’s animal World. These picture cheers the lonely and solitary lyric Poet ( “lone bards” ) on his sad and gloomy way ( “melancholy way” ) who has to be journeyingnow and then , and muttering over his dreams of joy. : : After Edmund Spenser’s Elizabethan Shepheardes Calendar, the most famous ‘shepherd’s calendar’ in English verse is by one of England’s greatest nature poets, John Clare (1793-1864). : : The repetitions in the world and in poetry are never exactly the same, but postulates irregularity as an aspect of natural regularity, revealed with the prowess as observed in nature. . The shepherd presented by John Clare in his repetitive experience illuminateshis narrative lyrics. When they reflect his cheers in his journeying on his “melancholy way”also help with expression in Poetry that will be read throughout the ongoing time of readingpoetry. : : : :
“The Shepherd’s Calendar – October ” , An October Poems by John Clare Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India May 2 , 2023 : : : : :: :
** Ode For September Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon : England : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
On that long day when England held her breath, Suddenly gripped at heart And called to choose her part Between her loyal soul and luring sophistries, We watched the wide, green–bosomed land beneath Driven and tumultuous skies; We watched the volley of white shower after shower Desolate with fierce drops the fallen flower; And still the rain’s retreat Drew glory on its track, And still, when all was darkness and defeat, Upon dissolving cloud the bow of peace shone back. So in our hearts was alternating beat, With very dread elate; And Earth dyed all her day in colours of our fate.
But oh, how faint the image we foretold In fancies of our fear Now that the truth is here! And we awake from dream yet think it still a dream. It bursts our thoughts with more than thought can hold; And more than human seem These agonies of conflict; Elements At war! yet not with vast indifference Casually crushing; nay, It is as if were hurled Lightnings that murdered, seeking out their prey; As if an earthquake shook to chaos half the world, Equal in purpose as in power to slay; And thunder stunned our ears Streaming in rain of blood on torrents that are tears.
Around a planet rolls the drum’s alarm. Far where the summer smiles Upon the utmost isles, Danger is treading silent as a fever–breath. Now in the North the secret waters arm; Under the wave is Death: They fight in the very air, the virgin air, Hovering on fierce wings to the onset: there Nations to battle stream; Earth smokes and cities burn; Heaven thickens in a storm of shells that scream; The long lines shattering break, turn and again return; And still across a continent they teem, Moving in myriads; more Than ranks of flesh and blood, but soul with soul at war!
All the hells are awake: the old serpents hiss From dungeons of the mind; Fury of hate born blind, Madness and lust, despairs and treacheries unclean; They shudder up from man’s most dark abyss. But there are heavens serene That answer strength with strength; they stand secure; They arm us from within, and we endure. Now are the brave more brave, Now is the cause more dear, The more the tempests of the darkness rave As, when the sun goes down, the shining stars are clear. Radiant the spirit rushes to the grave. Glorious it is to live In such an hour, but life is lovelier yet to give.
Alas! what comfort for the uncomforted, Who knew no cause, nor sought Glory or gain? they are taught, Homeless in homes that burn, what human hearts can bear. The children stumble over their dear dead, Wandering they know not where. And there is one who simply fights, obeys, Tramps, till he loses count of nights and days, Tired, mired in dust and sweat, Far from his own hearth–stone; A common man of common earth, and yet The battle–winner he, a man of no renown, Where “food for cannon” pays a nation’s debt. This is Earth’s hero, whom The pride of Empire tosses careless to his doom.
Now will we speak, while we have eyes for tears And fibres to be wrung And in our mouths a tongue. We will bear wrongs untold but will not only bear; Not only bear, but build through striving years The answer of our prayer, That whosoever has the noble name Of man, shall not be yoked to alien shame; That life shall be indeed Life, not permitted breath Of spirits wrenched and forced to others’ need, Robbed of their nature’s joy and free alone in death. The world shall travail in that cause, shall bleed, But deep in hope it dwells Until the morning break which the long night foretells.
O children filled with your own airy glee Or with a grief that comes So swift, so strange, it numbs, If on your growing youth this page of terror bite, Harden not then your senses, feel and be The promise of the light. O heirs of Man, keep in your hearts not less The divine torrents of his tenderness! ‘Tis ever war: but rust Grows on the sword; the tale Of earth is strewn with empires heaped in dust Because they dreamed that force should punish and prevail. The will to kindness lives beyond their lust; Their grandeurs are undone: Deep in man’s suffering soul are all his victories won.
Robert Laurence Binyon Wednesday, : : : : : : : From poemhunter.com : For Educational Purposes only.
*** The End Of September Poem by Audrey Heller,Bronx, New York/ Now in Florida : : ::
It’s almost the end of September and in most places, fall is in the air! But I live down south, where the heat persists and still, lingers there! At times, it can get to be monotonous, but when the chill of winter and the snow, comes your way, how great it is, to be here. No worry, about cleaning up drive ways, to make the snow, disappear! Here I am, still running around in shorts and enjoying the warmth, of the sun! I’m feeling happy and carefree. If you could change places, wouldn’t you change, places with me? Who, needs the snow piled up high and the cold, that bites at your nose? You can hardly, make your way walking, as parts of your body, have already froze! Not my cup of tea, to be sure! For me, there’s only one, simple cure. Pack up your gear and drive down here, to enjoy, the warm and breezy nights. Stay as long as you can, get that golden tan and take in, all the lovely sights! Perhaps like me, you’ll like it so much, you’ll make this, your permanent home. And once you do, you’ll get that feeling and no longer, will you want, to roam!
Audrey Heller Saturday, September 26, 2009: From poemhunter.com : For Educational Purposes only.
**** September In Australia Poem by Henry Kendall : Ulladulla, New South Wales : : : : : : :
Grey Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest, And, behold, for repayment, September comes in with the wind of the West And the Spring in her raiment! The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers, While the forest discovers Wild wings, with the halo of hyaline hours, And the music of lovers.
September, the maid with the swift, silver feet! She glides, and she graces The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat, With her blossomy traces; Sweet month, with a mouth that is made of a rose, She lightens and lingers In spots where the harp of the evening glows, Attuned by her fingers.
The stream from its home in the hollow hill slips In a darling old fashion; And the day goeth down with a song on its lips Whose key-note is passion; Far out in the fierce, bitter front of the sea I stand, and remember Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee, Resplendent September.
The West, when it blows at the fall of the noon And beats on the beaches, Is filled with a tender and tremulous tune That touches and teaches; The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time, And the death of Devotion, Come back with the wind, and are themes of the rhyme In the waves of the ocean.
We, having a secret to others unknown, In the cool mountain-mosses, May whisper together, September, alone Of our loves and our losses. One word for her beauty, and one for the grace She gave to the hours; And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face To sleep with the flowers.
Oh, season of changes — of shadow and shine — September the splendid! My song hath no music to mingle with thine, And its burden is ended; But thou, being born of the winds and the sun, By mountain, by river, Mayst lighten and listen, and loiter and run, With thy voices for ever.
Henry Kendall Saturday, : Ulladulla, New South Wales : : : : From poemhunter.com : For Educational Purposes only.
V : Black September Poem by Adam M Snow Phoenix, AZ AZ : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
Burning to ashes, smoke brazen ‘gainst auburn skies, with black-like coal, flowing down like rain. The tears of many flows the streets below, many on their knees crying, pleading. The blood that day overflowed the land, the blood that day filled the seas. Orphans were born, O’ such tragedy, the towers fell, ashes erupt; crashing like ocean waves onto the land. Stampede of many people running, lost within the cloud of dust and ashes. A nation mourning the loss of many; children among many in their forever sleep, The world witnessed man’s darkest desires, O’ such a black September morn; a tragic day, a year of terror, a massacre. Short cut lives, forever remembered; a nation coming together. Candlelight glow fills the nightly streets, that day still lingering years pass. Many left with unanswered questions, burning; burning forever, forever, ‘Why? ‘
Adam M Snow Thursday, : : From poemhunter.com : : For Educational Purposes only.
V* Falling In Love In September Poem by Peter S. Quinn :
Falling in love in September Is now once more true While the wishing stars ember In the faint night to renew With a feeling so apart In their directions dancing go Right from this and that heart With deep dark again to know
With this loveliest love song That is to an end untimely In a waltz and a sing-a-long Aloft and set high sublimely In an alluringly seductive way When spirit’s of love’s out stretched And together in beats would play When they to love are etched
Falling in love and be touched of Every comparable turning too On like a passionate turtle dove Flying across wide sky and blue So much here to give and take With blue feeling coming tonight From moments of joy to wake When fervent day was bright
(Today I’ve been reading some lyrics by Lorenz Hart, from ‘The Complete Lyrics of Lorenz Hart’; Hart wrote about 500-600 lyrics and was called the Poet of Broadway.)
Peter S. Quinn
September is the month of the harvest, shortening days, yellowing leaves and sweet apple harvests. It has inspired poetry for ages, and continues to do so.
V** September by John Updike
The breezes taste Of apple peel. The air is full Of smells to feel- Ripe fruit, old footballs, Burning brush, New books, erasers, Chalk, and such. The bee, his hive, Well-honeyed hum, And Mother cuts Chrysanthemums. Like plates washed clean With suds, the days Are polished with A morning haze.
V*** September by Annette Wynne Golden in the garden, Golden in the glen, Golden, golden, golden September’s here again! Golden in the tree tops, Golden in the sky— Golden, golden, golden September’s going by!
V****
Golden September by Annette Wynne
5. September Tomatoes by Karina Borowicz The whiskey stink of rot has settled in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises when I touch the dying tomato plants.
Still, the claws of tiny yellow blossoms flail in the air as I pull the vines up by the roots and toss them in the compost.
It feels cruel. Something in me isn’t ready to let go of summer so easily. To destroy what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months. Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit.
My great-grandmother sang with the girls of her village as they pulled the flax. Songs so old and so tied to the season that the very sound seemed to turn the weather.
X : September by L.M. Montgomery
Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days Gleaned by the year in autumn’s harvest ways, With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, Some crimson poppy of a late delight Atoning in its splendor for the flight Of summer blooms and joys This is September.
X* : This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box. Some day there will be no war, Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn it in my fingers, And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate, And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves. To-day I can only gather it And put it into my lunch-box, For I have time for nothing But the endeavor to balance myself Upon a broken world.
X** Sky in September
In spite of the months of knowing and the years autumn comes with astonishment light held up in a glass the terrible news in a haze caught breath in the warm leaves
in spite of the gathering dust and the vast moon the day comes with a color its words cannot touch so it is when I see you after the years when the ailanthus leaves drifted unnoticed down the gray wall
they have disappeared and nothing is missing after their rocking and clinging they have vanished with the thieves and shufflers and the words of the dealers taking nothing they have fallen like scales from the eyes and at last we are here together light of autumn clear morning in the only time
–– W. S. Merwin, from his book, The Rain in the Trees : : From merwinconservancy.org : For Educational Purposes only.
Born: 1552 or 1553 London England Died: January 13, 1599 London England. : : Spenser was considered in his day to be the greatest of English poets, who had glorified England and its language by his long allegorical poem The Faerie Queene, just as Virgil had glorified Rome and the Latin tongue by his epic poem the Aeneid. Spenser had a strong influence upon his immediate successors, and the sensuous features of his poetic style, as well as his nine-line stanza form, were later admired and imitated by such poets as Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley in the Romantic period of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. He is widely studied today as one of the chief begetters of the English literary Renaissance and as a master who embodied in poetic myth a view of the virtuous life in a Christian universe.
The Shepheardes Calender: September
From luminarium.org For Educational Purposes only.
September. [Woodcut for September.
A R G V M E N T.
HErein Diggon Dauie is deuised to be a shepheard, that in hope of more gayne, droue his sheepe into a farre countrye. The abuses whereof, and loose liuing of Popish prelates, by occasion of Hobbinols demaund, he discourseth at large. Hobbinol. Diggon Dauie. DIggon Dauie, I bidde her god day: Or Diggon her is, or I missaye. Diggon. Her was her, while it was daye light, But nowe her is a most wretched wight. For day, that was, is wightly past, And now at earst the dirke night doth hast. Hobbinoll. Diggon areede, who has thee so dight? Neuer I wist thee in so poor a plight. Where is the fayre flocke, thou was wont to leade? Or bene they chaffred? or at mischiefe dead? Diggon. Ah for loue of that, is to thee moste leefe, Hobbinol, I pray thee gall not my old griefe: Sike question ripeth vp cause of newe woe, For one opened mote vnfolde many moe. Hobbinoll. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded in hart I know, to kepe, is a burdenous smart. Eche thing imparted is more eath to beare: When the rayne is faln, the cloudes wexen cleare. And nowe sithence I sawe thy head last, Thrise three Moones bene fully spent and past: Since when thou hast measured much grownd, And wandred I wene about the world rounde, So as thou can many thinges relate: But tell me first of thy flocks astate. Diggon. My sheepe bene wasted, (wae is me therefore) The iolly shepheard that was of yore, Is nowe nor iolloye, nor shepehearde more. In forrein costes, men sayd, was plentye: And so there is, but all of miserye. I dempt there much to haue eeked my store, But such eeking hath made my hart sore. In tho countryes, whereas I haue bene, No being for those, that truely mene, But for such, as of guile maken gayne, No such countrye, as there to remaine. They setten to sale their shops of shame, And maken a Mart of theyr good name. The shepheards there robben one another, And layen baytes to beguile her brother. Or they will buy his sheepe out of the cote, Or they will caruen the shepheards throte. The shepheards swayne you cannot wel ken, But it be by his pryde, from other men: They looken bigge as Bulls, that bene bate, And bearen the cragge so stiffe and so state, As cocke on his dunghill, crowing cranck. Hobbinoll. Diggon, I am so stiffe, and so stanck, That vneth may I stand any more: And nowe the Westerne wind bloweth sore, That nowe is in his chiefe souereigntee, Beating the withered leafe from the tree. Sitte we downe here under the hill: Tho may we talke, and tellen our fill, And make a mocke at the blustring blast. Now say on Diggon, what euer thou hast. Diggon. Hobbin, ah hobbin, I curse the stounde, That euer I cast to haue lorne this grounde. Wel-away the while I was so fonde, To leaue the good, that I had in honde, In hope of better, that was vncouth: So lost the Dogge the flesh in his mouth. My seely sheepe (ah seely sheepe) That here by there I whilome vsed to keepe, All were they lustye, as thou didst see, Bene all sterued with pyne and penuree. Hardly my selfe escaped thilke payne, Driuen for neede to come home agayne. Hobbinoll. Ah fon, now by thy losse art taught, That seeldome chaunge the better brought. Content who liues with tryed state, Neede feare no chaunge of frowning fate: But who will seeke for vnknowne gayne, Oft liues by losse, and leaues with payne. Diggon. I wote ne Hobbin how I was bewitcht With vayne desyre, and hope to be enricht. But sicker so it is, as the bright starre Seemeth ay greater, when it is farre: I thought the soyle would haue made me rich: But nowe I wote, it is nothing sich. For eyther the shepeheards bene ydle and still, And ledde of theyr sheepe, what way they wyll: Or they bene false, and full of couetise, And casten to compasse many wrong emprise. But the more bene fraught with fraud and spight, Ne in good nor goodnes taken delight: But kindle coales of conteck and yre, Wherewith they sette all the world on fire: Which when they thinken agayne to quench With holy water, they doen hem all drench. They saye they con to heauen the high way, But by my soule I dare vndersaye, Thye neuer sette foote in that same troade, But balk the right way, and strayen abroad. They boast they han the deuill at commaund: But aske hem therefore, what they han paund. Marrie that great Pan bought with deare borrow, To quite it from the blacke bowre of sorrowe. But they han sold thilk same long agoe: For thy woulden drawe with hem many moe. But let hem gange alone a Gods name: As they han brewed, so let hem beare blame. Hobbinoll. Diggon, I praye the speake not so dirke. Such myster saying me seemeth to mirke. Diggon. Then playnely to speake of shepheards most what, Badde is the best (this english is flatt.) Their ill hauiour garres men missay, Both of their doctrine, and of their faye. They sayne the world is much war then it wont, All for her shepheards bene beastly and blont. Other sayne, but how truely I note, All for they holden shame of theyr cote. Some sticke not to say, (whote cole on her tongue) That sike mischeife graseth hem emong, All for the casten too much of worlds care, To deck her Dame, and enrich her heyre: For such encheason, If you goe nye, Fewe chymneis reeking you shall espye: The fat Oxe, that wont ligge in the stal, Is nowe fast stalled in her crumenall. Thus chatten the people in theyr steads, Ylike as a Monster of many heads. But they that shooten neerest the pricke, Sayne, other the fat from their beards doen lick. For bigge Bulles of Basanbrace hem about, That with theyr hornes butten the more stoute: But the leane soules treaden vnder foote. And to seeke redresse mought little boote: For liker bene they to pluck away more, Then ought of the gotten good to restore. For they bene like foule wagmoires ouergrast, That if thy galage once sticketh fast, The more to wind it out thou doest swinck, Thou mought ay deeper and deeper sinck. Yet better leaue of with a little losse, Then by much wrestling to leese the grosse. Hobbinoll. Nowe Diggon, I see thou speakest to plaine: Better it were, a little to feyne, And cleanly couer, that cannot be cured. Such il, as is forced, mought nedes be endured. But of sike pastoures howe done the flocks creepe? Diggon. Sike as the shepheards, sike bene her sheepe, For they nill listen to the shepheards voyce, But if he call hem at theyr good choyce, They wander at wil, and stray at pleasure, And to theyr foldes yeeld at their owne leasure. But they had be better come at their cal: for many han into mischiefe fall, And bene of rauenous Wolues yrent, All for they nould be buxome and bent. Hobbinoll. Fye on thee Diggon, and all thy foule leasing, Well is knowne that sith the Saxon king, Neuer was Woolfe seene many nor some, Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome: But the fewer Woolues (the soth to sayne,) The more bene the Foxes that here remaine. Diggon. Yes, but they gang in more secrete wise, And with sheepes clothing doen hem disguise, They walke not widely as they were wont For feare of raungers, and the great hunt: But priuely prolling too and froe, Enaunter they mought be inly knowe. Hobbinoll. Or priue or pert yf any bene, We han great Bandogs will tear their skinne. Diggon. Indeede thy ball is a bold bigge curre, And could make a iolly hole in theyr furre. But not good Dogges hem needeth to chace, But heedy shepheards to discerne their face. For all their craft is in their countenaunce, They bene so graue and full of mayntenaunce. But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe, Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe? Hobbinoll. Say it out Diggon, what euer it hight, For not but well mought him betight. He is so meeke, wise, and merciable, And with his word his worke is conuenable. Colin clout I wene be his selfe boye, (Ah for Colin he whilome my ioye) Shepheards sich, God mought vs many send, That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend. Diggon. Thilk same shepheard mought I well marke: He has a Dogge to byte or to bark, Neuer had shepheard so nene a kurre, That waketh, and if but a leafe sturre. Whilome there wonned a wicked Wolfe, That with many a Lambe had glutted his gulfe. And euer at night wont to repayre Vnto the flocke, when the Welkin shone faire, Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe, When the good old man vsed to sleepe. Tho at midnight he would barke and ball, (For he had eft learned a curres call.) As if a Woolfe were emong the sheepe. With that the shpheard would breake his sleepe, And send out Lowder (for so his dog hote) To raunge the fields with wide oppen throte. Tho when as Lowder was farre away, This Woluish sheepe would catchen his pray, A Lambe, or a Kidde, or a weanell wast: With that to the wood would he speede him fast. Long time he vsed this slippery pranck, Ere Roffy could for his laboure him thanck. At end the shepheard his practise spyed, (For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed) And when at euen he came to the flocke, Fast in theyr folds he did them locke, And tooke out the Woolfe in his counterfect cote, And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte. Hobbinoll. Marry Diggon, what should him affraye, To take his owne where euer it laye? For had his wesand bene a little widder, He would hue deuoured both hidder and shidder. Diggon. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods great curse, Too good for him had bene a great deale worse: For it was a perilous beast aboue all, And eke had he cond the shepherds call. And oft in the night came to the shepecote, And called Lowder, with a hollow throte, As if it the old man selfe had bene. The dog his maisters voice did it weene, Yet halfe in doubt, he opened the dore, And ranne out, as he was wont of yore. No sooner was out, but swifter then thought, Fast by the hyde the Wolfe lowder caught: And had not Roffy renne to the steuen, Lowder had be slaine thilke same euen. Hobbinoll. God shield man, he should so ill haue thriue, All for he did his deuoyr beliue. If sike bene Wolues, as thou hast told, How mought we Diggon, hem be-hold. Diggon. How, but with heede and watchfulnesse, Forstallen hem of their wilinesse? For thy with shepheard sittes not playe, Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day: But euer liggen in watch and ward, From soddein force theyr flocks for to gard. Hobbinoll. Ah Diggon, thilke same rule were too straight, All the cold season to wach and waite. We bene of flesh, men as other bee, Why should we be bound to such miseree? What euer thing lacketh chaungeable rest, Mought needes decay, when it is at best. Diggon. Ah but Hobbinol, all this long tale, Nought easeth the care, that doth me forhaile. What shall I doe? what way shall I wend, My piteous plight and losse to amend? Ah, good Hobbinol, mought I thee praye, Of ayde or counsell in my decaye. Hobbinoll. Now by my soule Diggon, I lament The haplesse mischief, that has thee hent, Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile, That froward fortune doth euer auaile. But were Hobbinoll, as God mought please, Diggon should soone find fauour and ease. But if to my cotage thou wilt resort, So as I can, I wil thee comfort: There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed, Till fayrer Fortune shewe forth her head. Diggon. Ah Hobbinol, God mought it thee requite. Diggon on fewe such freends did euer lite.
“The Shepherd’s Calendar, September”is About a cautionary tale of the other man’s grass. Edmund Spenser’s series of 12 eclogues / The Shepheardes Calender (1579), is considered the first outstanding pastoral poem in English.
William Wordsworth who rallied for “common speech” within poems and argued against the poetic biases of the period, wrote some of the most influential poetry in Western literature, including his most famous work, The Prelude, which is often considered to be the crowning achievement of English romanticism. Westminster Bridge as it appeared in 1808 . :
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 : : sonnet by William Wordsworth ( 1770-1850 ) : : : : : : : : : : : : : : ::
Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
This poem is in the public domain.
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 , A Petrarhan Sonnet ( 14 ) is About London and the River Thames, viewed from Westminster Bridge in the early morning. It was first published in the collection Poems, in Two Volumes in 1807. The sonnet was originally dated 1803, but this was corrected in later editions and the date of composition given precisely as 31 July 1802, when Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy were travelling to Calais to visit Annette Vallon and his daughter Caroline by Annette, prior to his forthcoming marriage to Mary Hutchinson.
The sonnet has always been popular, escaping the generally excoriating reviews from critics such as Francis Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review when Poems in Two Volumes was first published. The reason undoubtedly lies in its great simplicity and beauty of language, turning on Dorothy’s observation that this man-made spectacle is nevertheless one to be compared to nature’s grandest natural spectacles. Cleanth Brooks analysed the sonnet in these terms in The Well Wrought Urn: Studies in the Structure of Poetry. ( Brooks, Cleanth (1956). : Page 5 , The Well Wrought Urn: Studies in the Structure of Poetry. Mariner Books.
Stephen Gill remarks that at the end of his life Wordsworth, engaged in editing his works, contemplated a revision even of “so perfect a poem” as this sonnet in response to an objection from a lady that London could not both be “bare” and “clothed” (an example of the use of paradox in literature). : ( Gill, Stephen (1989). William Wordsworth: A Life. pp. 389, 4186n..,Oxford University Press. : )
That the sonnet so closely follows Dorothy’s journal entry comes as no surprise because Dorothy wrote her Grasmere Journal to “give Wm pleasure by it” and it was freely available to Wordsworth, who said of Dorothy that “She gave me eyes, she gave me ears” in his poem “The Sparrow’s Nest”. ( Wordsworth, William. “The Sparrow’s Nest”. Bartleby.com. Retrieved 30 May 2012. Bostridge, Mark (9 March 2008). & “The Ballad of Dorothy Wordsworth, By Frances Wilson”. The Independent. London. Retrieved 30 May 2012. )
[…] we left London on Saturday morning at 1⁄2 past 5 or 6, the 31st July (I have forgot which) we mounted the Dover Coach at Charing Cross. It was a beautiful morning. The City, St pauls, with the River & a multitude of little Boats, made a most beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not overhung by their cloud of smoke & they were spread out endlessly, yet the sun shone so brightly with such a pure light that there was even something like the purity of one of nature’s own grand Spectacles
— Dorothy Wordsworth, The Grasmere Journal, 31 July 1802.
The above Informations are as from the Wikipedia’s Article. : : Notes for each of the 14 lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April 29 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
.Just after World War II, a young Princeton student journeyed to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington, DC, to visit Ezra Pound. The great poet had been tried for treason for broadcasts he made in Italy for the fascist government and, pleading insanity, wound up serving a dozen years in the psychiatric institution. To the astonishment of his young visitor that day in 1946, Pound greeted him as if he were a serious poet. Like an elder, he also offered advice. “You don’t really have anything to write about at the age of eighteen,” Pound warned. “The way to do it is to learn a language and translate. That way you can practice, and you can find out what you can do with language, with your language.” Despite their age difference, the two writers began a correspondence afterward, and some time later, as he prepared to enter graduate school in Romance languages, the young poet received a postcard from Pound. “Read seeds not twigs,” it pronounced, signing off, “EP.”
The young poet was W.S. Merwin, and if his pilgrimage to a master was a clue, apprenticeship was a notion he took seriously. At Princeton Merwin had memorized John Milton by heart, and he crashed R. P. Blackmur’s classes with John Berryman, who showed up the first time in a pork-pie hat. Following Pound’s call, Merwin also began to translate. He started out in school with the New York poems of Federico García Lorca and moved on to the early Spanish texts such as the epic Poem of Cid. Over the next 65 years, as he launched one of the most brilliant postwar careers in poetry, Merwin continued at the trade, working in a comically diverse array of languages: French, German, Russian, Spanish, Catalan, Portuguese, Italian, Chinese, Romanian, Greek, Irish, Quechuan, and Kabyle, to name just a few. A second collection of such translations was published this spring, alongside a new edition of haiku by Yosa Buson. Had he merely plied his trade as a translator, Merwin would have been one of the most significant figures in American letters.But of course Merwin’s own poetry has eclipsed this work.
SEPTEMBER By dawn the little owls that chattered in the red moon have turned into magpies in the ash trees resting between journeys dew stays in the grass until noon every day the mist wanders higher to look over the old hill and never come back month of eyes your paths see for themselves you have put your hand in my hand the green in the leaves has darkened and begun to drift the ivy flowers have opened on the weasel’s wall their bees have come to them the spiders watch their bellies and along all the shores boats of the spirit are burning without sound without smoke without flame unseen in the sunlight of a day under its own king
— W.S. Merwin : : From his book Writings to an Unfinished Accompaniment (Atheneum, 1973),also found in the National Book Award-winning Migration: New and Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2004). : : From merwinconservancy.org : : For Educational Purposes only.
“September” By W S Merwin: Notes Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April 28 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
Colm Toibin ( 1955 b. ) : Photo Credit: LauraWilson : : Colm Tóibín is an Irish novelist, essayist, playwright, and poet. Tóibín was born on May 30, 1955 in Enniscorthy, County Wexford, Ireland and studied at University College Dublin. From 1975–78, he lived in Barcelona and used the experience as inspiration for two books—the novel The South (Scribner, 1990), which was shortlisted for the Whitbread First Novel Award and won the Irish Times / Aer Lingus First Fiction Award, and the nonfiction work Homage to Barcelona (Simon & Schuster, 1990). He has published twenty-four works of fiction, nonfiction, and plays, including The Magician (Scribner, 2021); Brooklyn (Scribner, 2009), which was later adapted into an Academy Award-nominated film; and The Master (Scribner, 2004), which received the International Dublin Literary Award and the Stonewall Book Award. In 2022, Tóibín published Vinegar Hill (Beacon Press), his first poetry collection.
Tóibín has been short-listed three times for the Booker Prize and has won the Los Angeles Times Novel of the Year, the Costa Novel of the Year, the Lambda Literary Award, and the Irish PEN Award for his contributions to Irish literature.
Tóibín is currently the Irene and Sidney B. Silverman Professor of the Humanities at Columbia University. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and is a vice president of the Royal Society of Literature. ( From poets.oeg ) : :
September Colm Tóibín – 1955-
The first September of the pandemic, The sky’s a watercolour, white and grey, And Pembroke Street is empty, and so is Leeson Street. This is the time after time, What the world will look like when the world Is over, when people have been ushered into Seats reserved for them in the luminous Heavens. Moving towards the corner of Upper Pembroke Street and Leeson Street, An elderly man wears a mask; his walk is Sprightly, his movements brisk. I catch His watery eye for a watery moment. Without stopping, all matter-of-fact, He says: ‘Someone told me you were dead.’
— Colm Toibin : : From Vinegar Hill by Colm Tóibín (Beacon Press, 2022) Boston, Massachusetts. : : From poets.org. : For Educational Purposes only. : :
“September “, By Colm Toibin ( born on May 30, 1955 in Enniscorthy, County Wexford, Ireland ) is About The First September of the Pandemic. : : Notes for each of the lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April 27, 2023 : : : : : : : :
September : : By Ted Hughes : : : : We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold: No clock counts this. When kisses are repeated and the arms hold There is no telling where time is.
It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still: Behind the eye a star, Under the silk of the wrist a sea, tell Time is nowhere.
We stand; leaves have not timed the summer. No clock now needs Tell we have only what we remember: Minutes uproaring with our heads
Like an unfortunate King’s and his Queen’s When the senseless mob rules; And quietly the trees casting their crowns Intothe pools. — Ted Hughes : : From allpoetry.com. : For Educational Purposes only.
“September” By English Poet & Children’s Writer Ted Hughes ( Poet Laureate from 1984 until his death ) is About end of the Time or troubled andimportant relationship. ‘September‘ was published in Birthday Letters in 1998. It was released only a few months before his death. It came after the death of his wife, Sylvia Plath, ( one of the most important feminist poets of all time. ) Rightly or wrongly, Hughes’s own reputation was tied to his treatment of Plath during their troubled marriage. ( Some believe that he was responsible for her suicide.) It was with this collection that he sought to redeem himself in public domain. This autobiographical book hit the top of best-seller lists. It was awarded the Forward Poetry Prize, the T.S. Eliot Prize for Poetry, as well as several other prestigious awards. : The speaker describes how “we,” presumably him and his lover, sit and watch the world changing around them. There is no “clock” to count the changes that are occurring, it is something more emotional , transitory and short lived. : :
Hughes focuses on small moments, like the feeling of someone’s wrist, while repeatedly stresses that time means nothing. The captivating image of “trees casting their crowns / Into pools” which touches the change that Hughes has suggested. : :
it’s clear that Hughes has been dealing with an intense emotions while facing his own terminal illness and recalling Plath’s death 35 years ago. : : : :
Notes for each of the Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April 26 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
MADHU MALTI 