James Whitcomb Riley (1849–1916) invented Midwestern literature. Oh, such fellow Hoosiers as the local colorist Edward Eggleston were probably more successful at conveying the dialect. Booth Tarkington and Theodore Dreiser proved better at art. George Barr McCutcheon, Gene Stratton Porter, Lew Wallace: There was a lot going in Indiana from 1880 to around 1920. But through much of the era there was the figure of James Whitcomb Riley, running from poetry reading to poetry reading as he sold the idea of an authentic American verse.

Before the decline of poetry reading after the 1950s (and the rise, within the diminished poetic realm, of a sneer at the old popular verse) such work as Riley’s “Little Orphant Annie” (1885) and “The Raggedy Man” (1888) were well known and widely recited. That’s not to say the poems were taken entirely seriously. No one thought Riley ranked beside Longfellow and Tennyson. But his poems were read wryly and with genuine enjoyment. Riley was fun — fun to read and fun to recite.

Take, for example, today’s poem of the day, Riley’s 1883 “Boone County” poem called “When the Frost Is on the Punkin.” The seven-foot lines in rhymed couplets rattle on about farm life once “the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here.” You can feel the buzz in the meter of what Riley intended as an archetypal poem of American experience, and the humor in the dialectical spellings, and the sentimentality that was simultaneously the triumph and the disaster of the local colorism that exploded in America — especially in Midwestern literature. Mostly though, the poem is fun. And what more does a reader want?

When the Frost is on the Punkin
by James Whitcomb Riley

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here —
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock —
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries — kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover over-head! —
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it — but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me —
I’d want to ’commodate ’em — all the whole-indurin’ flock —
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

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With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.