“Magnified apples appear
and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet Robert Frost (1874-1963), “After Apple-Picking,” in North of Boston (1915)
For this week, I was
seeking a work that evoked this point in autumn. This poem does—just under the
wire, as, I gather, the height of apple-picking season ends in mid-November.
In any case, it’s hard to
beat the seemingly casual brilliance of this poem, from the almost tactile
physical description (e.g., “every fleck of russet”) to the symbolic undertones
(to indicate the condition of man, on three other lines, the use of the word
“fall” or “fell”).
There are no literary
allusions here, but you find yourself reading and re-reading these lines—and
even at the end, not sure you’ve plunged all the way into the depth of its
splendor.
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet Robert Frost (1874-1963), “After Apple-Picking,” in North of Boston (1915)
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