It is the month in which Shakespeare was born ! I love the month of April ! Flowers are blooming against the concrete foundation of the barn . The Morning Glories are starting to climb the pole . I write poetry, prose and short stories . In honor of April , I offer one of my own short prose .
Enjoy !
Plant
Plant a garden for your soul and plant all the things you love .
Also a few for posterity.
Nurture them very carefully .
Sow the seeds of love beside each one and watch them grow.
What a joy to read this on a rainy and dull April morning. I needed this in the midst of my other favorite Substack authors’ writing, with its lack of politics about an angry madman, but instead a reminder to recall that there is still beauty in this world. Thank you.
Thanks Terre, there is of course no shortage of things to say about an angry madman. And I write about it too, of course, on occasion. They tend to be the posts that get the most engagment. But I am glad you liked this one. It was a joy to write. I have found, at least for me, that it helps to try to see the world from broader perpectives.
After the punishing cold of winter, I have often marveled at the renewal of the earth in spring. I remember one such year when we had a definite and welcome shift of light and weather. It was almost too much to absorb and I suddenly began describing the wonder to myself as an "unbearably romantic evening", when the soft evening air is punctuated with birdsong and the slanting sun is outlining tiny new leaves on the trees in the forest....
You continue to amaze me. You transported me back to class with my favorite English teacher. Middle English definitely needs to be spoken with gusto for full impact. Thank you also for your wisdom and flowers.
My single parlor trick has been to recite only the first sentence in Middle English. In 1960-61 my high school Senior year English teacher, Miss Wintringham required that we memorize the whole Prologue. She said that some day we would be riding on the bus next to some lovely young person and reciting that would win us favor. Never worked, but then I never had the courage to try. What you have written has fostered a new sense of connection with that sentence from Chaucer, my April birthday, and the incipient life emerging in the spring signaling renewed growth producing energy. I will think about taking the risk as I travel around the planet with my backpack, and, should some lovely young lady of seventy-five or so (I will turn 81 in two weeks) sit next to me on a plane, train, or bus, perhaps I will recite it and see what happens. I suppose that could go badly, but what the Hell!
How very fortunate that you, Malia and your daughters live near Mt. Davidson Park and in a ciutyt "where all residents have access to a park within a 10-minute walk," as the Recreation and Park Department justly boasts.
Thanks for inviting supplements to your evocative odes to the season. I'll jump ahead a month by excerpting an 1862 song from Stephen Foster:
April, full of hope and the difficulty of rebirth. You made me recall the William Carlos Williams poem, “Spring and All,” in which he writes about the mud and cold and how the plants and trees he’s mentioned, but maybe us too “enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter.”
It wasn’t T.S. Eliot but Ezra Pound who decided that infamous April line would begin the poem. Pound slashed through over 50 lines to reach that one, declared: “the poem begins here.” Eliot was a good enough poet to recognize the rightness of the decision. Every writer needs an alpha reader like Pound, willing to call us on our BS.
This tribute to April was most welcome in any case, reminding us that regardless of the madmen, life renews. My Facebook feed overflows with everyone’s photos of new blooms in their gardens. And thanks for the Chaucer!
Thanks Patricia for the wonderful context around Pound. Indeed, every writer needs an alpha reader. I try to run these newsletters by a few before I send them out but I fear the schedule does not allow for enough questioning and pruning before posting. But they are what they are. Another fun piece of literary trivia I learned for this but didn't put in the piece was beause of the silent e at the end of words, Shakespeare, when he read Chaucer, likely missed out on the full power of the poetry.
OK Elliot. Though I’ve loved so much that you’ve written, this one finally touched me right in the center of my English major heart. And it could hear your father’s voice, proclaiming those words of Chaucer. Thank you. I love my family and their reverence for literature.
Thank you for this sweet reminder of the poetry that honors April. In the scant two years we lived on a farm, I came to think of April as the mud season. Besides bringing flowers, the April showers made tons of mud, delaying farmers access to their fields for planting. In turn, this reminds me of the pop tunes that date back to the Jazz Age and still heard in the ‘40s and ‘50s that honored Spring and the month of April. Songs like “April Showers” popularized by Bing Crosby and “When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin Along,” one of Al Jolson’s signature songs and later recorded by Doris Day and Dean Martin.
Thanks Elliot. April is my favorite month, mostly because my birthday is in April and rain or not it is a beautiful month of new life proliferating among us. Favorite quote: "Oh to be in England no that April's there." R Browning. I spent my 9th and 10th birthdays in England and fell in love with it. April is agonizingly diverse and beautiful, just like me.
It is the month in which Shakespeare was born ! I love the month of April ! Flowers are blooming against the concrete foundation of the barn . The Morning Glories are starting to climb the pole . I write poetry, prose and short stories . In honor of April , I offer one of my own short prose .
Enjoy !
Plant
Plant a garden for your soul and plant all the things you love .
Also a few for posterity.
Nurture them very carefully .
Sow the seeds of love beside each one and watch them grow.
~ Becky Lee ~
What a joy to read this on a rainy and dull April morning. I needed this in the midst of my other favorite Substack authors’ writing, with its lack of politics about an angry madman, but instead a reminder to recall that there is still beauty in this world. Thank you.
Thanks Terre, there is of course no shortage of things to say about an angry madman. And I write about it too, of course, on occasion. They tend to be the posts that get the most engagment. But I am glad you liked this one. It was a joy to write. I have found, at least for me, that it helps to try to see the world from broader perpectives.
After the punishing cold of winter, I have often marveled at the renewal of the earth in spring. I remember one such year when we had a definite and welcome shift of light and weather. It was almost too much to absorb and I suddenly began describing the wonder to myself as an "unbearably romantic evening", when the soft evening air is punctuated with birdsong and the slanting sun is outlining tiny new leaves on the trees in the forest....
Such a lovely gift of spring!
You continue to amaze me. You transported me back to class with my favorite English teacher. Middle English definitely needs to be spoken with gusto for full impact. Thank you also for your wisdom and flowers.
I just read it aloud, not having done so in many decades. It sounded beautiful, still.
I love the inspiration provided by a beautiful Spring day. Here is Montreal we are still waiting. Lovely piece. Thank you.
My single parlor trick has been to recite only the first sentence in Middle English. In 1960-61 my high school Senior year English teacher, Miss Wintringham required that we memorize the whole Prologue. She said that some day we would be riding on the bus next to some lovely young person and reciting that would win us favor. Never worked, but then I never had the courage to try. What you have written has fostered a new sense of connection with that sentence from Chaucer, my April birthday, and the incipient life emerging in the spring signaling renewed growth producing energy. I will think about taking the risk as I travel around the planet with my backpack, and, should some lovely young lady of seventy-five or so (I will turn 81 in two weeks) sit next to me on a plane, train, or bus, perhaps I will recite it and see what happens. I suppose that could go badly, but what the Hell!
How very fortunate that you, Malia and your daughters live near Mt. Davidson Park and in a ciutyt "where all residents have access to a park within a 10-minute walk," as the Recreation and Park Department justly boasts.
Thanks for inviting supplements to your evocative odes to the season. I'll jump ahead a month by excerpting an 1862 song from Stephen Foster:
We roamed the fields and riversides,
When we are young and gay;
We chased the bees and plucked the flowers,
In the merry, merry month of May.
[Refrain:]
Oh, yes, with ever changing sports,
We whiled the hours away;
The skies were bright,
Our hearts were light,
In the merry, merry month of May.
Thanks for sharing! I remember the tune but did not know the lyrics beyond the one chorus line!
April, full of hope and the difficulty of rebirth. You made me recall the William Carlos Williams poem, “Spring and All,” in which he writes about the mud and cold and how the plants and trees he’s mentioned, but maybe us too “enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter.”
It wasn’t T.S. Eliot but Ezra Pound who decided that infamous April line would begin the poem. Pound slashed through over 50 lines to reach that one, declared: “the poem begins here.” Eliot was a good enough poet to recognize the rightness of the decision. Every writer needs an alpha reader like Pound, willing to call us on our BS.
This tribute to April was most welcome in any case, reminding us that regardless of the madmen, life renews. My Facebook feed overflows with everyone’s photos of new blooms in their gardens. And thanks for the Chaucer!
Thanks Patricia for the wonderful context around Pound. Indeed, every writer needs an alpha reader. I try to run these newsletters by a few before I send them out but I fear the schedule does not allow for enough questioning and pruning before posting. But they are what they are. Another fun piece of literary trivia I learned for this but didn't put in the piece was beause of the silent e at the end of words, Shakespeare, when he read Chaucer, likely missed out on the full power of the poetry.
OK Elliot. Though I’ve loved so much that you’ve written, this one finally touched me right in the center of my English major heart. And it could hear your father’s voice, proclaiming those words of Chaucer. Thank you. I love my family and their reverence for literature.
Thank you, Paula. Best to you and the family. Many memories of talking books and poems.
Thank you for this sweet reminder of the poetry that honors April. In the scant two years we lived on a farm, I came to think of April as the mud season. Besides bringing flowers, the April showers made tons of mud, delaying farmers access to their fields for planting. In turn, this reminds me of the pop tunes that date back to the Jazz Age and still heard in the ‘40s and ‘50s that honored Spring and the month of April. Songs like “April Showers” popularized by Bing Crosby and “When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin Along,” one of Al Jolson’s signature songs and later recorded by Doris Day and Dean Martin.
I, for one, miss hearing those tunes.
Lovely! Poetry and Aprille do go together, do they not?
What a delicious post, Elliot Kirschner! Thank you so much for reminding us of the poetry of April, and of the English language.
Thanks Elliot. April is my favorite month, mostly because my birthday is in April and rain or not it is a beautiful month of new life proliferating among us. Favorite quote: "Oh to be in England no that April's there." R Browning. I spent my 9th and 10th birthdays in England and fell in love with it. April is agonizingly diverse and beautiful, just like me.
Thanks for the lovely thoughts and images- a relief from grey New England Spring.
Yes. I too am transported back to the little cottage/classroom where medieval and Renaissance poetry was taught. Lovely to think of that. Thanks
Great choices.