Autumnal Equinox
Posted: 09/23/2011 Filed under: Nature, Photography, Poetry | Tags: autumn, autumnal, equinox, fall, Lisel Mueller, One More Hymn to the Sun, season, seasonal change Leave a comment »
The long wait is over — autumn is officially here! The new season swept into town in a shower of raindrops under cover of soft gray skies. The trees have yet to flash autumn a warm greeting of color, but the mushrooms? Oh, the mushrooms! They are welcoming autumn with all their might, much to the delight of the deer, who have been eagerly dining on the delicate morsels springing up throughout the yard and woods.
So many beautiful forms! Rounded and smooth, ruffled with fringe, embossed with dots. Buttons, cones, discs. Red, yellow, and tan against the bright green moss. And, of course, stark white against the fallen leaves, black with rain. Perfect on this day of balanced light and darkness.
Each year on the equinox, I return to a beloved poem by Lisel Mueller. By now it is an integral part of my life’s yearly cycle. Favorite excerpts are below. Happy Fall, everyone!
One More Hymn to the Sun
You know that like an ideal mother
she will never leave you,
though after a week of rain
you begin to worry
but you accept her brief absences,
her occasional closed doors
as the prerogative
of an eccentric lover . . .
You like the fact that her moods are an orderly version of yours,
arranged, like the needs of animals,
by seasons: her spring quirks,
her sexual summers,
her steadfast warmth in the fall;
you remember her face on Christmas Day,
blurred, and suffused with the weak smile
of a woman who has just given birth
The way she loves you, your whole body,
and still leaves enough space between you
to keep you from turning to cinders
before your time! . . .
She never gave up on you
though it took you billions of years
to learn the alphabet
and the shadow you cast on the ground
changed its shape again and again
- Lisel Mueller, The Missouri Review, 2.1, Fall 1978
Equinox on the Harvest Moon
Posted: 09/23/2010 Filed under: Nature, Poetry, Science | Tags: autumnal equinox, day, equinox, fall equinox, full moon, Harvest Moon, length, Lisel Mueller, night, One More Hymn to the Sun, solstice, sun, winter solstice Leave a comment »Happy Autumnal Equinox, everyone! I do love these natural holidays, courtesy of the tilt of the Earth and its annual journey around the sun. We get four such holidays per year: two solstices, two equinoxes. How lucky we are!
Today, daylight and darkness are in perfect balance. Tomorrow, nighttime edges past day, growing steadily longer until we reach the winter solstice on December 21 — the longest night of the year, and my favorite natural holiday, as it marks the slow but welcome return of the sun!
Traditionally, the full moon that occurs closest to the autumnal equinox is called the Harvest Moon. This year, the two events fall on the very same date! For Native Americans and colonial farmers, the Harvest Moon was an ideal time to gather corn, pumpkins, squash, beans, and wild rice from the fields. Under the light of the moon, the peak harvest could continue late into the night.
Though I love the moon, the sun has my heart. From babyhood, in fact — my first word beyond “mama” and “dada” was light!
In honor of the autumnal equinox, and in halting farewell to the sun, excerpts from this, a favorite poem:
One More Hymn to the Sun
You know that like an ideal mother
she will never leave you,
though after a week of rain
you begin to worry
but you accept her brief absences,
her occasional closed doors
as the prerogative
of an eccentric lover . . .
You like the fact that her moods are an orderly version of yours,
arranged, like the needs of animals,
by seasons: her spring quirks,
her sexual summers,
her steadfast warmth in the fall;
you remember her face on Christmas Day,
blurred, and suffused with the weak smile
of a woman who has just given birth
The way she loves you, your whole body,
and still leaves enough space between you
to keep you from turning to cinders
before your time! . . .
She never gave up on you
though it took you billions of years
to learn the alphabet
and the shadow you cast on the ground
changed its shape again and again
- Lisel Mueller, The Missouri Review, 2.1, Fall 1978
Virtuosi
Posted: 08/07/2010 Filed under: Poetry | Tags: Judaism, Lisel Mueller, Virtuosi, Waving from Shore Leave a comment »VIRTUOSI
People whose lives have been shaped
by history – and it is always tragic –
do not want to talk about it,
would rather dance, give parties,
on thrift-shop china. You feel
wonderful in their homes,
two leaky rooms, nests
they stowed inside their hearts
on the road into exile.
They know how to fix potato peelings
and apple cores so you smack your lips.
The words start over again
hold no terror for them.
Obediently they rise
and go with only a rucksack
or tote bag. If they weep,
it’s when you’re not looking.
To tame their nightmares, they choose,
the most dazzling occupations,
swallow the flames in the sunset sky,
jump through burning hoops
in their elegant tiger suits.
Cover your eyes: there’s one
walking on a thread
thirty feet above us –
shivering points of light
leap across her body,
and she works without a net.
- Lisel Mueller, from Waving from Shore (1989), in memory of her parents
Bedtime Story
Posted: 02/20/2010 Filed under: Poetry | Tags: Bedtime Story, journey, Lisel Mueller, Waving from Shore Leave a comment »Bedtime Story
The moon lies on the river
like a drop of oil.
The children come to the banks to be healed
of their wounds and bruises.
The fathers who gave them their wounds and bruises
come to be healed of their rage.
The mothers grow lovely; their faces soften,
the birds in their throats awake.
They all stand hand in hand
and the trees around them,
forever on the verge
of becoming one of them,
stop shuddering and speak their first word.
But that is not the beginning.
It is the end of the story,
and before we come to the end,
the mothers and fathers and children
must find their way to the river,
separately, with no one to guide them.
That is the long, pitiless part,
and it will scare you.
- Lisel Mueller, from Waving from Shore (1989)
Two (or Eleven) Years
Posted: 12/31/2009 Filed under: Favorites, Photography, Poetry, Us | Tags: anniversary, Lisel Mueller 2 Comments »
31 December 2007. Circle S Ranch, Lawrence, KS. Photo by Bruce Snell.
For Matthew, with love, always
Take my hand. There are two of us in this cave.
The sound you hear is water; you will hear it forever.
The ground you walk on is rock. I have been here before.
People come here to be born, to discover, to kiss,
to dream and to dig and to kill. Watch for the mud.
Summer blows in with scent of horses and roses;
fall with the sound of sound breaking; winter shoves
its empty sleeve down the dark of your throat.
You will learn toads from diamonds, the fist from the palm,
love from the sweat of love, falling from flying.
There are a thousand turnoffs. I have been here before.
Once I fell off a precipice. Once I found gold.
Once I stumbled on murder, the thin parts of a girl.
Walk on, keep walking, there are axes above us.
Watch for occasional bits and bubbles of light –
birthdays for you, recognitions: yourself, another.
Watch for the mud. Listen for bells, for beggars.
Something with wings went crazy against my chest once.
There are two of us here. Touch me.
- Lisel Mueller, “The Blind Leading the Blind” (1957)
