We Stay a Brief Telling

By Steven Bucher

A celebration of season, WE STAY A BRIEF TELLING begins, as Vivaldi, in the moment just before winter... withdrawal... adagio. A slow entrance into the yearly cycle, this untimely footfall. Following Vivaldi, we find there is much music in the seasons, much poetry, and many harvests. In this fine collection, the author particularly wishes to dwell on the music found in seasonal transition. The work is illustrated with landscape photography taken from the poet's own surroundings.

While there is much seasonality to life, there is also much that falls between; moments hard to speak to that are neither one season nor the next. The collection begins with November Moment; a stark invitation to the reader to stand naked at the edge of these more difficult transitional moments of life. Bucher's poetry seeks to evoke a hard-edged courage; November courage, standing open to the ineluctable beauty of moments offering nothing but themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Propertius Press
• Release date: Feb 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005430450

Book preview

Withdrawal

The opening movement of Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons…allegro. The first notes…unmistakable. La primavera! Seasonal awakening, new growth, rebirth. With apologies to Vivaldi, I begin this celebration of season with November and December, not winter’s end but the moment just before winter…withdrawal…adagio. Like Vivaldi, I find there is much music in the seasons, much poetry, and many harvests. However, I also want to give voice to the music found in seasonal transition, the life that falls between; moments hard to speak to that are neither one season nor the next. November and December mark the quiet transition from autumn to the hard freeze of winter; a slow entrance into the yearly cycle, this untimely footfall.

The opening poem in this collection, November Moment, is a stark invitation to the reader to stand naked at the edge of these more difficult moments of life. It seeks to evoke a hard-edged courage…November courage, standing open to the ineluctable beauty of moments offering nothing but themselves. November’s earthy damp sings of seasonal withdrawal. It does not yet suggest winter, only waiting and readiness; a readiness to set flame to the self we had been as we prepare for the hard labor of shaping the self that will tread a new path. The way home darkens. October falls to November…the unnoticed beauty of withdrawal, the courage of the Paladin soul set still.

December slips us into winter, often unnoticed. It is the time of solstice, the return of light and deeply rooted celebrations surrounding that return. It is also the end of the calendar year, inviting inward facing moments of reflection and stocktaking. December’s first icy wind often catches us unaware, and we suddenly find that winter has already taken place. Frost has already taken the last petals, without our notice, as often occurs with our passage into the wintering phases of life.

We know these wintering phases of life all too well, when daylight fades and life begins to fall away in winter’s wake. The death of a loved one, the end of a relationship or a career path, the onset of old age or disability, all bring with them a wintering dark. The sun grows distant as day diminishes and we find that idling interlude of seeming sense that warms us to light’s slow return. In this interlude, it is worthwhile, I find, to ask who or what stands in diminishing light with open arms to kindle the deep places in your life that have fallen to forgetfulness.

December…the twofold moment of ebbing day and light’s loving return, when there is little left to choose between the riddle and the risk, when we prick our ears in flagging faith, and when a singular contentment with where you are, at any given moment, is sometimes all you need to kindle embers in a longing night. Adagio…single notes dispelling night. Winter waits.

November Moment

Stand naked at the edge

Even if only for a little while

Find that November moment

With its crow-calling echoes

Across blanched fields

And husk-dry whispers

Through branch and stalk

And shadows grown long and deep

In the waning sun

Stand naked at the edge

And seek out leafless moments

Even in summer fullness

Offering nothing but themselves

Invitation indelible

To stand exactly where you are

Homeless…

Along your silent edges

At home at last

Where you are least secure

Stand naked at the edge

Then seat yourself at the table laid

And feast upon the