October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
one from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.

-Robert Frost (1913)

October

October is a miser's dog.
October will bite quickly into you
with none of September's licking and pawing.
With a heavy snort, half the leaves from the tree outside your warm bedroom
explode like brittle excuses.

October smells the insincere,
and rips into it
without gnawing.
Muffle your apologies through a high collar, wipe away fake
tears on your tight, shiny fake
leather gloves.
You will never see October stir.

October watches you drag
your padded shadow along for a walk,
tail slung between its legs, back-lit
by the dying fires
of summer, shivering.

Everywhere is October's fenced
and frozen yard, its dark pissing-turf, where you belong
to smirking whim and hot breath and cold teeth
as soon as the leaves turn brown
then black,
and October finally shakes off a long false sleeping.


--jurph, 1996

'October'...it's an image. We've been through the '60's, a time when things were in full bloom. We had fridges and cars, we sent people to the Moon and everybody thought how great mankind was. And now, as we go through the '70's and '80's, it's a colder time of year. It's after the harvest. The trees are stripped bare. You can see things and we finally realize that maybe we weren't so smart after all, now that there's millions of unemployed people, now that we've used the technology we've been blessed with to build bombs for war machines, to build rockets, whatever. So 'October' is an ominous word, but it's also quite lyrical. - Bono

October is the name of U2's second album, released just one year after Boy, in 1981. The Band was fraught with problems during its making and the music reflects that. The album suffered because of a lack of time the band had to prepare for it and because of the personal troubles the members were experiencing. After a show in Portland some months before October was released, Bono's lyrics for the new record were stolen. Unable to find them again, Bono was now under pressure to improvise. Also, Bono, The Edge and Larry Mullen Jr. were having serious doubts about whether to continue with the band. The three were very into Shalom Christianity and felt unsure whether being in a rock and roll band jived with this lifestyle. Fortunately, they worked this out. The album was produced by Steve Lillywhite and released by Island Records Inc. U2 recorded this album at Windmill Lane Studios in Dublin. Although October is a U2 album that is frequently overlooked, its music is refreshingly honest and simple.

October song list:

  1. Gloria
  2. I Fall Down
  3. I Threw A Brick Through A Window
  4. Rejoice
  5. Fire
  6. Tomorrow
  7. October
  8. With A Shout
  9. Stranger In A Strange Land
  10. Scarlet
  11. Is That All?

Track 7, also called October features U2's lead guitarist, The Edge, playing the piano.

October

October.
And the trees are stripped bare
Of all they wear.
What do I care?
October.
And Kingdoms rise,
And Kingdoms fall,
But you go on, and on.


The highest chart position for this album was number 11.


Reference
Into the heart, Nial Stokes

October is the tenth month of the year, the eighth of the Roman calendar. It is 31 days long. There are two astrological signs in the month -- Libra runs 'til the 23rd, with Scorpio finishing out the month. Major October holidays include Thanksgiving in Canada, on the second Monday of the month, Columbus Day on October 12, and Halloween on October 31. It is my favorite month.

Where I live, October is the month when most leaves change color, though it happens much earlier in some states. We're also most likely to get our first freeze during October. Some states that have earlier freezes will even have their Indian Summer this month. For these reasons, I always think of October as the true glory days of autumn, when fall color is at its most beautiful, and when the weather is at its perfect temperatures (cool enough for a jacket, not cold enough for a coat).

October is the month of the World Series, when professional baseball teams compete to see who's the best. True, spring and summer are the times that most baseball fans hold dearest, but October is the sport's last hurrah before the winter, so it holds a special place in many fans' hearts. It's your last chance to enjoy a dog and a beer while watching the game, to razz the outfielders, to don your team's colors, even if it's from the comfort of your living room, instead of at the ballpark.

And most importantly, October is the month of Halloween. I'm quite fond of Halloween. I like monsters and ghosts and darkness and fun-size candy and flickering candles in hollowed-out pumpkins and the smell of rubber masks and a good long howl at a gorgeous harvest moon. Halloween and I were made for each other. And October is one beautiful, 31-day countdown to the most wonderful time of the year.

October is my favorite month. It's a good month for walking in the park, riding in the country, walking through outdoor corn mazes, reading spooky stories in old books, and eating just-baked peanut butter cookies. It's a good month, and I'll always consider it the very best and happiest month of the year.

Oc*to"ber (?), n. [L., the eighth month of the primitive Roman year, which began in March, fr. octo eight: cf.F. Octobre. See Octave.]

1.

The tenth month of the year, containing thirty-one days.

2.

Ale or cider made in that month.

The country gentlemen had a posset or drink they called October. Emerson.

 

© Webster 1913.

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