We were taught the song version in my elementary school in rural Alabama in the late '50s. We only saw snow once every year or two. No one had ever so much as seen a sleigh, much less experienced a sleigh ride. There was no horse-drawn transportation at all. Yet we (or at least I) enjoyed the picture. I've often thought about the song and many other things as representative of the utterly fanciful paraphernalia with which we surround ourselves around "the holidays." Just now I passed a house where a giant inflatable snowman sat on top an RV. The temperature is 76 F. (I live even further south now than I did as a child.) A few flakes of snow are enough to make the local news.
Now that I think about it, I believe I'm nostalgic for the nostalgia of "Over the River." I'm pretty sure most of that sort of thing is unknown to my grandchildren. And the tv-movie grandma with her bun and quaint expressions ("My land!") is a couple of generations gone now.
And another visit to my childhood, where this poem was ubiquitous and always fun! I wised that we could take a sleigh to Grandmother's house, but alas -- it was hundreds of miles away and there wasn't any snow in Texas, so the car was much more practical. I knew nothing about the poet before this, but she sounds very much like people I know; human nature just doesn't change. But what delight she gave to many of us through this sweet poem.
Thanks for sending this apt poem, and the wonderful exegesis of the form that follows it. I know about the author from my involvement with the Unitarian Universalist group here in Newburyport.
Your casual biographical profile takes me to Emily Brightman, on of a host of marvelous characters in Anthony Powell's jewel of a novel, the 12-volume "A Dance to the Music of Time." Brightman, a medievalist, quite erudite, at one point says that, paraphrasing here, some things are true, but that does not keep them from being better left unsaid. I'm also reminded, on the poet's behalf, of Frederick Turner's thoughts on the concept of time in Shakespeare, which I have been reading this morning: "To see the person rather than the thing is to see something which is not entirely of the temporal world, something not completely limited by the confines of time. . . True sight . . . . is pure receptivity in perception, and pure wonder in comprehension. . . "
I wish you a delightful and happy Thanksgiving. We will be spending ours, this year, with some descendants of those fusty old Puritans.
I just ordered Turner's book. I'd read about him in James Matthew Wilson, "The Fortunes of Poetry in an Age of Unmaking," but never followed up by reading any of his works. He has an interesting website, BTW.
I love his essays on Shakespeare and time, but I don't know his other work or his essays as much as I would like. Wilson's book is excellent along different lines, not as philosophical in a wide ranging way.
The poem is a pleasure, but am glad of today's automobiles and their heaters.
We were taught the song version in my elementary school in rural Alabama in the late '50s. We only saw snow once every year or two. No one had ever so much as seen a sleigh, much less experienced a sleigh ride. There was no horse-drawn transportation at all. Yet we (or at least I) enjoyed the picture. I've often thought about the song and many other things as representative of the utterly fanciful paraphernalia with which we surround ourselves around "the holidays." Just now I passed a house where a giant inflatable snowman sat on top an RV. The temperature is 76 F. (I live even further south now than I did as a child.) A few flakes of snow are enough to make the local news.
Now that I think about it, I believe I'm nostalgic for the nostalgia of "Over the River." I'm pretty sure most of that sort of thing is unknown to my grandchildren. And the tv-movie grandma with her bun and quaint expressions ("My land!") is a couple of generations gone now.
The distinction between common meter and ballad meter is very useful. Thanks!
And another visit to my childhood, where this poem was ubiquitous and always fun! I wised that we could take a sleigh to Grandmother's house, but alas -- it was hundreds of miles away and there wasn't any snow in Texas, so the car was much more practical. I knew nothing about the poet before this, but she sounds very much like people I know; human nature just doesn't change. But what delight she gave to many of us through this sweet poem.
Hi, Joseph--is it Jody?
Thanks for sending this apt poem, and the wonderful exegesis of the form that follows it. I know about the author from my involvement with the Unitarian Universalist group here in Newburyport.
Your casual biographical profile takes me to Emily Brightman, on of a host of marvelous characters in Anthony Powell's jewel of a novel, the 12-volume "A Dance to the Music of Time." Brightman, a medievalist, quite erudite, at one point says that, paraphrasing here, some things are true, but that does not keep them from being better left unsaid. I'm also reminded, on the poet's behalf, of Frederick Turner's thoughts on the concept of time in Shakespeare, which I have been reading this morning: "To see the person rather than the thing is to see something which is not entirely of the temporal world, something not completely limited by the confines of time. . . True sight . . . . is pure receptivity in perception, and pure wonder in comprehension. . . "
I wish you a delightful and happy Thanksgiving. We will be spending ours, this year, with some descendants of those fusty old Puritans.
I'm taking a note so I don't forget this phrase. "Some things are true, but better left unsaid." I think it applies to lots of literature.
I just ordered Turner's book. I'd read about him in James Matthew Wilson, "The Fortunes of Poetry in an Age of Unmaking," but never followed up by reading any of his works. He has an interesting website, BTW.
I love his essays on Shakespeare and time, but I don't know his other work or his essays as much as I would like. Wilson's book is excellent along different lines, not as philosophical in a wide ranging way.