Saturday, April 16, 2011

"Cut Grass Lies Frail"

Now, on sunny afternoons, the peaceful drone of lawn mowers can be heard in the distance.  The scent of freshly-cut grass arrives on the breeze.  White and yellow daffodils border the lawns.  The magnolias and dogwoods are in bloom.  The scene is like something out of a Philip Larkin pastoral.  (Such scenes do exist -- together with a hint of mortality, of course.)

               Cut Grass

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

Philip Larkin, High Windows (Faber and Faber 1974). 

               Stanley Roy Badmin, "Spring in the West Country" (1963)


ombhurbhuva said...

Another grass cutting poem August by Louis MacNeice
Dodging the daffodils and skirting the tulips at the edge of the lawn, a nice day here in Louis’ beloved Galway.

Stephen Pentz said...

ombhurbhuva: thank you very much for visiting and commenting. And thank you for the link to MacNeice's "August" -- and for the report from Galway!