Analysis of November
John Crowe Ransom 1888 (Pulaski) – 1974 (Gambier)
THERE'S a patch of trees at the edge of the field,
And a brown little house that is kept so warm,
And a woman waiting by the hearth
Who still keeps most of a woman's charm.
She traffics in her woman's goods
And is my woman of affairs.
Yet not so fast, my moral men,
November's most poetic airs
Are heavy with old lovers' tales,
How hearths are holy with their prayers,
How women give their fragrance up
And give their love to the man that dares.
Now who goes heedless hearing that?
At last we trade, we laissez-faires.
O moralizers, it is hard
When I am not a candidate
For holy wedlock's offices,
That mother has picked me out a mate,
And couldn't have made a sorrier choice
Than that same Smiley's daughter Kate,
Who prays for the sinners of the town
And never comes to meeting late,
Who sings soprano in the choir
And swallows Christian doctrine straight.
Of all the girls deliver me
From the girl you haven't the heart to hate!
Piety: O what a hideous thing!
And thirty-odd pounds she's underweight.
The winds of late November droop
(Poor little failures) very low,
As up and down the farm they pass,
Pass up and down, and to and fro,
And look for a home they are not to find,
For they were homeless years ago..
But years ago I knew a girl,
Beautiful, fit for a Grand Vizier's,
A girl with laughing on her lips
And in her eyes the quickest tears,
And low of speech, as when one finds
A mother cooing to her dears.
I took the note into my heart,
And so did other cavaliers.
If God had heard my prayer then,
The good folk couldn't point and say
As mother says they're pointing now:
Behold, one stands in the sinners' way!
The stiffest sceptic bends his neck
And stands on no more vain parley
If such as she would have him come,
Worship with her in the Baptist way,
Accept the fables as he can,
A Jewish God, a Passion Play;
And such a lover never comes
To fondling dirty drabs for pay.
But God had another man for her,
He cannot answer all that pray.
November winds are weak and cold,
They lie at last beneath the blue
And sleep in the fields as cold as they.
I know but one good thing to do,
So hearken, all ye mutineers:
Every man to his rendezvous!
My woman waits by the hearth, I say,
And what is a scarlet woman to you?
Her sins are scarlet if you will,
Her lips are hardly of that hue,
And many a time I've seen her sit
Beside the hearth an hour or two,
And set the pot upon the fire
And wait until she's spoken to.
A hateful owl is roosting near
Who mocks my woman, Hoo, Hoo, Hoo,
But the pot sings back just as shrill as it can,
And the angry fire-log crashes through;
And there the woman waits and I,
ponder the ways of God--and rue!
Scheme | XXXX ABCBXBXBXB XDXD XDXDEDFDXD XGXGXG XAXBXAXH CIXIXFXIJIXIEI XKIKHK IKXK DKEKXKJKXK |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 10111101101 00110111111 001010101 111110101 1100101 01110101 11111101 01010101 11011101 11110111 11011101 011110111 1111101 1111111 11111 11110100 1101100 110111101 01011011 1111101 111010101 01011101 110100010 01010101 11010101 1011100111 1001101001 01011110 01110101 11010101 11010111 11010101 0110111111 11010101 11011101 10011011 01110101 00010101 01111111 01010101 11010111 0111001 1111111 01110101 11011101 011100101 0101111 01111110 11111111 101000101 01010111 01010101 01010101 110010111 111010110 11010111 01011101 11110101 010011111 11111111 111101 10011110 110110111 0110101011 01110111 01110111 010011101 010111011 010101010 01011101 0101111 11110111 10111111111 0010101101 01010101 10011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,586 |
Words | 517 |
Sentences | 21 |
Stanzas | 10 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 10, 4, 10, 6, 8, 14, 6, 4, 10 |
Lines Amount | 76 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 204 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 52 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:39 min read
- 105 Views
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"November" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 7 Sep. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/22397/november>.
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