[Jim Moonan]

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It’s Snowing All Over The World.

It's snowing over all the world.
We are sleeping beneath its blanket
so we are warm. When we wake
it will be cruel to feel the ache
of old bones rising in spring.


Edits
Title was "First Snowfall"


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[Carl Copeland]

The first line rings a bell. It’s not Joyce, and it’s not the song, which I don’t think I’ve ever heard. So maybe it’s the first line of Pasternak’s exquisite “Winter Night.” The best translation I’ve seen is by our own A. Z. Foreman:

https://ruverses.com/boris-pasternak/winters-night/26/

[Jim Moonan]

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Thanks for the poem reference. I had not read it before. It's a beautiful poem — not mine, Boris's.

Mine may not really go anywhere. Although I'd argue that that is the intent. The opening line of my poem comes out of a quiet despair I've felt pursuing me of late. The world has come to a frozen place. Nothing seems alive. Nothing moves like it should.

The real stimulus for the poem started early yesterday morning when I saw someone's post on social media of last night's snowfall in upstate New York. I then scrolled a bit further and there was Robert Frost's Dust of Snow poem.

The two combined in my head to become the little poem I wrote. The photo of the upstate NY snowfall had a rather dismal washed out blueish hue to it. All gray skies and snow. It had a defeated look to it. There was a lilac bush that had been bent over to the ground by the thin, heavy blanket of snowfall. The Frost poem was in sharp contrast to that photo. It has an element of serendpity in it. The snow disturbed by the crow had saved the N’s dispirited mood.

Then my thoughts turned to one of my favorite short stories: The Dead by James Joyce. Then I imagined the whole earth covered in a blanket of snow. Put to sleep, dead.

I hope something of what I describe above comes across in the poem. Unlike the despair that has been nagging me, there is hope in the poem.

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[Carl Copeland]

Thanks for the backstory, Jim. I’m quite happy for a poem to convey a mood as yours does and “go nowhere.” I’m always a bit puzzled when a poem is criticized for having no development, though I suppose such criticism may at times be apropos. But you do have some development: from a cozy winter sleep/death to a bone-achy spring awakening/resurrection. That’s interesting, as is the worldwide blizzard. Maybe I should tell you to cheer up, but I’d rather you keep writing your way through it.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Jim—

Lovely poem. I agree with Carl that a poem need have no grand purpose beyond crystallizing a feeling or celebrating sounds. I’m just now learning how powerful brevity can be. I hope you are comforted by being able to share yourself and your experiences with fellow humans through poetry.

[John Riley]

I can see the imagery and feel the narrator's response. I listened to "The Dead" last week for the first time and strangely, perhaps, the ending seemed a bit too much--all the sibilants! But it's lovely. Well done, Jim.

[R. Nemo Hill]

It's a lovely little nugget, Jim. But I don't think you need the title: the first-ness of this snow seems irrelevant to the content of the poem. The first line might make a better title. You could undo any repetitiveness by slightly altering the now-titular line when used to open the poem.


It’s Snowing All Over The World.

It's snowing over all the world.
We are sleeping beneath its blanket
so we are warm. When we wake
it will be cruel to feel the ache
of old bones rising in spring.


Just a thought,
Nemo