‘Ebb and flow’

— Photo by Snowmanradio

“What I remember is the ebb and flow of sound

That summer morning as the mower came and went

And came again, crescendo and diminuendo….’’

— From “The Sound I listened For,’’ by Robert Francis (1901-1987), Amherst, Mass.-based poet

Here’s the whole poem.

She's heard it before

—- Photo by Mathias Krumbholz

“An old woman by a window watching the storm —

Dark River and dark sky and furious wind

Full of green flying leaves, gray flying rain….

Daughters and grandchildren in a darkened room….

Call to her to come, to come away….

Above the wind and the crash of a porch chair

And now the thunder, she does not seem to hear

Or if she hears, she does not answer them….’’

— From “The Reading of the Psalm,’’ by Robert Francis (1901-87). He lived in Cushman Village, part of Amherst, Mass. Robert Frost much admired him.

Keet House, one of many old houses in the Cushman Village Historic District

'This understated land'

New England Mind

My mind matches this understated land.

Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift,

Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift

Are facts that I accept and understand.

I have brought in red berries and green boughs—

Berries of black alder, boughs of pine.

They and the sunlight on them, both are mine.

I need no florist flowers in my house.

Having lived here the years that are my best,

I call it home.  I am content to stay.

I have no bird's desire to fly away.

I envy neither north, east, south, nor west.

My outer world and inner make a pair.

But would the two be always of a kind?

Another latitude, another mind?

Or would I be New England anywhere?

Robert Francis