Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree or disagree with him.
WEATHER MAKES FOR MOODS
In the 18th century a poet called James Thomson decided to write a long poem about The Seasons – yes, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter and a closing Hymn thanking God. The whole poem covers over one hundred pages of tight print. In the 18th century, this over-long poem was greatly admired and seen as a classic. It was the type of book that could be given to erudite people to read, and it was lauded by parsons and those with great patience. For the fact was that Thomson wanted to describe every flower, every snow drop, every tree that lost its leaves when the cold came, every cloud that changed, in minute detail. When I was a teenager, I thought I should read it and I diligently ploughed my way through it. I won’t belittle poor old Thomson. Occasionally he came up with some good lines. Helen Gardner, when she edited The New Oxford Book of English Verse in 1972, was courteous enough to include three of Thomson’s moments which she headed as A Winter Night, Spring Flowers and The Autumnal Moon… and they are pretty good. But oh woe! How hard it is to read all of The Seasons. By the end of the 18th century, James Thomson’s poem was very out of favour. I think it was sarcastic Oscar Wilde [I might be wrong] - in the late 19th century – who said that Thomson’s The Seasons was what you would give as a present to somebody you didn’t like. Very few people now read all of The Seasons. My own view is that you would get more pleasure from listening to Vivaldi’s bright and sharp Four Seasons than from trying to read all of James Thomson’s The Seasons.
Now why am I grumbling along about the seasons? It’s because I am aware of how my moods can change when the weather changes. And I am sure this is true of everybody else. So here is my story.
Last Thursday the rain rained and rained and rained over Auckland. It was not that awful battering rain that struck us all three years ago when there was the Cyclone Gabrielle where the rain was relentless and very destructive. Rather it was an endless pitter and patter strong enough to being annoying all day and bad enough to make it difficult to control an umbrella. Above all day where dark grey and black clouds. And what did I do? After one visit to the supermarket, coming home wet, I stayed indoors. And I remained grumpy. And listless. And not wanting to do anything. And finding all the books on my shelves uninteresting. And wondering what was the point of anything. And having a coffee. And having a tea. And not being satisfied. And wondering what was the purpose of life. You get the idea, don’t you? It’s the weather that makes you either happy or morose.
But Lo!! Friday [the following day] there was no cloud whatsoever over Auckland. The sun shone brightly. The sky was pure blue all day long – no clouds whatsoever. The temperature was warm and mild. And I was busy, and happy, and taking a long walk, and thinking up ideas, and reading some good poetry [and some bad ones], and watered the flowers [not that they needed much water after the previous day], and happily helping make the dinner and doing the washing-up whistling and seeing life as wonderful….
And in the following days, the weather was half-and-half. Bright sunlight… then a little drizzling… then some sunlight and a nice breeze… then some drizzling… and so on. Everybody knows the old joke about Auckland “If you don’t like Auckland’s weather, just wait half-an-hour”.
I have cheated in writing this post. After all, these events happened in one season… but the moodiness of weather is a reality. I wonder how moody Thomson was when he wrote about winter even if he sweetened it up?
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