So today a pal posted an aptly-timed Emerson poem entitled "The Snow Storm," which inspired a snow day poetry reading sesh here at my desk. Click if you want a brief, wintery, transcendental journey c/o Ralph Waldo and read by yours truly. I struggle with where to self-publish this type of thing. I have it uploaded to my soundcloud and I linked that on my facebook, but I'm not sure if this type of a post is right on for the fb crowd. Anyway, hit me up with feedback please.
"The Snow Storm" BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.Come see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate, A tapering turret overtops the work. And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow.
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