Summer doesn’t seem to be dying gently, but I can feel that fall will soon be here. I see that the high school football season has begun, which always brings to mind this poem:
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
By James Wright
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other’s bodies.
I also recall the bittersweet returns to the library after the long summers of my college days: eager to learn, reluctant to give up lazy days. I do think of those early days of fall semesters with a fondness that this quotation by Alcuin (from right around the end of the 8th century) captures beautifully:
“O how sweet life was when we used to sit at leisure amid the book boxes of a learned man, piles of books, and the venerable thoughts of the Fathers; nothing was missing that was needed for…the pursuit of knowledge.”
Autumn has always been a creatively inspiring time for me, and I hope the tradition continues this year.
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.