Fall Again

I've been enjoying fall this year, even more than usual. I grew up on the west coast in places where there was an observable but not spectacular display of autumn color. It wasn't until I came to northern New York twenty years ago that I got the full experience or spectacular color and charged-up weather. I don't think this year's colors are any more intense (though they does vary a bit from year to year) -- No, I think I'm more perceptually tuned-in. Maybe it's just that I'm getting older and slower so that I see more of what's in front of me -- that's probably part of it, but not the whole thing. Maybe it's that I gave up drinking alcohol a couple of months ago -- not that I was walking around in an alcoholic fog or anything. I suppose it's all these things that have sharpened my sense of this season, the season of sinking down, which lasts a long time here in the north country. In August some of the leaves begin to yellow and by the end of the month the nights are a little cooler. In September, the maple trees begin to go read and brown, though the birches and many other species stay green or just begin to shade toward yellow; this is also the time of year you begin to notice more activity among the birds. Families of crows begin to congregate and migrating songbirds make stops in the dogwoods. In October the winds come up and rain begins to knock the old leaves off the trees. It is the colors of the trees at this point in the year -- just past the peak of their intensity -- that give me the most pleasure. Yesterday in my freshman writing class we were talking about Romantic versus Rationalist views of the world and the language we use to talk about these different approaches. It was a good discussion, but i was really knocked back on my heels when one student said, "I took a meteorology class in high school because I've always had a deep feeling for the weather and I was a little disappointed to find out how it all worked -- it took away some of the mystery." This is of course what Keats famously said about Newton "unweaving the rainbow" and I told the class as much, then went on to say that I, too, had always had a special feeling for the weather; that, as a child, I had had a little weather station in my room; but then added that I hadn't found that the meteorology course I took diminished my feeling for the beauty, suggesting that one could sustain both a Romantic and a Rationalist / Realist response. I think that's true. In fact, I think such a view is at least related to Keats's idea of negative capability and that learning to sustain a sense of negative capability prevents one from falling either into sentimentality or the aridity of intellectualism.

Author: jd

Joseph Duemer is Professor of Literature Emeritus at Clarkson University in northern New York state. His most recent book of poems is Magical Thinking from Ohio State University Press. Since the mid-1990s he has spent a good deal of time in Vietnam, mostly Hanoi. He lives with his wife Carole & five terriers (four Jack Russells & one Patterdale) on the stony bank of the Raquette River in South Colton.

3 thoughts on “Fall Again”

  1. wondering why this makes me feel morose(a form of sentimentality?)with longing. i am feeling more the Fall-ing rather than the autumnal sweep. perhaps it is related to the election of a usa president when the last 8 years are due to a false election decided by a court packed by the current resident’s father (my historian brother david refuses to refer to the occupant, defacto…./dejure, as ‘president’) so that today the chance is large that the voting machinery (owned by members of the powerful ‘republican’ “family”). you see where my mind is sinking burdened with this. edward mycue

    p.s. here’s a meditation, and not in the french manner:

    growing up

    it’s an effort to grow up and to make up yourself and figure out who you are and not be too afraid to go against the ways you feel ought to be. rereading romain
    rolland’s jean-christophe (1902-12) in gilbert cannan’s translation: i feel the truth of my self, how that truth is mixed with dreams and with social longings. to be true is to be ignorant of so much and to experience
    is just a first step to understanding what has been emerging.
    we begin in the middle of life, a great lot
    of life of what other people seem to be doing. i feel
    one must go back and then forward to understand the transactions that the selves make: to see and ponder.

    edward mycue

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