Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the category “American poets”

Word Nerds: Adding some seasonal nomenclature to the weather outside


Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

Although the temperature read 80 degrees the other day my trees are shedding their leaves like a toddler peeling her clothes off in order to be unfettered and free. It’s fall. That time of year when we pull on a sweater leaving the house and pull it off by midafternoon. The nights are cooler, the days are warmish. The weather is fickle. September remains my favorite seasonal month for all those reasons–it’s an unexpected month.

But is it Fall or is it fall? A quick trip to Dictionary.com is needed.

When applied as a title or is being personified, like in the poem below seasonal words are capitalized, otherwise use lower case.

Autumn Thoughts
by John Greenleaf Whittier

Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer’s pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter’s snow.

I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
‘An emblem of myself thou art.’
‘Not so,’ the Earth did seem to say,
‘For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.’
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again….

Wait, Mr. Whittier used Autumn instead of Fall. Is there a difference? Actually the terms are interchangeable; however, there are slight nuances.

The word “autumn” is French, being derived from autompne and is traced back to the late 1300s. Chaucer and Shakespeare applied the word in their works. Brits tend to use “autumn” while Americans refer to “fall” which came into use around the 1800s.

Fall being the third season is recorded in use in the 1500s, with thoughts that it referred to “leaf fall,” which makes sense since leaves are falling right and left come September. In some cases “fall” is more useful than “autumn.” For instance, “Spring forward, autumn back,” just doesn’t have the same mnemonic ring.

I tend to say “fall” as “autumn” is much more serious sounding and I think more of how November leads into winter rather than September’s stretch of sunny days. Although I can see why Miss Emily D. chose “Autumn” for her poem instead of “Fall.”

Enjoy those crisp mornings, warmish afternoons, and chilly nights whether you “fall” into the season or apply “autumn” to your wordscape.

Autumn

by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

National Poetry Month: William Wordsworth


National Poetry Month: Elizabeth Bishop


National Poetry Month: Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins


National Poetry Month: Ars Poetica


National Poetry Month: Ars Poetica


National Poetry Month: Ars Poetica


National Poetry Month: Doorways


April: National Poetry Month


April is National Poetry Month and is a time when I spotlight poetry as I teach. This year adjustments have to be made, but that doesn’t stop me from sharing a few of my favorite poems. The first one on my list is from Emily Dickinson.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)

by EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Hope is just that: small, yet resilient, able to stay strong even in a tempest.

We are definitely in a tempest these days, and I pray that little voice of hope remains strong and provides the sweetness and surety that it will be heard.

Take care–
Pam

POM: “Approach of Winter”


I am not a fan of winter. I may have mentioned that once or twice. In fact, I confess, I am known to have at least one ridiculous emotional meltdown–a little kid unreasonable tantrum, when the first snow makes landfall. Yes, I am embarrassed. If they had a support group for Winter Lamenters Anonymous I would attend.

Once my tantrum is over I am resigned to winter. To not acknowledge that we are stuck with it for the next 3-5 months is added misery. I buy sweaters and sip cocoa. More books get read. I try to find the bright side to the dark days of winter. Nope, I don’t ski. I might be convinced to sled though.

For the most part I ignore creative acknowledgements of winter. Don’t sing to me about wintertime; I am not interested in chirpy little winter televised specials. Fine. Maybe the Olympics. So, I was surprised when I actually liked the poem that dropped into my mailbox that’s part of my subscription service. You do subscribe to a poem service, right?

This caught my eye since it caught how I feel about the onset of winter. It earned double appreciation points having been penned by William Carlos Williams–the doctor poet. Enjoy.

The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.

 

Post Navigation