Sunday, September 11, 2011

Owed to Autumn

Inspired by the gorgeous aerial shots of autumn foliage that bridge scenes in the new TV series Necessary Roughness, and by Doug Ramsey’s photos detailing the changing seasons as seen from his roving bicycle (posted at his Rifftides blog), yet equally dis-inspired by this dadblamed new computer still dissing me, and by my resulting failure to write "Kurt Weill Part 4," well… what can a poor boy do but to sing for a rock ‘n’ roll band, ‘cause in sleepy Vashon town there’s just no place that’s happening, so I’ve booked-in Little Johnny Keats as my stand-up replacement. Yes, he’s another short guy like Weill, but he’s tall on entertainment and believe thee me, folks, he knows how to turn a phrase!

Here are some excerpts from his ode to the busy female “Autumn”—but rather than New York or Vermont, this lovely gal’s a favorite in Sussex and Cumbria instead…

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core…

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers…

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue…
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

* * * * *
That was Johnny… a pretty decent poet, and the clever lad predicted social networking too.

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