After a beautiful Fourth of July evening here in Baltimore<\/a> last night, I am compelled to share the pieces that exude the feeling of summer for me. Unfortunately, our summer seems to be flying by. Let’s just take a moment to bask in the glorious summer moments captured in these works. Please feel free to also link to your can’t-be-summer-without-this<\/em> pieces in the comments.<\/p>\n [youtube http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=hl_Hs4PNT-c]<\/p>\n Ain’t it a pretty night?<\/span> Just think, those stars can all peep down<\/span> To see all the tall buildin’s<\/span> But I could always come back<\/span> Ain’t it a pretty night.<\/span> [youtube=http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=sJjXadvkohk]<\/p>\n Knoxville: Summer of 1915<\/a><\/span> It has become the time of evening<\/span> A streetcar raising its iron moan:<\/span> All my people are larger bodies than mine, …<\/span> After a little I am taken in and put to bed. <\/span> And, how could I leave this one out?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n [youtube=http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=pVSNU_SEkTI]<\/p>\n \nSummertime,<\/span> Your daddy’s rich<\/span> One of these mornings<\/span> But till that morning<\/span> Summertime,<\/span> Your daddy’s rich<\/span> Don’t be shy – tell me your favorites too. Of course, my Patriotism in Recital<\/a> pieces are equally indicative of this wonderful time of year.<\/p>\n After a beautiful Fourth of July evening here in Baltimore last night, I am compelled to share the pieces that exude the feeling of summer for me. Unfortunately, our summer seems to be flying by. Let’s just take a moment to bask in the glorious summer moments captured in these works. Please feel free to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","wds_primary_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[74,1],"tags":[691,692,693],"class_list":{"0":"post-2786","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-discuss","7":"category-uncategorized","8":"tag-james-agee","9":"tag-knoxville-summer-of-1915","10":"tag-summertime","11":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2786","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2786"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2786\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2786"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2786"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sybariticsinger.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2786"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n The sky’s so dark and velvet-like<\/span>
\n And it’s all lit up with stars.<\/span>
\n It’s like a great big mirror<\/span>
\n Refleain’ fire-flies over a pond.<\/span>
\n Look at all them stars, Little Bat.<\/span>
\n The longer y’ look the more y” see.<\/span>
\n The sky seems so heavy with stars<\/span>
\n That it might fall right down out of heaven<\/span>
\n And cover us all up in one big blanket<\/span>
\n Of velvet stitched with diamon’s.<\/span>
\n Ain’t it a pretty night.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n An’ see way beyond where we can:<\/span>
\n They can see way beyond them mountains<\/span>
\n To Nashville and Asheville an’ Knoxville.<\/span>
\n I wonder what it’s like out there.<\/span>
\n Out there- beyond them mountains<\/span>
\n Where the folks talk nice, an’ the folks dress nice<\/span>
\n Like y’ see in the mail-order catalogs.<\/span>
\n I aim to leave this valley some day<\/span>
\n An’ find out fer myself:<\/span><\/p>\n
\n And all the street lights<\/span>
\n An’ to be one o’ them folks myself.<\/span>
\n I wonder if I’d get lonesome fer the valley though,<\/span>
\n Fer the sound of crickets<\/span>
\n An’ the smell of pine straw<\/span>
\n Fer soft little rabbits an’ bloomin’ things<\/span>
\n An’ the mountains turnin gold in the fall.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n If I got homesick fer the valley.<\/span>
\n So I’ll leave it someday an’ see fer myself.<\/span>
\n Someday I’ll leave an’ then I’ll come back<\/span>
\n When I’ve seen what’s beyond them mountains.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n The sky’s so heavy with stars tonight<\/span>
\n That it could fall right down out of heaven<\/span>
\n An’ cover us up, and cover us up.<\/span>
\n In one big blanket of velvet and diamon’s.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nA Prose Poem by James Agee<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n
\nwhen people sit on their porches, <\/span>
\nrocking gently and talking gently <\/span>
\nand watching the street<\/span>
\nand the standing up <\/span>
\ninto their sphere of possession of the trees,<\/span>
\nof birds’ hung havens, hangers.<\/span>
\nPeople go by; things go by.<\/span>
\nA horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt;<\/span>
\na loud auto; a quiet auto; <\/span>
\npeople in pairs, not in a hurry,<\/span>
\nscuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, <\/span>
\nthe taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, <\/span>
\nthe image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nstopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan <\/span>
\nand swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, <\/span>
\nthe bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks;<\/span>
\nthe iron whine rises on rising speed; <\/span>
\nstill risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; <\/span>
\nrises again, still fainter, fainter, lifting, lifts, faints forgone: forgotten.<\/span>
\nNow is the night one blue dew.<\/span>
\nNow is the night one blue dew, <\/span>
\nmy father has drained, <\/span>
\nnow he has coiled the hose.<\/span>
\nLow on the length of lawns, <\/span>
\na frailing of fire who breathes …<\/span>
\nParents on porches: rock and rock. <\/span>
\nFrom damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.<\/span>
\nThe dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.<\/span>
\nOn the rough wet grass of the backyard my father and mother have spread quilts. <\/span>
\nWe all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there … <\/span>
\nThey are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, <\/span>
\nof nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all.<\/span>
\nThe stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nwith voices gentle and meaningless like the voice of sleeping birds.<\/span>
\nOne is an artist, he is living at home.<\/span>
\nOne is a musician, she is living at home.<\/span>
\nOne is my mother who is good to me.<\/span>
\nOne is my father who is good to me.<\/span>
\nBy some chance, here they are, all on this earth; <\/span>
\nand who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, <\/span>
\nlying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. <\/span>
\nMay God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, <\/span>
\noh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; <\/span>
\nand in the hour of their taking away.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nSleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: <\/span>
\nand those receive me, who quietly treat me, <\/span>
\nas one familiar and well-beloved in that home:<\/span>
\nbut will not, no ,will not, not now, not ever; <\/span>
\nbut will not ever tell me who I am.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nAnd the livin’ is easy<\/span>
\nFish are jumpin’<\/span>
\nAnd the cotton is high<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAnd your mamma’s good lookin’<\/span>
\nSo hush little baby<\/span>
\nDon’t you cry<\/span><\/p>\n
\nYou’re going to rise up singing<\/span>
\nThen you’ll spread your wings<\/span>
\nAnd you’ll take to the sky<\/span><\/p>\n
\nThere’s a’nothing can harm you<\/span>
\nWith daddy and mamma standing by<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAnd the livin’ is easy<\/span>
\nFish are jumpin’<\/span>
\nAnd the cotton is high<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAnd your mamma’s good lookin’<\/span>
\nSo hush little baby<\/span>
\nDon’t you cry<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\nRelated articles<\/h6>\n
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