Quote:
Originally Posted by John Riley
I thought the twist on dreading spring was a twist that may work and a little poke in the ribs of all the spring-loving poems.
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But it's still a poem about Spring : )
Some off-the-cuff thoughts on the seasons:
- I've never heard a bad word said about Autumn.
- Winter is the one true season.
- Summer is a state of mind.
- Where is Camelot?
- Eliot gave the only true account of early spring. How lucky for him to be the one who said it best.
- Seasons are stages upon which change is played out. I like watching the changing of the seasons.The seasons in between the seasons : )
I like the poem very much for its traditional language, imagery and somewhat stiff metricality. I like especially the juxtaposition of "their" (the poets who reside in the first stanza) and "we" who reside in stanzas 2-4.
The seasons are the primal metaphor of existence, imo. Within them all mysteries reside. True hell, for me, would be a season-less existence.
At this moment there is a drenching, cold rain falling. It fell all day yesterday and through the night. Everything is swollen. It will be drunk by roots and fed back to the sky. Into the mystic we go...
The difference between Spring and all the other seasons is that Spring is eternal. It's definitely worth writing about. There's just as much pain and suffering in Spring as there is hope and inspiration.
The title is fantastic.