Let evening come

This poem was scrolling through my thoughts as I ran yesterday, and as I wrote about the elegaic quality of January’s light. It epitomizes for me the resignation and sadness that inhabit a January day’s 4 o’clock glorious golden light. And, in truth, the resignation and sadness that are inextricably intertwined with life’s great triumphs and joys.

Jane Kenyon, Mary Oliver, and Sharon Olds are my favorite poets right now. They write about simple things, about ordinary days, in a way that elucidates the grand themes of love and loss, life and death. I wasn’t going to post this poem, but Jen’s words today at Momalom convinced me to do so. Coincidences don’t happen: there must be a reason I’m thinking of this beautiful poem now.

Let Evening Come
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
– Jane Kenyon

10 thoughts on “Let evening come”

  6. that photo is a poem in and of itself. i’m such a sucker for poetry – got so lost here. first arrived more than 40 minutes ago. been clicking/checking out other poetry mentioned. jane kenyon is one of my faves. this one complements your photo perfectly.

  7. We share love for some fantastic poets, soulful poetry and obviously… being in the moment. Thank you… thank you.

  9. I agree with you about coincidences. I don’t believe in them as ONLY coincidences. I am almost finished with Hall’s book about Kenyon, and it has been so good for me to read it, referring back to “Otherwise” at Hall’s every poetic reference. I almost feel academic again, and I’m enjoying it. Who knew!
    And, Mary Oliver is an all-time favorite of mine, too.

  10. Thank you. Though I know there are lots of people benefiting from your words and posting this poem, they are such a comfort to me in this moment that I greedily feel ‘this is for ME’. Thank you.

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