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Wednesday, October 17, 2012


I often see things with an agricultural perspective. I am not much of a farmer, nor even a gardener, but growing things and the interrelationships between them all fascinates me. I could stare for hours at fields and trees, and divine the course of hidden streams by the poplar interruptions among the wheats and soy beans.

I wrote this poem this week:


scarlet clover
sowed in October
in the orchard twice;
try and keep the hens out,
they pick every green leaf

and totally ignore
barley by the hellebore,
which grows now quite tall -
but what will the bees? eh?
when all the clover's gone?

comb honey
brings no money...
sez the Michigan Farmer;
but comb sales have been brisk...
all's left is candled junk...
and common sense for fools.

what will we do when clover is gone?
sometimes the powers that be predict disaster, but things go well, and we know that often they predict
limitless progress and wealth, and things go awry.

I do not believe that the best and brightest know what they are doing in this country.
The only things worth doing are ignored or disparaged, and we shall go the way of scarlet clover.


Ruth said...

You make the most interesting connections.

I like thinking of ourselves as the scarlet clover.

Montag said...

Thanks, Ruth.
It does seem like all life has the same lineaments: the economics of the clover and the chickens, the religions of the bees, the politics of the racoons fighting over the garbage cans down by the curb...

Yes, scarlet clover, fresh for the picking...

and when we are gone, the great buzzing hive of our creativity will be dispersed.

(I seem to be very serious today.)

Montag said...

I see by the time that you are either
(1) just getting in, or
(2) up with the whatever-they-are that rise early in the countryside...

We stand around like Edward Hopper's "Cape Cod Morning", dressed for the day before morning even breaks...

Ruth said...

Up before the whatevers; I left my comment an hour and a half after I woke up actually. It's a strange time of life. Maybe I'm sympathizing with my grandson who is not sleeping well either.