Summer's Requiem

One of my favorite poems is Caedmon's Hymn
                         You can listen to the old poem here.....

Ruins of Whitby Abbey, where Caedmon lived and worked.

Isn't that rich?     :-)

Now we must praise Heaven-kingdom's Guardian,
The Maker's might and his mind-thoughts....

I love the imagery; 
     I love the alliteration; 
          I love the cadence and the crunchiness of the language.


We, however, don't speak Old English anymore.... 
The closest would be the folks in Iceland. 
                                                            Seriously!

But we can use these techniques in modern poetry.  Old English poems were composed of lines divided in half by a break, a caesura, a marked pause.  Then instead of rhymes, alliteration was the key to how the ancient bards crafted their words.  They also had a rich stock of word images called kennings.  For example, instead of referring to the ocean or the sea, they would call it the whale-road.

Fall foliage at peak in Pocahontas County, W.Va.

Here is an attempt, written after seeing pictures of the first fall colors touching the woods back east and the auroras lighting up the skies in the north.

Summer’s Requiem 

Now I will tell,        icy tintinnabulations,
Mighty mysteries,        bitter majesties,
Aerie’s icy displays;        autumn advances
On wintry wings,        whispering in silence.
Summer’s salvo        long silenced;
Flowers fade,        long nights fall.
Nightlights’ silent scream        nature’s darkly flowers,
Auroral displays,        breath-taking sky dancers,
Drape heaven’s roof,        Raven’s road,
With majesty and wonder,        mighty Lord’s Mantle;
Then kisses icy kinfolk,        snow-bound kith,
And sings remembering—        Summer’s requiem.

 

- D. Benning

Full sky aurora over Norway, early 2015, by Sebastian Voltmer
Source: http://dailyawesomeness.com/a-full-sky-aurora-over-norway/

 

Some say "Autumn"

Glade Creek Grist Mill, Babcock State Park, WVa.

Some say "Autumn" as a special word: "Autumn!"— 
   a joyous, gaudy, rainbow-sparkled display of excessiveness; 
   a right regal regaling of sight and sound, sense and smell—
and they would be right.

For off in the forested hills and hollows, ridges and rills 
   the sharp, crisp breath of Summer’s End comes, 
    tickling, trickling, traipsing, trilling round each leaf and limb,
        sheaf and stem,
   till Autumn’s playful palette paints the earth.

But some say "Fall" as a synonym— 
    and mean that Autumn merely is a time for leaves to drop,
         to plop, to droop, to tiredly slump,
   then mass together in ignoble heaps upon the lawn—
and they would be right.

For in the sun-encrusted valleys of the Far Out West, 
   Summer’s End comes not with biting breath,
   Summer’s End comes not with wintry whispers.
Rather Summer over stays her welcome.
Leaves grow tired and yellow, dusty and brown, 
    mottled, molded, mangy skeletons
                 of Spring’s once bright display, 
   each longing to shrink, shrivel, fade and drop,
   or be driven hard upon a dry north wind.

Yet here and there, and sometimes in between,  
   a sigh of "Autumn" comes and touches tenderly a tree or two, 
   and kisses hedge or  bush,     
        leaving blush and hush and innuendo of Summer’s Grand Adieu.

Some say "Autumn" and then say "Fall"
                   as if there is no difference there at all. 
    But rosy cheeks and jewel-struck hills
                  speak loudly to correct that error.
As Summer retires, renouncing and relinquishing her reign,    
    Autumn proudly receives honor from lesser Fall.
     —And that would be right!

- D. Benning

 ___________________________________________________

 

This Poem set and performed in Aug, 2013.

Ohiopyle Park, Pennsylvania.  Photo by Michael McCumber.
http://www.michaelmccumber.com/pictures/ohiopyle-autumn20/