On An Apple-Ripe September Morning Poem by Patrick Kavanagh

On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

Rating: 3.0


On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went
With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
Less for use than for devilment.

The threshing mill was set-up, I knew,
In Cassidy's haggard last night,
And we owed them a day at the threshing
Since last year. O it was delight

To be paying bills of laughter
And chaffy gossip in kind
With work thrown in to ballast
The fantasy-soaring mind.

As I crossed the wooden bridge I wondered
As I looked into the drain
If ever a summer morning should find me
Shovelling up eels again.

And I thought of the wasps' nest in the bank
And how I got chased one day
Leaving the drag and the scraw-knife behind,
How I covered my face with hay.

The wet leaves of the cocksfoot
Polished my boots as I
Went round by the glistening bog-holes
Lost in unthinking joy.

I'll be carrying bags to-day, I mused,
The best job at the mill
With plenty of time to talk of our loves
As we wait for the bags to fill.

Maybe Mary might call round...
And then I came to the haggard gate,
And I knew as I entered that I had come
Through fields that were part of no earthly estate.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Margaret G. Kiernan 17 September 2020

Exquisite poetry from my favourite writer.

1 0 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 29 January 2020

And I thought of the wasps' nest in the bank And how I got chased one day Leaving the drag and the scraw-knife behind, How I covered my face with hay... very fine poem dear poet.

1 0 Reply
Patrick Haughey 09 November 2013

I can smell the apples in the orchard, hear the sound of the thresher and see a picture so clear, i am in a time warp. what brilliance

5 3 Reply
Michael Caroff 12 July 2012

This is exquisite and relatable for me, growing up is the pastoral old mountains of western PA where ones youth may well have included the odd chore of aiding a neighbor in the fields.

6 2 Reply
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