Rilke, waiting, and the season...

Autumn Day 

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. 

Lay your long shadows on the sundials, 

and on the meadows let the winds go free. 

Command the last fruits to be full; 

give them just two more southern days, 

urge them on to completion and chase 

the last sweetness into the heavy wine. 

Who has no house now, will never build one. 

Who is alone now, will long remain so, 

will stay awake, read, write long letters 

and will wander restlessly up and down 

the tree-lines streets, when the leaves are drifting. 

– Edward Snow, 1991

Is it weird I have a favorite translation of a poem fraught with melancholy? I mean, I have several poems in mind when it comes to fall, to leaves drifting down, to the temperatures plunging, but this poem is special to me, and this particular translation is my favorite (though the Galway Kinnell one is close). 

This is the poem that matches this whole week, at least here in our little town north of Franconia Notch. The eighty-degree surprise of Tuesday, the overly-warm days that have disappeared now-- like a mist, it seems... yeah, this poem gets it. What I love about this poem, though, is not only the sense of gratitude at the beginning, but the sad acknowledgement of endings, followed immediately with an image of quietude. To "read, write long letters" seems like an adjustment of perspective: yes, it's cold, yes, one may be restless like the skittering leaves, but there is always something we can do to manage the time. Something introspective, self-sustaining, a form of practical and useful waiting. 

Given the overall tenor of things (the news is making my stomach roil), I need to cling to this idea of shifting perspective. I pray that the election sorts out in a positive way for the most people, but if not, we are in for a long, restless, sad period of time. What we do with that time is going to be the key to whether we --individually and as a larger community-- survive until a new season comes around. And it has to, right?

Maybe tomorrow I'll chat about Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind." 

Take care,

C