Archive for August

Autumn Arrives

Posted in Biographical, Maynooth, The Universe and Stuff with tags , on August 6, 2021 by telescoper

Working at home all day yesterday I thought I might take a break and go for a walk…

… and then I thought “perhaps not”.

The inclement weather did however remind me of something I should have posted last Sunday, namely that 1st August is regarded in the traditional Celtic calendar as the first day of Autumn. In Irish September is Meán Fómhair (middle of autumn/harvest season) and October is Deireadh Fómhair); August itself is Lúnasa.

Each season lasts approximately three months. Traditionally, winter starts on 1st November and includes November December and January (with the Winter Solstice in the middle). Summer consists of May June and July (with the Summer Solstice in the middle). That period is definitely the best time of the year in Ireland, actually. Spring (February to April) and Autumn (August to October) are likewise roughly bisected by the two equinoxes. It all makes astronomical sense.

This also makes sense of something that puzzled me until yesterday, which is why the repeat examinations held in August (which I should be marking instead of wasting my time blogging) are called the Autumn repeats in Maynooth instead of Summer repeats (which is what they are called everywhere else I’m aware of). That’s because August is in the Autumn.

P. S. The title is meant to be a play on Autumn Leaves…

August, a poem by Viggo Stuckenberg

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , on August 1, 2017 by telescoper

Hr. Preben pusler i Skovens Bryn,
fæster Doner, binder Bær, Bær saa rosenrøde,
bryder et Blad og bøjer en Kvist,
at liflig de Bær kunne gløde.

‘Kramsfugl! Kramsfugl! nu er det Tid!
Falder Havren, synger Segl over alle Agre,
bliver ej større en eneste Blomst,
ej Lundene mere fagre!

Gunild! Gunild! nu gulnes goldt
alle Løfter, al Lokken, al Leg fra Skærsommer!
Viger den Haand, som ikke jeg greb,
og aldrig vi sammen kommer!

Thi længst er leden den lyse Vaar,
levnet Nætter i Mulm, levnet flygtende Fugle!
Den, som ved det, maa sidde kvær
og skogre som gammel Ugle!’

Hr. Preben pusler i Skovens Bryn,
fæster Doner, binder Bær, Bær saa lifligt røde:
‘Kramsfugl! Dig sender jeg hende kvalt
og ler stor Elskov til Døde!’

by Viggo Stuckenberg (1863-1905)

 

August, by Dorothy Parker

Posted in Poetry with tags , , on August 13, 2016 by telescoper

When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart; 

Summer, do your worst!
Light your tinsel moon, and call on
Your performing stars to fall on
Headlong through your paper sky;
Nevermore shall I be cursed
By a flushed and amorous slattern,
With her dusty laces’ pattern
Trailing, as she straggles by.

by Dorothy Parker (1893-1967).