We have the harvest moon
Last night was a rare “super harvest moon” (see also this), and I went outside to gaze at the lovely sight.
And since I’m one of those people with a lot of poetry rattling around in my head, up popped some lines from “Mr. Flood’s Party” by Edwin Arlington Robinson, one of the poems I loved when I first read it back in junior high school.
It’s a sad poem, as are almost all of Arlington’s works. The subject is an elderly drunk in Tilbury Town (the stand-in for Robinson’s hometown of Gardiner, Maine) whose life is almost over, and who has a conversation with himself while in his cups:
Old Eben Flood, climbing alone one night
Over the hill between the town below
And the forsaken upland hermitage
That held as much as he should ever know
On earth again of home, paused warily.
The road was his with not a native near;
And Eben, having leisure, said aloud,
For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear:“Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon
Again, and we may not have many more;
The bird is on the wing, the poet says,
And you and I have said it here before.
Drink to the bird.” He raised up to the light
The jug that he had gone so far to fill,
And answered huskily: “Well, Mr. Flood,
Since you propose it, I believe I will.”
There are many more stanzas, but my favorite back then (and now) was/is this one:
Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child
Down tenderly, fearing it may awake,
He set the jug down slowly at his feet
With trembling care, knowing that most things break;
And only when assured that on firm earth
It stood, as the uncertain lives of men
Assuredly did not, he paced away,….
More here, if you care to read it.
Robinson (often confused with another tri-named poet who wrote character sketches based on people he knew in the two Illinois towns in which he was raised, Edgar Lee Masters) had a life full of darkness and tragedy, but utterly dedicated to poetry. Like Frost who came slightly after him, he was a New Englander, and a master of forms. Robinson is by far the lesser poet, but that doesn’t make him a bad one, although he’s considered very old-fashioned nowadays.
You may not remember Robinson’s name, but you’re probably familiar with his most famous poem, “Richard Cory.” But did you know that he was discovered by Teddy Roosevelt, who was almost singlehandedly responsible for his fame?
I have no poetry to contribute, but I did spend a couple of hours enjoying the view.
I loved “Spoon River Anthology” when I first read some of the better known poems from it, around the 8th grade or so.
Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Just like children sleepin
We could dream this night away
But there is a full moon rising
Lets go dancing in the light
We know where the musics playing
Lets go ut and feel the night
Because I am still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I am still in love with you
On this harvest moon
When we were strangers
I watched you from afar
When we were lovers
I loved you with all my heart
Bit now its getting late
And the moon is climbing high
I want to celebrate
See it shining in your eye
Because I am still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I am still in love with you
On this harvest moon
Neil young…
======
The night was mighty dark so you could hardly see,
For the moon refused to shine.
Couple sitting underneath a willow tree,
For love they did pine.
Little maid was kinda ‘fraid of darkness
So she said, “I guess I’ll go.”
Boy began to sigh, looked up at the sky,
And told the moon his little tale of woe
I can’t see why a boy should sigh when by his side
Is the girl he loves so true,
All he has to say is: “Won’t you be my bride,
For I love you,
I can’t see why I’m telling you this secret,
When I know that you can guess.”
Harvest moon will smile,
Shine on all the while,
If the little girl should answer “yes.”
Oh, Shine on, shine on, harvest moon
Up in the sky;
I ain’t had no lovin’
Since April, January, June or July.
Snow time ain’t no time to stay
Outdoors and spoon;
So shine on, shine on, harvest moon,
For me and my gal.
My son, a starter on the HS football team, finished his football career with a win, at home, under a harvest moon.
Doesn’t get any better than that.
“Shine On Harvest Moon” was one of my favorite songs from Laurel & Hardy. I used to get tears in my eyes, a very hard thing to do when growing up with only brothers. Let’s see —–,
Shine On, shine on harvest moon,
up in the sky.
I ain’t had no lovin since January, April, or the 4th of July.
That’s all I remember. Still love the song.
From A Shropshire Lad:
White in the moon the long road lies,
The moon stands blank above;
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
Pursue the ceaseless way.
The world is round, so travellers tell,
And straight though reach the track,
Trudge on, trudge on, ’twill all be well,
The way will guide one back.
But ere the circle homeward hies
Far, far must it remove:
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
I was 15 or 16 and in a car full of players driving home from a football game in Ft. Collins, Colo. The moon was rising low in the east. It seemed gigantic and much brighter than normal. The coach, who was driving said, “It’s the Harvest Moon boys. It means it’s time to harvest the crops…….and play football.” I’ve never forgotten that golden moment.
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