Wednesday, November 10, 2010


"In winter," Grandfather Trout said, "summer is a myth. A report, a rumor. Not to be believed in".
                                              - John Crowley, Little,Big
Edit: See comments section for selections from readers' favorite winter-themed poems ( add your own if you would like).


Jasmine said...

O, wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

ArtSparker said...

Thanks, Jasmine.

Heh, moving RIGHT ALONG from the line in the same poem about the "thorns of life".

Poet in Residence said...

Turning over the new leaf, it's the season for biographies, can X-mass be far away?

Schröder says Bush is a liar in Spiegel online.

ArtSparker said...

PR- well, I had my suspicions. Although I think he's more morally lazy than a liar.

Titus said...

Exquisite photograph; is the perspective the opposite of foreshortening?

And I love quote-y ones!
Has to be Gawain for me, and sadly in translation as the keyboard does not allow Middle English.

But then Fall flies in, and fills their hearts,
Bidding them be rich, ripe, and ready for winter.
The autumn drought drives up dust
that billows in clouds above the broad earth.
Wild winds whistle, wrestling the sun;
Leaves launch from each limb and land on the soil,
while the green grass fades to grey.
What rose at the first now ripens and rots
till the year has gathered its full yield of yesterdays.
In the way of the world, winter winds
Around til the Michaelmas moon
brings frost to touch the ground.
When Gawain remembers all too soon
that he is duty bound.

Emma J said...

Oh, lovely, lovely - this little pool of poetry to refresh this dry stretch of my day. And Gawain! on top of everything.

Can't beat that but will offer also:

Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.

Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

Rainer Maria Rilke
(translated by Stephen Mitchell)

moonlight said...

I just discovered Shelley's Ode to the West Wind.

Bee said...

My heart and natural inclination is with Shelley there. But since it MUST be winter, at least in rainy old England, how about this:

"We are waiting for snow
the way we might wait for a train
to arrive with its cold cargo --
it is late already, but surely
it will come."
~Linda Pastan

Wildeve said...

Hi Susan!
Love the quote, I am reading Little, Big right now.

Clowncar said...

love the rilke.

here's some larry lavis:
Sometimes, I go out into this yard at night / And stare through the wet branches of an oak / In winter, & realize I am looking at the stars /
Again. A thin haze of them, shining /
And persisting.

I realize I am looking at the stars again. Love that line. It resonates.

Celeste Bergin said...

coincidence..! I posted a favorite season quote today...I love the looks important

Anonymous said...

not thinking winter

not after such a long one.

Totalfeckineejit said...

is like a splinter
in your arse.


lettuce said...

ah beautiful