Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration of my Sunday blogs here.
Mother, Summer, I by Philip Larkin, linked here to The Writer’s Almanac online, is a “different” look at summer’s end. I’ve posted it this morning after a magnificent set of thunderstorms rolled in across Chautauqua Lake last night and kept everyone but the most exhausted members of this vibrant community awake in wonder.
Do you, like Larkin, await a time “less bold, less rich, less clear?” For the same reasons? This is a wonderful poem to take with us this next week as August rolls to a close, to wonder and worry over and to set us thinking about the seasons we find most troubling or most endearing.
Remember there are no quizzes here, no right ways to read or contemplate the poem we share. No dissecting allowed. Just come along for the “read,” and enjoy the experience. What line or word or thought will you carry along with you this week? And if you’d like to tell us where the poem took you? We’ll listen.