Themista's Blog

Meditations on philosophy, literature, and aesthetics

Every autumn I reread one of my favorite volumes of poetry, Stuart Merrill’s Petits Poèmes d’Automne (1895). This short volume has been available in PDF at Gallica for several years now, but it has not been available as an online text. But now, in celebration of the current season, I have transcribed it into text and sent it to Project Gutenberg, where it is available here.

Merrill was an American who spent many years in France and wrote in French. He was influenced by the Symbolist movement and was a friend of Stéphane Mallarmé and Paul Verlaine (whose stimulus on his work is evident). Merrill’s poetry was praised on both sides of the Atlantic and was widely read in its day, but today he is mostly forgotten. Which is a pity, since he had an unusual gift for French rhythms, and his insights into dream and memory can be fascinating.

The Petits Poèmes give us a world filled with a strange and shadowy beauty, where the hurly burly of the modern simply does not exist. Merrill seems to inhabit some kind of medieval or Catholic universe, but even this world is portrayed as indistinct and blurred. Its once mighty deeds of glory and legend have become meaningless. Nevertheless, this a world filled with strange wonders, where you can find enchantment at every step. Merrill is especially skillful in describing remote and forgotten landscapes, where you seem to float along empty pathways, and where the only light is that of twilight or the silver glow of the moon. His faded gardens are filled only those kind of flowers which bring oblivion or quickly fade away: water lilies, poppies, roses. And the only creature he ever seems to notice is the chimera, that fantastic creature which can carry you out of this world.

All of this is conventionally melancholic, of course, but to my mind hardly depressing. Merrill seemed to have possessed the kind of “white melancholy”, which doesn’t lead into depression, but to an elusive aesthetic appreciation. There is beauty everywhere in these short poems, both in the rich sounds of the verse and in their evocative images. Merrill was a man who possessed a rich interior life, which he brilliantly communicates. This is a perfect volume of verse for an enchanted September twilight, when the trees are softly whispering and the stars are coming alive in the sky.

Moon Festival

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My favorite holiday is that of the Oriental Mid-Autumn Festival, also known as the Moon Festival, which is occurring in a few days on September 15.  The Moon Festival has been celebrated in Asian countries for at least 3,000 years.  In September of each year the moon comes closest to the earth, which makes it the brightest and most beautiful lunar spectacle of the year.  If you’re the sort of person who is always trying to find ways to bring beauty into your life, you need to make some time in your life to commune with the moon.

I always celebrate my lunar festival with a nice pot of tea (Lapsang Souchong for me this year), and some treats.  Traditionally at their Moon Festivals the Chinese would consume mooncakes made with sugar, egg yolks and lard, which sound about as delectable as boiled suet pudding.  Here in the 21st century we could do with something a little less stolid.  This year I’m planning on frozen peach yogurt (homemade of course), along with the tea.  All of which will be a perfect accompaniment to the anticipated lunar enchantment.  And the enchantment is what matters.  You can never get enough of the moon.  If you are the sort of person who never bothers to notice the moon, or meditate
with the moon, or absorb the moon’s energies into your being, you have my sympathy.  You don’t know what you’re missing.  Contemplation of the moon’s enchanted glow can give us one of the most sublime sensations we can experience in our lives.

But is that supposed to matter?  What the heck are you supposed to get out of this, anyway?  Some kind of stupendous mystical revelation from all that moonlight getting shoved into your eyes?  Well, British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins believed that if you look at something with enough careful attention, you will sense that it is gazing back.  Said he:  “What you look hard at seems to look hard at you.”  Good mystical visionary that Hopkins was, he would have been able to tell is whether or not something non-human was actually gazing back at him.

All of which means that if you actually do make some time in your life to
gaze at the moon with care and attention, then …

9. Or, imagine the five-colored circles of the peacock tail to be your five senses in illimitable space. Now let their beauty melt within. Similarly, at any point in space or on a wall—until the point dissolves. Then your wish for another comes true.

Today the sun goes into the constellation Virgo. I always try to notice energy or weather shifts whenever the sun enters a new astrological sign, and I can frequently feel a subtle transformation in the world around me when astral energies change. Virgo is an earth sign with connotations of order, fastidiousness, and mental analysis, which perfectly describes the energies of late August and early September.

I always consider the arrival of Virgo to be the beginning of the fall season, which is my favorite time of year. I have never been a fan of summer heat and always look forward to the cooler temperatures and mellow light which come in the fall. At this time of year, it seems as though the whole world comes alive with preternatural clarity and vividness, which you can experience with a quite delightful intensity.

Autumn is also a period of serenity and contemplation, the perfect moment to take stock of your existence. Several weeks ago I came across the phrase “saison mentale” in reference to autumn, which struck me as a ideal way to describe my favorite season. After some searching I discovered that the phrase comes from poem Signe in Alcools (1920) by Guillaume Apollinaire:

Signe
Je suis soumis au Chef du Signe de l’Automne
Partant j’aime les fruits je déteste les fleurs
Je regrette chacun des baisers que je donne
Tel un noyer gaulé dit au vent ses douleurs

Mon Automne éternelle ô ma saison mentale
Les mains des amantes d’antan jonchent ton sol
Une épouse me suit c’est mon ombre fatale
Les colombes ce soir prennent leur dernier vol

which can be ineptly translated as:

Sign
I am placed under the leader of the Sign of the Fall
As I leave I love the fruits I hate the flowers
I regret each kiss that I give
Such a stolen walnut spoke his grief to the wind

My eternal Autumn O my mental season
The hands of the lovers of old are strewn over your ground
A spouse follows me it is my fatal shadow
The doves this evening take their last flight

Apollonaire shows us in a few concrete images both the bewitchment of the season and its connotations of thought and eternity. I cannot think of a better way to start my favorite season than taking time to ponder a flawless little poem like this.

This time of the year, when the trees are in their full leafy glory, I always find myself rereading J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. However, I must admit that I have always had mixed feeling about this hugely popular saga. LOTR is an adventure story which seems to be aimed at very juvenile minds. And as such, it has never seemed like something for a grown-up to bother with. All those endless battle descriptions, all those deeds of derring-do, and all of them taking place in a very masculine universe where anything female is pretty much out of sight… well, this isn’t my idea of great literature.

Yet Middle Earth is a wondrously enchanted world which is described with unparalleled vividness. Tolkien possessed astounding imaginative powers. The various types of beings who inhabit his world are so lifelike that they practically jump off the pages. His plot is exciting and compelling. The landscape, vegetation and topography seems even more real that what you can find in, well, reality. And his themes about the evils of power (in LOTR) and the evils of possession (in the Silmarillion) continue to resonate, perhaps even more so today than when the novel was published half a century ago.

Tolkien was also a master at describing the beauties of the natural world. If you read LOTR carefully, you will find yourself frequently stopping to ponder the power of the lyrical descriptions which he gives us. Tolkien could condense a momentary experience of nature’s enchantment into words filled with such energy and meaning that they literally take your breath away. But there is more than just descriptions of nature in these pages—you can also get a sense that something very profound is being revealed about the physical world. All of which means, in my opinion, that Tolkien was a mystical visionary in the best tradition of the great British seers, up to and including Thomas Traherne, William Blake, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. There seems to be something about the British Isles that produces, in generation after generation, men and women who merely have to step outdoors and who can immediately understand the secrets of the physical universe which surround them, secrets which are completely invisible to the rest of us.

Tolkien was up there with the best of them. He lived an ordinary middle class life in an ordinary middle class town, where he would have experienced all the nuisances of modern living, up to and including the eternal sound of the internal combustion engine. But he was as open and as responsive to the wonders of the natural world as any human being who has ever lived. When he turned his eyes to nature, he found beauty, enchantment, and revelation, and he was able to convey his impressions in some of the most evocative prose ever written. Example:

The hobbits sat in shadow by the wayside. Before long the Elves came down the lane towards the valley. They passed slowly, and the hobbits could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet.

Or:

He watched the pale, cool sun rise above the far mountains and shine down. Slanting through the thin silver mist, the dew upon the yellow leaves was glimmering, and the woven nets of gossamer twinkled on every bush.

Try closing your eyes and imagine these kind of scenes, with their shimmering light and wondrous beings. If you’re like me, you don’t just want to read about the enchantment of Middle Earth, you want to crawl right into the sentences and actually live it. Indeed, countless fans of Tolkien have always felt that Middle Earth is a real place, much more real than the ordinary world which surrounds us. Some have even go into convulsions trying to prove that it actually existed in historical time and space. Why do we have to be stuck in drab ordinary 21st century reality? Why can’t we all move to Middle Earth and revel in its enchanted beauty, its melodies, and its shining colors of gold and silver, every day of our lives?

Well, as far as I’m concerned, if Tolkien could find his way into this world, we can, too. All it takes is one little secret. You simply need to go outdoors, lift your chin, and look up. Look up at the sky, mind you, not at the billboards or utility wires or the satellite receivers which surround you. Looking up at the sky is something Tolkien must have done every single day of his life. If you read his books carefully, you see that his descriptions of the natural world almost always involve some kind of light from the sky, and his biographers tell us that he was fascinated with astronomy. If you want to experience the bewitchment of Middle Earth, you simply have to start watching the sky as much as he must have done.

After all, the sky’s endless and ever-changing pageant is available to every human being in every corner of the planet, every hour of the day. But how few of us ever take a moment just to pause and look at all that wonder up there, the light and the clouds and the moon and the stars? Says Frodo in The Fellowship of the Ring: “I like walking under the stars.” When I reread this sentence a few years ago, I found myself stopping in astonishment at the thought. Walking under the stars? Just walking? Not going anywhere, not striving for anything, but just being outdoors on a warm summer night and walking under the stars… Had I ever done that in my life? Had anyone? Well, of course not. Who in the world would bother about something so … pointless?

Well, I do. There are times in my life these days when I do leave the house in the middle of the night, just so I can go outdoors to sit or walk in the starlight. Or I get up an extra hour earlier at dawn so I can see the kind of golden light which shone over Lothlorien. Or I take a moment to watch the rain, or the mists rising, or the moon gleaming in an autumn sky. I frequently make time in the evening and so I can watch as the shadows and the twilight start to gather. At times like these, when the world seems to dissolve into spirit, I can easily lose myself in dreams and thoughtless sensation. In other words, I’ve found my way out of Middle West and into Middle Earth.

And all I had to do was look up.