"Your shadow at morning striding behind you..."

Hello, everyone! Grace here. It's been a busy few weeks for me, but I've been thinking about aubades. An aubade is a morning song of parting, and it's a partner to the serenade, which is sung in the evening. The aubade is one of my favorite things to write and read, so I have two brilliant examples for you today. They are well known, even being linked in the aubade's Wikipedia entry, and definitely deserve the attention.

Our first example is by Phillip Larkin, and it's rather long, so I'll link rather than transcribe this time.

You'll notice most poets opt to title their pieces simply "Aubade", which makes for a rather repetitive listing. Regardless, our next example comes from the fascinating Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill, translated from the Gaeilge by Michael Longley. The original can be found--and heard!--here.

It's all the same to morning what it dawns on--
On the bickering of jackdaws in leafy trees;
On that dandy from the wetlands, the green mallard's
Stylish glissando among reeds; on the moorhen
Whose white petticoat flickers around the boghole;
On the oystercatcher on tiptoe at low tide.

It's all the same to the sun what it rises on--
On the windows in houses in Georgian squares;
On bees swarming to blitz suburban gardens;
On young couples yawning in unison before
They do it again; on dew like sweat or tears
On lilies and roses; on your bare shoulders.

But it isn't all the same to us that night-time
Runs out; that we must make do with today's
Happenings, and stoop and somehow glue together
The silly little shards of our lives, so that
Our children can drink water from broken bowls,
Not from cupped hands. It isn't the same at all.

This is honestly one of my favorite poems ever, and I hope it speaks to you just a little in the way it speaks to me.

Some aubades are bittersweet, some are yearning, and others are mere proddings to awake. They're written by musicians, even today, rock and pop artists carrying on a tradition popularized by troubadours centuries ago. Aubades have been written in every style, from Chaucer and Shakespeare to Margaret Atwood's "Morning in the Burned House".

When Marian and I began this format challenge last summer, we practiced aubades as well. Hers, traditionally titled "aubade", can be found here; mine, "Ogun et Erzulie", here. Even more examples can be found on poets.org, including one by Carl Phillips and one by Thomas Merton.

I've seen rhyme used to great effect, but there is no set rhyme or meter to this form, a nice change from our usual challenge. I'm looking forward to reading your entries all month, and into the next year. Please feel free to email me if you have any questions or suggestions, or catch me on Twitter if you're so inclined!