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[Josh]

Calathea wrote: "Josh wrote: "AUTUMN IS A SQUIRREL!!!! ;-) "

*lol* Don't get me started on squirrels. I'm still trying to get over my last encounter this week. I swear the little beast laughed at me! ;-)"

Holding his little furry sides and squeaking out his giggles.

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "Josh wrote: "Calathea wrote: "Calathea wrote: "Corona


Aus der Hand frißt der Herbst mir sein Blatt: wir sind Freunde.
Wir schälen die Zeit aus den Nüssen und lehren sie gehn:
die Zeit kehrt zurüc..."

I feel there is a poem right there. :-D

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "I loved reading the autumn poems you guys had posted. And thank you, Josh, for asking for them.

I've been reading W. H. Auden's Selected Poems (edited by Edward Mendelson) quite a bit lately. Here..."

Nice.

[Josh]

These are gorgeous. I was just in the mood for some reflections on autumn. It's not quite autumn here yet, but it's hovering.

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "And here is one lighter, more positive autumn poem. I find it charming. For some reason the beginning of every school year feels like this to me. :-)

IN THE LIBRARY by Dorothea Grossman (2008)

Th..."

Ha! I love that.

[Josh]

K.Z. wrote: "I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more ..."

I like that.

[Josh]

Antonella wrote: "Thank you, K.Z.! I also love the fact that people put here lovely poems from authors I've never heard."

Yes! That's probably the best part of this. The introduction to poets and images we would otherwise never know.

[K.Z.]

Antonella wrote: "Thank you, K.Z.! I also love the fact that people put here lovely poems from authors I've never heard."

You're most welcome, Antonella. It's those poems by new-to-me writers that keep me coming back here. :)

[K.Z.]

Here’s another verse for autumn, written in the late 18th century by little-known American poet Philip Freneau. I’ve always been ridiculously fond of it, so I wanted to share its poignancy and simple wisdom.

The Wild Honey Suckle

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died--nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

[Caroline]

It was so lovely this morning to log on to Verlaine, Auden, Roethke and a 'new to me' poet Dorothea Grossman.

Thanks for the Verlaine Na. Poor guy he hadn't even met Rimbaud when he wrote Chanson D'Automne but the final stanza does indeed sound ominous. According to Wikipedia on 1st June 1944 the BBC broadcast the first three lines "Les sanglots longs / des violons / de l'automne" to signal to the French resistance that the invasion would start within two weeks. Followed on 5th June by the lines "Blessent mon coeur / d'une langueur / monotone" meaning it was 48 hours away.

I rather like Auden's poetry Johanna. I suspect as a person he'd have been rather daunting to meet - like a strict school master. Another friend on Goodreads has recently read his collected works.

And KZ
...
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.

Such perfect lines.

[K.Z.]

The Verlaine is rather dark, isn't it? Makes me shiver. But Auden? I love Auden! And Roethke's been in my Top Ten for decades. :)

[Johanna]

Josh wrote: "Antonella wrote: "Thank you, K.Z.! I also love the fact that people put here lovely poems from authors I've never heard."

Yes! That's probably the best part of this. The introduction to poets and images we would otherwise never know."

Exactly. This is definitely one of the most intriguing threads we have. Every time I visit here the poems all you guys have posted give me so much joy and... peace of mind. :-)

[Anne]

Thank you all for these wonderful, new to me, Autumn poems. What a lovely place this is :)

[Johanna]

K.Z. wrote: "Here’s another verse for autumn, written in the late 18th century by little-known American poet Philip Freneau. I’ve always been ridiculously fond of it, so I wanted to share its poignancy and simp..."

Oh, that's so lovely. Thank you for posting The Wild Honey Suckle — I've never heard it before. And a funny thing —when I read it, it sounded like you, K.Z. :-) One thing I also love about this thread is how the poems we post tell a little something about ourselves, too. :-)

[[deleted user]]

Here's a poem for Yom Kippur by Stanley Kunitz- he's one of my favorite American poets

An Old Cracked Tune
by Stanley Kunitz

My name is Solomon Levi,
the desert is my home,
my mother's breast was thorny,
and father I had none.

The sands whispered, Be separate,
the stones taught me, Be hard.
I dance, for the joy of surviving,
on the edge of the road.

[Johanna]

Here is a small autumn poem by Finnish poet Gösta Ågren. It's originally written in Swedish because the poet was born 1936 in the Swedish-speaking part of Finland.

HÖST by Gösta Ågren

Dagen är duvgrå och
stilla; den liknar
en själ. Rovfågelns klor
är matta som händer.
Hostloven faller
och djupnar till jord.
Försoning är nära.


AUTUMN by Gösta Ågren

The day is dove-grey and
still; it is like
a soul. The bird-of-prey's talons
are weak as hands.
The autumn leaves fall
and deepen to earth.
Reconciliation is near.

(translated by David McDuff)

[Susinok]

Sonnet 73

by William Shakespeare (1609)


That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

[Susinok]

Autumn Movement

Carl Sandburg (1918)


I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

[Johanna]

Another poet whose work I've been reading a lot lately (besides W. H. Auden's) is Robert Frost. Here is his A Late Walk. I think it's lovely.

A LATE WALK by Robert Frost

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

[Johanna]

Susinok wrote: "Sonnet 73

by William Shakespeare (1609)


That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs,..."

I trusted that you or Karen would post this one. :-)

[K.Z.]

Sarah wrote: "Here's a poem for Yom Kippur by Stanley Kunitz- he's one of my favorite American poets

An Old Cracked Tune
by Stanley Kunitz"

That is wonderful. I haven't read Kunitz in years.

[K.Z.]

Johanna wrote: "And a funny thing —when I read it, it sounded like you, K.Z. :-)"

Oh my goodness! You've certainly given me something to think about! ;-)

[Josh]

K.Z. wrote: "The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.
..."

So much to think about there.

I will add that the honeysuckle is an astonishingly durable flower. One of the things I love about it.

[Josh]

Caroline wrote: "The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
..."

I think these are words you must reach a certain age to appreciate. :-)

That age being...um...over forty.

[Josh]

Susinok wrote: "Autumn Movement

Carl Sandburg (1918)


I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mot..."

The thing about Sandburg is there is always something new to discover.

[Josh]

Sarah wrote: "Here's a poem for Yom Kippur by Stanley Kunitz- he's one of my favorite American poets

An Old Cracked Tune
by Stanley Kunitz

My name is Solomon Levi,
the desert is my home,
my mother's breast ..."

I like this.

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "Here is a small autumn poem by Finnish poet Gösta Ågren. It's originally written in Swedish because the poet was born 1936 in the Swedish-speaking part of Finland.

HÖST by Gösta Ågren

Dagen är du..."

Wow. Now that takes some thought. Still pondering.

[Josh]

Susinok wrote: "SBare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day

..."

Isn't that lovely? You can see those bare branches so perfectly.

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "Another poet whose work I've been reading a lot lately (besides W. H. Auden's) is Robert Frost. Here is his A Late Walk. I think it's lovely.

A LATE WALK by Robert Frost

When I go up through the ..."

I love Frost. Frost in uniquely comforting. Maybe because he had, in so many ways, such a prosaic life.

[Johanna]

Josh wrote: "I love Frost. Frost in uniquely comforting."

Funny that you say that, because that's the exact kind of effect his poems have in me. Comforting and strangely soothing. Like a warm, soft blanket I can wrap around myself. Or like a small, easygoing moment in a summer day when everything is perfect around you and you know that you did something right in the past that you somehow ended up being just where you are now. :-)

[Reggie]

Oh wow! These were great to come back to. Beautiful.

When I think of Autumn poetry, I think- Apple Pie! Family, friends gathering for apple pie, stews, pumpkin bread and fresh pressed apple juice. I was tempted to put up a recipe for my Autumn poem, but that didn't seem right. I couldn't find a crisp Ode to Apple Pie on the web. My husbands family has agricultural roots here in California so the following is my addition.

[Reggie]

Autumn
Written by James Whitcomb Riley

As a harvester, at dusk,
Faring down some woody trail
Leading homeward through the musk
Of may-apple and pawpaw,
Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,--
So comes Autumn, swart and hale,
Drooped of frame and slow of stride.
But withal an air of pride
Looming up in stature far
Higher than his shoulders are;
Weary both in arm and limb,
Yet the wholesome heart of him
Sheer at rest and satisfied.

Greet him as with glee of drums
And glad cymbals, as he comes!
Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine.
He the Emperor--the King--
Royal lord of everything
Sagging Plenty's granary floors
And out-bulging all her doors;
He the god of corn and wine,
Honey, milk, and fruit and oil--
Lord of feast, as lord of toil--
Jocund host of yours and mine!

[Johanna]

Reggie wrote: "Oh wow! These were great to come back to. Beautiful.

When I think of Autumn poetry, I think- Apple Pie! Family, friends gathering for apple pie, stews, pumpkin bread and fresh pressed apple juice..."

The book club will meet at my place on Wednesday and I just decided to make an apple pie for them. LOL. Thank you, Reggie, for the great poem, too.

[Josh]

Reggie wrote: "Autumn
Written by James Whitcomb Riley

As a harvester, at dusk,
Faring down some woody trail
Leading homeward through the musk
Of may-apple and pawpaw,
Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,--
S..."

So very nice.

[Josh]

Johanna wrote: "Josh wrote: "I love Frost. Frost in uniquely comforting."

Funny that you say that, because that's the exact kind of effect his poems have in me. Comforting and strangely soothing. Like a warm, sof..."

So beautifully said, Johanna.

[Anne]

Another wise poem from Olav H. Hauge. There was an article about him in the Saturday paper, I wasn't aware he suffered from mental illness, and was hospitalised several times. It makes his little verses even more poignant. The translation is by me, and I apologise for not doing the poem due credit.

Kom ikkje med heile sanninga
Kom ikkje med havet for min tørste
Kom ikkje med himmelen når eg ber om ljos
Men kom med eit glimt, eit dogg, eit fjom
Slik fuglane ber med seg vassdropar frå lauget
Og vinden eit korn av salt

Don't bring the whole truth
Don't bring the ocean for my thirst
Don't bring the heavens when I ask for light
But bring a glimpse, a dewdrop, a mote
Like the birds carrying drops of water from the bath
And the wind a grain of salt

[Antonella]

Thank you! Also for taking time to translate.

[K.Z.]

Anne wrote: "Another wise poem from Olav H. Hauge. There was an article about him in the Saturday paper, I wasn't aware he suffered from mental illness, and was hospitalised several times. It makes his little v..."

This is lovely, Anne -- poignant and thought-provoking. Thank you.

[Johanna]

That's so lovely, Anne! Like K.Z. already wrote: such a thought-provoking poem. Beautiful and profound. Thank you so much for posting it and translating it for us newfound Olav H. Hauge fans. ;-)

[Josh]

Anne wrote: "Another wise poem from Olav H. Hauge. There was an article about him in the Saturday paper, I wasn't aware he suffered from mental illness, and was hospitalised several times. It makes his little v..."

I can't imagine being unhappy with that translation.

[Anne]

Josh wrote: "Anne wrote: "Another wise poem from Olav H. Hauge. There was an article about him in the Saturday paper, I wasn't aware he suffered from mental illness, and was hospitalised several times. It makes..."

Thank you, I believe it translates well, it is just that his language is so special, he writes in a dialect coloured Norwegian, with words that are not always commonly used, but is the right word for what he means to say. I believe that is why his poems are short, every word has meaning, there isn't one that is not necessary.

I should probably apologise for force feeding Hauge to this group, but as you probably understand, I love his poetry. And what you love, you love to share, right? :)

[Johanna]

Anne wrote: "I should probably apologise for force feeding Hauge to this group, but as you probably understand, I love his poetry. And what you love, you love to share, right? :)"

I feel extremely lucky that you love his poetry. :-)

[Josh]

Anne wrote: "And what you love, you love to share, right? :)..."

Yes!

[Anne]

Johanna wrote: "Anne wrote: "I should probably apologise for force feeding Hauge to this group, but as you probably understand, I love his poetry. And what you love, you love to share, right? :)"

I feel extremely..."

Johanna, you're so sweet :)

[Caroline]

Anne wrote: I should probably apologise for force feeding Hauge to this group, but as you probably understand, I love his poetry. And what you love, you love to share, right?..."

No apology necessary Anne. I'd happily have a Hauge a day. It struck me this summer reading a bilingual edition of his work how often he uses the word - havet - sea, ocean, water in his poems. They are lovely aren't they.

[K.Z.]

Josh wrote: "Anne wrote: "And what you love, you love to share, right? :)..."

Yes!"

Except, usually, our mates -- unless we're "sister wives." ;-)

[Anne]

Caroline wrote: "Anne wrote: I should probably apologise for force feeding Hauge to this group, but as you probably understand, I love his poetry. And what you love, you love to share, right?..."

No apology necess..."

They definitely are.

[Anne]

K.Z. wrote: "Josh wrote: "Anne wrote: "And what you love, you love to share, right? :)..."

Yes!"

Except, usually, our mates -- unless we're "sister wives." ;-)"

I can live with that exception :)

[Johanna]

I would so need a poem right now. Anyone got any good ones in mind? ;-)

[Anne]

Dear Johanna, I found this for you, an autumn poem, since we all are enjoying the fall colours right now. It is by an old poet/author, Per Sivle, so the original is in somewhat old-fashioned Norwegian. I translated it in haste just now so you shouldn't have to be poetry deprived for too long :)

Lauv

Jeg saa det ivaar
som en svulmende Knop.
Jeg saa det, da Solstraalen
lukked det op.
Jeg saa det isommer,
mens Maaltrosten sang.
Jeg saa det ihøst,
da det visnende hang.
Jeg saa det idag
som det gulnede Blad
at dale mod Jord,
medens Høstvinden kvad.
Lad falde! Lad dækkes
af Rimfrost og Sne!
— Lad falde, lad falde!
— — Det maatte jo ske!

Leaf

I saw it this spring
Like a bursting bud
I saw it when the sun
Opened it up
I saw it this summer
While the Nightingale sang
I saw it this autumn
While it wizening hang
I saw it today
As the yellowing leaf
Falling towards earth
While the fall winds layed
Let it fall! Let it be covered
By frost and snow.
Let it fall, let it fall!
It had to happen!

Edited; it is an autumn poem, not an autumn poet :)