Back in January, I curated a list of twelve wintry poems to mark the blustery start of a new year. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, the winter cold has started to recede and it’s time to welcome the first days of spring. For many of us, the shift in seasons is a welcome one—no more ice, no more chill; now there are flowers and a bit more sun. But it’s a fragile season, more precarious and gentler than summer. Depending on where you live, you may still be experiencing waves of frost—even snow—imperilling any fresh growth. (And of course, elsewhere in the world, the cold season is just about to start.)
No matter where you are, I hope you’ll appreciate these twelve poems, each of which contain “Spring” in their title (or are simply titled “Spring,” full stop). And yet, each one approaches the season from its own unique perspective. What better way to celebrate the marvellous diversity of poetry as a form than to give twelve writers the same prompt and watch each one do something entirely different with the concept?
“Spring” by Mary Oliver
And here is the serpent again,
dragging himself out from his nest of darkness,
his cave under the black rocks,
his winter-death…
We begin with a meditation on the shift out of winter by the inimitable Mary Oliver, beloved for her nature poetry. This poem follows a snake from his winter burrow to let the sun warm his cold blood. Given the typical iconography of spring—say, a green landscape studded with daffodils and fluffy, fresh lambs—this is not the creature you might expect to herald the arrival of the season, but here he is.
“Spring Song” by Reg Saner
If a bat flies across
the last star
and two robins fly out
of the sun; if sleeping roots
dream of repeating the tree,
lower down we can be certain
all the dead leaves
listen in…
Our second poem is a reminder of the cyclical nature of the seasons, which we come back to time and again in literature as a way of making sense of life and death and change. Note how Saner calls our attention to the dead leaves of the previous autumn—characterizing them as listening in… “What are they listening to?” he asks. Is spring really the season of newness, or is time merely repeating itself?
“Spring” by Marguerite Young
Envy not Spring her innocence;
The creature coiled within the womb
Has not the high indifference
Of one who flowers from a tomb…
Published in 1935, Marguerite Young’s take on spring is a dark one, asking us to consider again how spring is born from the death of winter. Reading it calls to mind Persephone, rising from the underworld at the end of her imprisonment, free once again (if only for half the year).
“Spring Snow” by Linda Gregerson
A kind of counter-
blossoming, diversionary,
doomed, and like
the needle with its drop
of blood a little
too transparently in
love with doom…
With its glancing two-line stanzas, its vivid and almost visceral imagery, Linda Gregerson’s “Spring Snow”paints a picture of a false start: that awkward stage of spring when winter rallies and makes one last effort to supersede it.
“Spring” by Dorothy Keeley Aldis
Spring comes sharply through
The open window. Feet,
Rushing by on roller skates…
By contrast, here we have a burst of sunshine in a poem. Although it was written in 1928, Aldis’ take on spring feels almost modern in its depiction of the season—though there is still the sense, within it, of winter giving way.
“Spring Coronal” by Hyejung Kook
Again this year I’ve failed the peonies that came to us
when we bought our house in summer, not knowing what
pink and white glory grew in the northwest.
Although not precisely about spring, this emotive poem, written during the pandemic, tells its story—of beginnings and endings, grief, pain, and acceptance—through spring’s lens, facing up to what happens when expectations fail, and the idyll does not manifest itself.
“Spring Reign” by Dean Young
Thank you whoever tuned the radio
to rain, thank you who spilled
the strong-willed wine for not
being me so I’m not to blame. I’m glad
I’m not that broken tree although
it looks sublime…
This energetic springtime poem hops from snapshot to snapshot of thought, and is incredibly satisfying to read aloud. What does it all mean? Irrelevant. As Young has said of his poetry before, “I think to tie meaning too closely to understanding misses the point.”
“Spring” by Safia Elhillo
weren’t we only just nineteen,
tonya & i, wasn’t she only just
alive, long-limbed & cross-legged
on my dorm room floor,
wasn’t it springtime of a year
so unlike this one…
This nostalgic poem conjures the ghost of a warm spring suffused with yearning, from many years past. If you’re feeling melancholy this spring—thinking about how quickly winter seems to have gone; how quickly the years seem to be rushing by—reading Elhillo’s words may be of some comfort.
“Springshine” by Alice Monks Mears
Burst light: spins wheels like glass:
hums haloes: strikes birds and spiky
beginnings of flowers at fence rows…
Penned in 1954, this poem perfectly evokes the impossibly bright, eye-watering glitter of early spring, as the reader—emerging from wintertime—squints into the sun.
“Spring Is the Time for Flowers” by Katinka Loeser
The tacit bud reveals the pungent phrase.
The lilac’s dim explosion fills the air.
The gregarious crimson rambler will amaze
The earthbound, steady tulip.
And the ways
Of flowers are curious…
As your eyes adjust to the glistening springtime sun, you will notice flowers emerging where there were none only a day or two ago. Loeser’s poem from 1942 celebrates this sudden riotous emergence of colour, and reminds us that contained within the prettiness of it all, there is audacity in defying what came before.
“Spring Music” by Rosalie Dunlap Hickler
I need unmeasured sun and rain to drink
Until I wear the earth’s ecstatic sheen,
For while the apple orchard flushes pink
The plum has gone from breathless white to green…
Another poem which contemplates the cyclical nature of everything, Spring Music contemplates its narrator’s position as a sort of stick in the river, watching everything go by, unable to pause it. There’s wistfulness in these three stanzas—perhaps even bitterness—but appreciation, too.
“Spring is Coming” by E.L. Mayo
They say the blood of winter, color of rye,
Shall yet unclot and flow in the streets of spring,
Let the king do as he pleases, live delicately,
Time is his king…
Lastly, we have a darkly humorous narrative poem from 1950, which—published in October—conjures an image of springtime as something distant, out of reach…yet undeniably, irrevocably on its way.
I hope the early part of this year has brought good things to you all, and enjoy these first weeks of spring! Do you have a favourite springtime poem? (And does it have “Spring” in the title?) Let me know in the comments.
