image from mississippicrop.com
Harvest Elegy
“What we plant in the soil of contemplation, we shall
reap i\n the harvest of action.”
--Meister Eckhart.
Growing up near farms,
I learned that Fall
is the major harvest period.
The apple and pear orchards
burst with fruit.
The mustard fields
smother the hillocks
in school bus yellow foliage,
pungent from an acre away.
Fall wheat and rye sway
in rhythm with national pride.
Several kinds of corn and maize
grow taller than sunflowers.
Potatoes, cabbage and lettuce
mantle their fields
in verdant fat wide leaves.
Of course, nature can be
a harsh bedfellow, when
insect infestation, drought or flood
interrupt Harvest’s bounty.
Corn fields, after the crop
has been picked, make me sad.
The broken and trampled stalks
remind me of dead soldiers
on a battlefield.
Even though I realize that
this is the barrenness of harvest
or pestilence, before the left overs
are plowed under, the spirits
of the dead cry out to me.
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub
12 comments:
I imagine they do cry out. How could they not?
I love how you've taken harvest and made it so real for me. And the ending is spectacular.
I feel very much the richness of the harvest juxtaposed with the barrenness afterwards.. really very good writing.
Your poem reminds me of a Townes VanZandt song and the story he tells about it:
https://youtu.be/A6lXAGli3JU
Planting, harvest, sadness. Life is all of it. I love the last part of this about the dead crying out. Though many are fed, there is a letdown in the remains. Very thoughtful writing.
Excellent piece Glenn! I loved being immersed in the harvest bounty by your fertile words. Beautiful imagery — superb write brother...
I can imagine what can come after the harvest or when there is no harvest. Sad indeed specially : spirits of the dead cry out to me.
Corn fields, after the crop
has been picked, make me sad.
The broken and trampled stalks
remind me of dead soldiers
on a battlefield.
I really like the imagery in this!
Wonderful use of contrast, Glenn, with the plentiful harvest: the apple and pear orchards bursting with fruit and the wheat and rye swaying. I enjoyed the appeal to the senses, too, with the ‘school bus yellow foliage, pungent from an acre away’. And then the sadness of the corn fields after the crop’s been picked, with the broken and trampled stalks like dead soldiers on a battlefield.
I was right there with you until the sadness of the corn stalks, Glenn. I grew up in the "corn country" of Illinois, and there was always something comforting about the fields after harvest … a sort of reassurance of the never-ending routine of planting and harvest.
Oh gosh--that last stanza--wow! There is something sad, but you really made it haunting in every sense of the word.
Excellent piece, Glenn. I felt like I was there. I was chilled by the dead children crying out.
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