Sunday, November 27, 2011

Bittersweet

Farm yards, for all their muck & smells, form an important part of my childhood memory, so this poem by Edward Thomas has particular nostalgic resonance.

Tall Nettles

Tall nettles cover up, as they have done
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough
Long worn out, and the roller made of stone:
Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.

This corner of the farmyard I like most:
As well as any bloom upon a flower
I like the dust on the nettles, never lost
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
Edward Thomas

And that poem in turn brings to mind Mary Oliver’s Milkweed, which, even when standing dry & leafless in the autumn, make it

… easy to believe
each one was once young & delicate, also
frightened; also capable
of a certain amount of rough joy.