Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Falling, falling, long ago

Usually, I pick the poem to go with the picture that I want to use. 
But tonight I found the poem first. It is beautiful--
rhyming and metrical and therefore should please my grandson
who gives no credence to any other kind of poem.
This color photo is of my beloved willow that hangs over
The Little Union Canal in Eagle, Idaho, in our backyard there.
This is part of the reason we are spending this winter in California.
This year it is already beginning to snow where my #2 son
lives in the Sierras and also where my daughter lives in Michigan.
We hope for a winter that will give some drought relief;
it may be a forlorn hope.

White Sunday Morning

White Sunday morning long ago--
White bedroom curtains and white walls,
Beyond the window falling snow
That dillydallies as it falls,
And in the kitchen down below
An old old woman popping corn,
Popping corn on Sunday morning.
Thanks to the little register
Cut in my floor above her stove
I can look down and spy on her
And overhear her every move.
And every move she makes is slow, 
Pushing the popper too and fro. 
I hear the corn begin to pop.
Oh, sing, white church, that Christ is born.
I do not hear your singing choir,
I only hear the popping corn
Until I hear the popping stop.
But now, praise be, I more than hear it,
For lifted on the breath of fire
The fragrance rises like pure spirit.
The fragrance rises while the snow
Is falling, falling long ago.

Robert Francis

Collected Poems; 1936-1976, 
University of Massachusetts Press, 1976, page 146.

Isn't dillydallies a wonderful word??

I will be reading more in the work of Robert Francis, I have also begun to read his other book: The Trouble With Francis. It is a memoir of sorts, and beautifully written. He has a wry and elegant voice. And an intelligent point of view.

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