The Mellow Season

On Keat's and Hepburn

Autumn is on my mind. I’m incapable of rousing the word with conjuring an image of John Keats. If writers were to gather together in a competition to win the terrain of a season Keats claimed Autumn as his own over two hundred years ago, in 1819 to be precise. That was the year he penned To Autumn.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; 

Who can look at Autumn fruit and not agree that it hangs there in mellow fruitfulness. How else could it possibly hang?

Mellow, from the Middle English word “melowe” is derived from the Old English word “milisc” meaning sweet or mild, particularly in taste. It first appeared in the 15th century. Initially, "mellow" was used primarily to describe fruits that were ripe, soft, sweet, but its meaning has evolved over the centuries from describing the ripeness of fruit to encompassing a broader range of gentle, rich, and mature qualities in people, moods and sounds.

And also, the enebriated state brought on by drug use. There was a lot of ‘mellowness’ around in the 1960’s. ‘Mellow out man’ was a catchphrase of the hippies. Likewise Keat’s, being plagued by ill-health for much of his life, partook in the use of opium. To Autumn surely has the atmosphere of a misty opium den about it. The ripening of a well developed state of bliss, a mature completion after all the effort to arrive there. The connection between "mellow" and drug use likely stems from the broader metaphorical use of the word to describe anything that is soft, smooth, and devoid of harshness. Just as a fruit becomes "mellow" when it ripens and loses its sharpness, a person can become "mellow" under the influence of drugs as their mood becomes more subdued and relaxed. In his final years, Keats’s use of opium was partly due to his attempts to manage his illness and pain. He used it a lot.

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

But Keat’s ‘warm days’ finally did cease, and all too early. He died of tuberculosis at the age of 25, a tragically short life. One can only imagine the poems he would have went on to write.

Reading To Autumn again has put me in a comtemplative mood. To Autumn, I am going to posit, is the poetic equivalent of Audrey Hepburn. Having lived our Summer to the full our days must be proceeded by mellow ease. What goes up must go down. It is natural law, everything is cyclical, one thing will be proceeded by another when it is in accordance with nature. When something reaches its extreme it converts to its opposite, - therein being the meaning of the Yin-Yang symbol. Well, having spent your summer thus, you have earned the moment of lazy lush mellowness, and the reward of stepping back and admiring what is and has been. You have earned the wisdom to appreciate beauty in its full blossoming.

Audrey Hepburn, is there a more Autumnal sounding name? It could be a name for the finest russet apples. The hue of a mature forest canopy could be called Hepburnesque. Audrey Hepburn, the iconic actress known for her elegance and grace, and John Keats, the Romantic poet famous for his evocative poetry, may not have a direct connection, but as I was driving south from Galway recently, listening to a playlist on Spotify, Ms Hepburn began singing Moonriver, and it all appeared as one of a kind. Hepburn and Keat’s, there are thematic and symbolic links that can be drawn between them, particularly through the lens of autumn.

Hepburn’s image often evokes a sense of nostalgia and classic elegance, much like the season of autumn with its rich, warm colours and reflective mood. Autumn in Keats' poetry is a time of maturity, richness, and quiet reflection, paralleling the grace and poise that Hepburn represented in her life and work.

There is wistful nostalgia present amongst now. Through the lens of the seasons, the cyclical nature of life we orientate ourselves and find meaning.

And therein lies the mournful beauty of Autumn that we resonate with so much. It is a time of fulfilment and harvest, but also as a prelude to winter—a time of decay and death.

Audrey Hepburn is timeless. Keat’s in his short fruitful life achieved his own immortality, yet both have passed. Both in their way enrich us as much as they enliven the lens of passing time.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Enjoy the music of Autumn everyone.

And thank you for staying with me as I took a break during the month of August.

I look forward to following the meandering path these next weeks and months.

Until next time.

D