Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THAT-AIR YOUNG-UN, by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: That-air young-un ust to set Last Line: "now what's it a-talkin' of?" Alternate Author Name(s): Johnson Of Boone, Benj. F. Subject(s): Children; Mothers; Rain; Childhood | ||||||||
THAT-AIR young-un ust to set By the crick here day by day. -- Watch the swallers dip and wet Their slim wings and skoot away; Watch these little snipes along The low banks tilt up and down 'Mongst the reeds, and hear the song Of the bullfrogs croakin' roun': Ust to set here in the sun Watchin' things, and listenun, 'Peared-like, mostly to the roar Of the dam below, er to That-air riffle night the shore Jes' acrost from me and you. Ust to watch him from the door Of the mill. -- 'Ud rigg him out With a fishin'-pole and line -- Dig worms fer him -- nigh about Jes' spit on his bait! -- but he Never keered much, 'pearantly, To ketch fish! -- He'd ruther fine Out some sunny place, and set Watchin' things, with droopy head, And "a-listenun," he said -- "Kind o' listenun above The old crick to what the wet Warter was a-talkin' of!" Jevver hear sich talk as that? Bothered Mother more'n me What the child was cipher'n' at. -- Come home onc't and said 'at he Knowed what the snake-feeders thought When they grit their wings; and knowed Turkle-talk, when bubbles riz Over where the old roots growed Where he th'owed them pets o' his -- Little turripuns he caught In the County Ditch and packed In his pockets days and days! -- Said he knowed what goslin's quacked -- Could tell what the killdees sayes, And grasshoppers, when they lit In the crick and "minnies" bit Off their legs -- "But, blame!" sayes he, Sort o' lookin' clean above Mother's head and on through me -- (And them eyes! -- I see 'em yet!) -- "Blame!" he sayes, "ef I kin see, Er make out, jes' what the wet Warter is a-talkin' of!" Made me nervous! Mother, though, Said best not to scold the child -- The Good Bein' knowed. -- And so We was only rickonciled When he'd be asleep. -- And then, Time, and time, and time again, We've watched over him, you know -- Her a-sayin' nothin' -- jes' Kind o' smoothin' back his hair, And, all to herse'f, I guess, Studyin' up some kind o' prayer She ain't tried yet. -- Onc't she said, Cotin' Scriptur', "'He,'" says she, In a solemn whisper, "'He Givuth His beloved sleep!'" And jes' then I heerd the rain Strike the shingles, as I turned Res'less to'rds the wall again. Pity strong men dast to weep! -- Specially when up above Thrash! the storm comes down, and you Feel the midnight plum soaked through Heart and soul, and wunder, too, What the warter's talkin' of! . . . . . . . Found his hat 'way down below Hinchman's Ford. -- 'Ves' Anders he Rid and fetched it. Mother she Went wild over that, you know -- Hugged it! kissed it! -- Turribul! My hopes then was all gone too. . . . Brung him in, with both hands full O' warter-lilies -- 'peared-like new- Bloomed fer him -- renched whiter still In the clear rain, mixin' fine And finer in the noon sunshine. . . . Winders of the old mill looked On him where the hill-road crooked In on through the open gate. . . . Laid him on the old settee On the porch there. Heerd the great Roarin' dam acrost -- and we Heerd a crane cry in amongst The sycamores -- and then a dove Cutterin' on the mill-roof -- then Heerd the crick, and thought again, "Now what's it a-talkin' of?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN CHILDREN SELECTING BOOKS IN A LIBRARY by RANDALL JARRELL COME TO THE STONE ... by RANDALL JARRELL THE LOST WORLD by RANDALL JARRELL A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS IN CHILDHOOD by DONALD JUSTICE THE POET AT SEVEN by DONALD JUSTICE A BOY'S MOTHER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY |
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