The composer John Corigliano's choral setting of "Fern Hill" was performed by the Oratorio Society of New York as the opening piece of their 152nd season at Carnegie Hall on November 10, 2025. I sang this with the society on that date, and it was so achingly beautiful, both the poetry and the music. Thank you for posting the poem and allowing me to experience those feelings again.
The "whinnying green barn" is a barn in its active living years filled with the sounds and the moisture-giving litter & mire of the barn's animals. They breathe moisture out and into the wood keeping it strong, supple, flexible. When a barn ages and is emptied of its livestock, the wood dries, shrinks, cracks, and falls to decay. Becoming too weak to weather harsh winters and heavy rain. Even the sunshine adds to its demise. These, of course, are the barns of yesteryear whose boards and beams have ingrained the character of the farmer, the farm's history of good years and bad, and the spirits of all it has held.
Must be a beautiful coincidence that you shared this on the day we've learned of the passing of Wendell Berry. His life story is not like that of this poem's author (which I read after reading the poem), but I couldn't help thinking of Wendell on his farm. May he rest in the peace of wild things.
The composer John Corigliano's choral setting of "Fern Hill" was performed by the Oratorio Society of New York as the opening piece of their 152nd season at Carnegie Hall on November 10, 2025. I sang this with the society on that date, and it was so achingly beautiful, both the poetry and the music. Thank you for posting the poem and allowing me to experience those feelings again.
The "whinnying green barn" is a barn in its active living years filled with the sounds and the moisture-giving litter & mire of the barn's animals. They breathe moisture out and into the wood keeping it strong, supple, flexible. When a barn ages and is emptied of its livestock, the wood dries, shrinks, cracks, and falls to decay. Becoming too weak to weather harsh winters and heavy rain. Even the sunshine adds to its demise. These, of course, are the barns of yesteryear whose boards and beams have ingrained the character of the farmer, the farm's history of good years and bad, and the spirits of all it has held.
Thank you, Kathy, for adding a palpable layer to the poem.
Must be a beautiful coincidence that you shared this on the day we've learned of the passing of Wendell Berry. His life story is not like that of this poem's author (which I read after reading the poem), but I couldn't help thinking of Wendell on his farm. May he rest in the peace of wild things.