National Poetry Month

My thanks to Sir Robin for letting me know that April is National Poetry Month. How appropriate, when my part of the world becomes a visual poem every day! Since I am completely twitterpated owing to spring, I thought this would be a good poem to share.

Spring and All
by William Carlos Williams

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast-a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines-

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches-

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind-

Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined-
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance-Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted, they
grip down and begin to awaken

Copyright © 1962 by William Carlos Williams. Used with permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form without the written consent of the publisher.


Bee said...

I would love to see a Northeastern spring . . . you really pay for it in winter; but then there's the payback.

In Texas now there is a sultry fug that foretells savage summer. I'm starting to feel glad that I will be returning to England -- back to my "cold familiar wind."

Isn't it nice to share some poetry around our little corner of the blogosphere? I will remember you always from your opening salvo: poetry can make me weep.

The Minstrel Boy said...

i just posted a yeats. thanks for the reminder.

Brave Sir Robin said...

I like this one, and I agree with Bee. I never really understood the big deal about spring until I experienced one in New England.

It truly is a re-birth, and I can understand why the ancients worshiped the rebirth of the sun.

MB - Your Yeats post at Kona's is appropriate for the times, no?

maurinsky said...

The two best seasons in New England are the two briefest seasons. Spring is glorious and enchanting; Autumn is melancholy and comfortable.

Summer lasts for 4 months, and it's either too cold to do any summer activities or it's so hot and humid that you consider sleeping in a tub of ice water.

Winter lasts for 6 months, and it has its perks - the first snowfall is always magical, but the many layers and the cold and the heating bills get tiresome very quickly.