Saturday 23 September 2023

To Autumn - William Blake (1783)


Today in the Northern Hemisphere, is the Autumn Equinox the point of balance between summer and winter, the time when day and night are equal, as the sun is directly over the Equator. It is the halfway point between the Winter and Summer Solstices and marks the turning point of the year.
It serves to reminds us that the long, lazy days of Summer are drawing to a close and it is time to prepare for the darker, colder months ahead.  This marks a change in our energy flow patterns, as, ideally we draw our focus more inwards and become more reflective on what the summer experiences have taught us.  
This is also the time of ‘Harvest’ – of harvesting the lessons from the summer experiences, learning what worked and what did not, what could have been done differently, what different approaches we might take next time.
The Harvest Moon' and "Hunter's Moon, are also associated with the autumnal equinox. The former is the full moon closest to the equinox and the later the one following it.
The Celts do not seem to have had a specific name for this time of year, but it has become widely known recently as Mabon, named after the character from the mabinogian, Mabon ap Modron.
In ancient times, it was vital to our survival that we knew and honoured the equinoxes. A time to pause and surrender in refection. Our disregard for the seasons and the changes they bring has rather alienated us from our roots. We need to reconnect with our seasonal rhythms, because our body still recognises them, even if we don’t! Despite its changefulness, autumn can be the stillest time of the year. Like a great pause.
William Blake's works have been used by people rebelling against a wide range of issues, such as war, conformity, and almost every kind of repression. In the present day among our own progressive idylls we can be like Blake and continue to dream of heaven on Earth, building the new Jerusalem, the new moral world and a restored Albion of free and equal imaginations.
To Autumn” from his first book, Poetical Sketches. is one in a set of four season poems by Blake, aptly including “To Winter,”To Spring,” and “To Summer.” These seasonal invocations can be read alone, but Blake also intended them to interconnect.  The cycle of the seasons is often interpreted as the cycle of rebirth and death, themes that apply to human nature as well. Each of the season songs can be read as Blake’s reference to the different stages of human life. “To Autumn” is not a particularly personal poem, but is significant in that it, along with the other seasonal songs, seems to correlate mythology that Blake created. The personas of the seasons can be read as counterparts to Blake’s spirits: Tharmas (most like spring), Orc (most like summer), Los (most like autumn), and Urizen (most like winter). Thus, “To Autumn” can be read as a particular view of human nature, or in a way which relates more to Blake’s later works.
In the poem  Blake hints at the promise of future growth. Within the harvest are the seeds for future crops. As Autumn flies over the bleak hills to make way for Winter, he leaves behind “his golden load”: an abundance of food, seeds for the Spring, and a feeling of joyous celebration, reflecting his particular view of human nature. Happy Autumn Equinox.

To Autumn - William Blake

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stainèd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of
Morning, and Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.“
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

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