On August 18, at the Islesford Neighborhood House, people will gather to hear their friends read poems and essays in an event known as the annual Literary Evening.
Sarah Corson started this tradition 31 years ago to provide Harry Spurling with a venue for his epic recitations, when the Rockbound Grange ceased its weekly meetings.
The five-minute presentations offer a glimpse into the lives of friends you might otherwise not know are writers. When my friend and co-correspondent for the Mount Desert Islander, Susan White, wrote a poem for me a few years ago, it was my first introduction to the pantoum, a form of poetry originating in 15th-century Malaysia, composed of four-line stanzas.
The second and fourth line of each stanza become the first and third line of the next stanza. Often, the first line is used as the last line of the poem. Having a form to follow and its repetitive nature, made the pantoum very appealing to me as I wrote a poem for this year’s Literary Evening.
For all of the people who arrive on the islands in August, this summer may seem normal, or even better than other years. Especially if you remember that last year we referred to this month as “Fogust.” Today the islands are sunny, hot, and busy with people.
But if has been a very strange summer for many of us on Islesford. The record amounts of rainfall in both June and July dampened everyone’s spirits, only to be relieved by days of fog with occasional hours of sunshine. And then, two strong-willed women, with vibrant personalities, died within four days of each other. One had grown up here, and both were island mothers who raised their children here and had seen their grandchildren grow up here as well. Betty Sprague and Lillian Alley touched the lives of just about everyone who ever came to Islesford, and their passing left many of us feeling hollow, even when the sun came out again.
August Pantoum
I will feed my soul with the month of September
In August there’s no time to breathe or to think.
Recounting the summer, so much to remember
The time going by in a breath and a blink.
In August there’s no time to breathe or to think.
June and July days were endless with rain.
Time not going by in a breath and a blink.
The sun has come out but I don’t feel quite sane.
June and July days were endless with rain.
We said sad goodbyes to two island mothers.
The sun has come out but I don’t feel quite sane.
I’m thinking of Betty and Lil, and some others.
We said sad goodbyes to two island mothers.
The grief either sends you to bed or it doesn’t.
I’m thinking of Betty and Lil, and some others.
Everyone says “It’s the summer that wasn’t.”
The grief either sends you to bed or it doesn’t
It’s hard coming up with good things to recall.
Everyone says, “Its the summer that wasn’t.”
In August, we try to make up for it all.
It’s hard coming up with good things to recall.
Now we’re doing so much at a furious pace.
In August, we try to make up for it all.
With so many events it feels much like a race.
Now we’re doing so much at a furious pace
The gardening, the dinners, the parties, the shows.
With so many events it feels much like a race
Packed ferries! More people! That’s how August goes.
The gardening, the dinners, the parties, the shows.
The sun shining down for a day more than two
Packed ferries, more people! That’s how August goes.
It’s like trying to eat, but forgetting to chew.
The sun shining down for a day more than two,
Recounting the summer, so much to remember
It’s like trying to eat, but forgetting to chew
I will feed my soul with the month of September.