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In the Park
___It showed up in the green
___Today: that velveteen
_Exhaustion that betokens summer’s end,
___Its richness but a sigh
___That warns the passerby
_There’s nothing he can do now to defend
__Himself against the tale retold—
A winter’s tale that’s whispered softly in the cold.
.
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Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
“Velveteen exhaustion” is so good. And so is the ending: winter is a long story we have to steel ourselves to hear again.
Lovely. I agree with Monika; “velveteen exhaustion” is an excellent pair of words.
An interesting vignette of seasonal change. I notice that it moves from summer to winter, without a mention of the fall. I’m not familiar with this stanza form, which seems to be:
Trimeter A
Trimeter A
Pentameter B
Trimeter C
Trimeter C
Pentameter B
Tetrameter D
Hexameter D
Is this a nonce form, or does it have a history? Perhaps someone can identify it for me.
Hello Joseph:
I lifted the scheme from Milton.
Lovely poem, Jeffrey for a sad event.
This is beautiful, Jeffrey. I enjoyed both the content — I’m kind of obsessed with the seasons and their transitions— and the Miltonic stanza form.
I love poems about the change of seasons, and this one is quite effective– short, conveying both a picture and a mood with some striking word choices that prepare the reader for the poignant closing line, which highlights the theme of mutability and the certain approach of winter, from whose cold touch nothing green will escape.
Exquisitely beautiful! Thank you, Jeffrey!
P.S. Jeffrey, I also really loved your recent poem “Cana” in the Catholic Poetry Room.
Thanks so much, everyone, for your kind appreciation of this poem. It was, I have to admit, a happy accident. On nights when I sit down to write and have no ongoing project or particular idea in mind, I do an “exercise night”: I arbitrarily pick a subject, choose a scheme from a favorite poet, do my best and see what happens. So I thought, “I’ll do something about the park this afternoon…” (I’ve been PRAYING to Wordsworth to teach me how to do nature poetry) and, while at first I thought I’d pull a scheme from Spenser, I drifted toward Milton instead (I’ve been reading Paradise Lost; expect a devil poem one of these days…). And green is my favorite color—and was indeed striking in the park that day—so I threw it into my opening line and went from there. So glad the final product landed with so many people whose talent and opinions I respect. Thanks again.