Happy Fall, I Guess...

Reapers, by Jean Toomer (1894-1967)

Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.

The poem is talking about farming, right? About harvesting, gettin' that corn out of the fields and onto the dinner table, gathering those last bits of gold before the sun sets in the distance.

Oh, who am I kidding.

There is something creepy, dark, and sinister about this poem; everything from the way the words roll off the tongue to the choice of phrasing used to describe what should be a harmless day out on the mower points to something more than just happily ending the season's harvest with food aplenty.  There are two different scenarios that play out here, side-by-side. The obvious one is the one we mentally see in our heads--farming. Getting those horses out to the long corn fields, mowing them stalks down before any more cold weather spoils the vegetables. But what we feel--that is doubly more interesting, not to mention haunting. I feel an ominous presence, almost lurking feeling on the horizon, of something reaping instead of mowing, I smell blood, my skin breaks out in goosebumps as the darkness curls around my arms--honestly, the poem falls more under this latter description. It seems to me that there's a more powerful presence reaping here, and corn should be the last thing on our minds when we hear about this reaper prowling around, eager to find its real prize.

I'd first like to point out the genius in the first line itself--of "Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones". If there were any way to vocally describe the opening of a horror movie, this line would be the best fit. The first image that pops up is, of course, the infamous Grim Reaper cloaked in black with scabby fingers and a scythe at hand (looks scarily like a dementor from the Harry Potter series--but then again, isn't that where J.K. Rowling got the original idea?). What you hear in your imagination is a horrific dissonance of noise, a cacophony of high-pitched screeching from the "steel on stones" that makes you forget about the popcorn and be aware of controlling your stomach for the next scene to come. As the second line personifies the mowing machine, you're left uneasy--is the poem really talking about a machine? I've never heard of one with hip-pockets before. They can sharpen their own scythes? That's lovely...then, one by one, as if an army of black death is marching, cutting down any obstacles in the way, the hooded figures swing their scythes in your general direction. And when you're close enough to see each individual blade of the entity, blood-stained from the creatures whose lives its taken, you realize that there are no obstacles left, no more shade to hide in, and that you are the next weed that it's ready to cut.

Ok, that's about as far as I can go with that spooky stuff. This is a great piece of scary literature, but what meaning is there besides trying to make you pee your pants during a Lit class? Some background inference would be helpful here. Days of harvest, of collecting food and grain, can be linked to death from another perspective: the seasons. And what we're talking about here specifically is Autumn. It only makes sense that all harvest must be collected to be consumed, but a key word choice changes this assumed meaning completely: the use of reap instead of mow. According to the dictionary, reap implies gathering or taking a crop or harvest, while mow is simply the act of cutting down crops with a scythe or machine. You can mow crop, sure, but you can't mow a person--this is where reap comes into play. The use of reap suggests that Autumn not only is the time for man to collect his harvest, but for Nature to collect hers as well--harvest of human lives, mind you. Personifying the reaper to be more like the dark-hooded figure we know today (sharpening scythes, fashionable Grim Reaper hip-pockets) in our culture includes the fall of human life as the season runs its course. Thus, Death's influential hand stretches out into our own 'field,' "cutting weeds and shade" so that no human has any other place to hide from Death. No single person will be treated differently from the rest under the wrath of nature and time, in the way that no farmer would let a mature crop go to waste by letting it be.

Does that mean that we're all destined to die in the Autumn? Obviously, no, or else I wouldn't have to turn in a blog post. But there's a definite change in the air, a change in the environment around us, that the supernatural, ubiquitous 'Reaper' shapes for us in this chilling season. We don't have to hope for imminent death in the near and coming months, but we are all susceptible to the colder winds, the drier air, and the dying greenery that surrounds us. Think of it as a friendly reality check that time stops for no one, and this under-rated season reminds us that death is necessary in the cycle of life, whether you imagine a Grim Reaper single-handedly sucking the life out of every flower and ray of sunshine, or only absent-mindedly realize that you had to wear a jacket today.

Don't be the lame neighbor that gives out apples and bananas this Thursday; go out there and buy some candy or else you'll be finding a rather angry reaper/mower knocking on your front door. Unless, that is, you're a dentist; in that case many kids already think you're some sort of Hell-spawn destined to make their lives a pain in the tooth (ha ha). Happy Halloween!