An Antidote for Resistance
Whenever I face resistance, my own or someone else’s, I come back to this poem by Jane Kenyon.
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 spent a too short a life writing wonderful poems and dancing with depression. She also inspired another fabulous poet, her husband Donald Hall, and encouraged and soothed a legion of readers. Like anyone who was truly blessed, she was wise and generous in her suffering, articulate and magical in her chronicle of life’s mysterious unfolding.
Each of the first fifteen lines are beautiful images acknowledging the work, the being, of the natural world and a human’s place in that grand scheme. The repetitious “Let” seduces us into a state of experiential acceptance. With the help of each line, I learn to observe without judgment, to see in a new way.
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.
Only the simile linking the cricket and the woman sewing, the image of the abandoned rake, and the bottle, scoop, and lung in stanza five reference people on the land, in the weather, in nightfall, and this spare specificity most tellingly places humans in a context of a great, ongoing natural process. Through Kenyon’s vision, I can feel my place in the natural world, my smallness, sturdiness, humility and wonder.
What better gifts could a poem possibly give me?
Cinching these lines together is the potent refrain, a fitting successor to the biblical Work, for the night is coming.
Let evening come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
I bow to Jane Kenyon for the encouragement—don’t be afraid—and her reminder to take heart—God does not leave us/comfortless. So, open your heart and accept what is.
If you would like to, try using Jane Kenyon’s tercets (or three-line stanzas) to write about your own awareness of acceptance in your life.
Kenyon was a superb poet; I have all her work and that of her husband.
You’ve highlighted beautifully the special gift of this poem.
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Maureen Doallas. Maureen Doallas said: An Antidote for Resistence: Robert McDowell looks at Jane Kenyon's "Let Evening Come". http://ht.ly/1NbKR [...]
Dear Maureen,
Thank you so much! I’m grateful for your interest and kindness. Blessings to you!
I’m redoing my own website, and when it’s up (soon, oh soon?) I’ll offer dozens of Poem Talks like “An Antidote for Resistance”.
I also adored Jane, and I continue to be strengthened by her poems, and Don’s, too.
Robert