Sentient in San Francisco – 1 November 2019

Greeting November

Below – Peter Thomas: “The Lily pond in November”


Art for November – Wojciech Koniuszek: “Maple trees in November”


A Poem for November

“November Night”
by Adelaide Crapsey

Listen . . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.

Below – Helga Dieckmann: “November – Falling Leaves”

Art for November – Liliya Volskaya: “Autumn November”

Musings in November: Percy Bysshe Shelley

“O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being.
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.”


Art for November – Maurice Sapiro: “A Song At Twilight”

A Poem for November

“Calendar of Sonnets: November”
by Helen Hunt Jackson

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays
Wildly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet’s day of pain?

Art for November – Oksana Boguslavska: “November”


Musings in November: Emily Dickinson

“November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.”

Below – Aleksandr Kryushyn: “November snowy evening. Carpathians”

Art for November – Mari Ellington: “November”

A Poem for November

“November”
by Amy Lowell

The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house,
Are rusty and broken.
Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees,
The brittle boughs of lilac-bushes
Sweep against the stars.
And I sit under a lamp
Trying to write down the emptiness of my heart.
Even the cat will not stay with me,
But prefers the rain
Under the meagre shelter of a cellar window.

Art for November – Metra Stelmahere: “The trail home II”


A Poem for November

“My November Guest”
by Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

Below – Andrew Wyeth: “Long Limb”


Art for November – Ed Little: “November Opening”

Musings in November: Tao Yuan Ming

“I built my cottage among the habitations of men,
And yet there is no clamor of carriages and horses.
You ask: ‘Sir, how can this be done?’
‘A heart that is distant creates its own solitude.’
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze afar towards the southern hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day;
The flying birds in flocks return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
I want to tell it, but have forgotten the words.”

Below – Hsia Kuei: “Remote View of Streams”

Art for November – Serguei Borodouline: “November Pond”

A Poem for November

“November”
by Sara Teasdale

The world is tired, the year is old,
The little leaves are glad to die,
The wind goes shivering with cold
Among the rushes dry.

Our love is dying like the grass,
And we who kissed grow coldly kind,
Half glad to see our poor love pass
Like leaves along the wind.

Art for November – Annika Lahti: “Helsinki, November 10 a.m.”

A Poem for November

“At Day Close in November”
by Thomas Hardy

The ten hours’ light is abating,
And a late bird flies across,
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting,
Give their black heads a toss.

Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time,
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time,
And now they obscure the sky.

And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here,
A time when none will be seen.

Below – David Chatterton: “Devon Scene”


Art for November – Laura Winter: “November flower”

Musings in November: Walt Whitman

“The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk!  he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.”


Art for November – Igor Shulman: “Corsica. November”

A Poem for November

“November Surf”
by Robinson Jeffers

Some lucky day each November great waves awake and are
drawn
Like smoking mountains bright from the west
And come and cover the cliff with white violent cleanness: then
suddenly
The old granite forgets half a year’s filth:
The orange-peel, eggshells, papers, pieces of clothing, the clots
Of dung in corners of the rock, and used
Sheaths that make light love safe in the evenings: all the droppings
of the summer
Idlers washed off in a winter ecstasy:
I think this cumbered continent envies its cliff then. . . . But all
seasons
The earth, in her childlike prophetic sleep,
Keeps dreaming of the bath of a storm that prepares up the long
coast
Of the future to scour more than her sea-lines:
The cities gone down, the people fewer and the hawks more
numerous,
The rivers mouth to source pure; when the two-footed
Mammal, being someways one of the nobler animals, regains
The dignity of room, the value of rareness.

Below – Paleolithic cave painting of bisons (replica) from the Altamira cave, Cantabria, Spain, painted c. 20,000 years ago.

Art for November – Helga Dieckmann: “November Morning”

A Poem for November

“November for Beginners”
by Rita Dove

Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.

So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing

a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!

Below – Caspar David Friedrich: “Woman at a Window”

Art for November – Julie Hermoso: “Dulce Noviembre”

Musings in November: Henri Frederic Amiel

“Walked for half an hour in the garden.  A fine rain was falling, and the landscape was that of autumn.  The sky was hung with various shades of gray, and mists hovered about the distant mountains – a melancholy nature.  The leaves were falling on all sides like the last illusions of youth under the tears of irremediable grief.  A brood of chattering birds were chasing each other through the shrubberies, and playing games among the branches, like a knot of hiding schoolboys.  Every landscape is, as it were, a state of the soul, and whoever penetrates into both is astonished to find how much likeness there is in each detail.”

Below – Inez Froehlich: “November Rain”

Art for November – Mattia Paoli: “Empire of Autumn”

A Poem for November

“In November”
by Lisel Mueller

Outside the house the wind is howling
and the trees are creaking horribly.
This is an old story
with its old beginning,
as I lay me down to sleep.
But when I wake up, sunlight
has taken over the room.
You have already made the coffee
and the radio brings us music
from a confident age. In the paper
bad news is set in distant places.
Whatever was bound to happen
in my story did not happen.
But I know there are rules that cannot be broken.
Perhaps a name was changed.
A small mistake. Perhaps
a woman I do not know
is facing the day with the heavy heart
that, by all rights, should have been mine.

Below – Bob Dornberg: “Trees in the Wind”

Art for November – Viktoria Shvoren: “November”

A Poem for November

“The Region November”
by Wallace Stevens

It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

They sway, deeply and loudly, in an effort,
So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

Saying and saying, the way things say
On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

A revelation not yet intended.
It is like a critic of God, the world

And human nature, pensively seated
On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.

Art for November – Igor Nekraha: “Sunset in Demidivka”

Musings in November: William Morris

“Yea, I have looked, and seen November there;
The changeless seal of change it seemed to be,
Fair death of things that, living once, were fair;
Bright sign of loneliness too great for me,
Strange image of the dread eternity,
In whose void patience how can these have part,
These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?”

Below – David Vogler: “Bleak #2”

Art for November – Remigiusz Dobrowolski: “Woman in November Landscape”

A Poem for November

“Fog in November”
by Leonard Clark

Fog in November, trees have no heads,
Streams only sound, walls suddenly stop
Half-way up hills, the ghost of a man spreads
Dung on dead fields for next year’s crop.
I cannot see my hand before my face,
My body does not seem to be my own,
The world becomes a far-off, foreign place,
People are strangers, houses silent, unknown.

Art for November – Massimiliano Ligabue: “Red November”

A Poem for November

“November, Remembering Voltaire”
by Jane Hirshfield

In the evenings
I scrape my fingernails clean,
hunt through old catalogues for new seed,
oil work boots and shears.
This garden is no metaphor –
more a task that swallows you into itself,
earth using, as always, everything it can.
I lend myself to unpromising winter dirt
with leaf-mold and bulb,
plant into the oncoming cold.
Not that I ever thought the philosopher
meant to be taken literally,
but with no invented God overhead
I conjure a stubborn faith in rotting
that ripens into soil,
in an old corm that flowers steadily each spring –
not symbols but reassurances,
like a mother’s voice at bedtime
reading a long-familiar book, the known words
barely listened to, but bridging
for all the nights of a life
each world to the next.

Below – August Macke: “Woman in Garden”

Art for November – Adina Lupan: “Novembre”

Musings in November: John Updike

“The stripped and shapely

Maple grieves

The ghosts of her

Departed leaves.
The ground is hard,

As hard as stone.

The year is old,

The birds are flown.

And yet the world,
In its distress
Displays a certain
Loveliness.”

Below – Lana Marandina: “November”

Art for November – Vera Bondare: “When you don’t want anything…”

A Poem for November

“Solitude Late at Night in the Woods”
by Robert Bly

The body is like a November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love.

Art for November – Michael Ryan: “November Morning”

A Poem for November

“November”
by Maggie Dietz

Show’s over, folks. And didn’t October do
A bang-up job? Crisp breezes, full-throated cries
Of migrating geese, low-floating coral moon.

Nothing left but fool’s gold in the trees.
Did I love it enough, the full-throttle foliage,
While it lasted? Was I dazzled? The bees

Have up and quit their last-ditch flights of forage
And gone to shiver in their winter clusters.
Field mice hit the barns, big squirrels gorge

On busted chestnuts. A sky like hardened plaster
Hovers. The pasty river, its next of kin,
Coughs up reed grass fat as feather dusters.

Even the swarms of kids have given in
To winter’s big excuse, boxed-in allure:
TVs ricochet light behind pulled curtains.

The days throw up a closed sign around four.
The hapless customer who’d wanted something
Arrives to find lights out, a bolted door.

Below – John Everett Millais: “Autumn Leaves”

Welcome, Wonderful November

Below – Ellen Fasthuber-Huemer: “November”

This entry was posted in Art and Photography, Books, Movies, Music, and Television, Opinion. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply