A Felled Tree
more is lost
than is wood
lying there
not a tree
treeness goes
like the rippling soul
of someone dying
an animal dying
a bird
what you can see now
on this fresh cutting
beneath the advent
of its new moldering
is the press of time
sending up grief
Gary Michael Dault
March 12, 2021
In The Wood
In the wood! In the wood!
Where the great green trees rustle
rustle without end.
The great green trees.
The gold-green trees of hair
in which the sunlight flashes
hangs heavy with dreams.
Shake Green One shake
thus!
Even now dreams are sinking
like heavy red wine
into me
(1903)
Jean (Hans) Arp in R.W.Last, Hans
Arp, The Poet of Dadaism (Dufour Editions, 1969),
p.69.
I didn't know about English actress Judi Dench's love for trees until accidentally coming upon this exquisite BBC One video, "My Passion for Trees" a few days ago on YouTube. It was filmed in 2017, when Dench was eighty-two (she is still going strong now at age 86).
Here is the link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjnv_AevX4s
In addition to her splendid work in such films as The Last of the Blonde Bombshells, Tea with Mussolini, The Importance of Being Earnest, Shakespeare in Love, and the recent Victoria and Abdul, it's worth mentioning here, for those of us who love the music of Stephen Sondheim, that on BBC Proms 2010, Dench gave what is surely the definitive performance of "Send in the Clowns" from Sondheim's A Little Night Music. It's available on YouTube as well.
You tree
of company--
here
shadowed branches,
small,
twisted comfortably
your size,
reddish buds' clusters--
all of
you I love
here
by the simple river.
Robert Creeley, "Tree" from Windows (New York:
New Directions, 1990), p. 13.
Recently my next-door friend got a new computer and consequently bestowed on me her older one--so now I have my own email address. Gary and I immediately began corresponding from room to room, which gives us both much pleasure.
Yesterday, when I looked at my messages, I found this from Gary about his current reading in the works of Emile Zola (specifically, The Masterpiece): " If anyone should ask why I read Zola (and nobody will)," he wrote to me, "I'd point to writing like this: "...Willows, along both river-banks, trailed their pale heads in their own reflections."
Gary tells me that he simply didn't expect such lyricism from so committed a naturalist writer as Zola..
Yesterday evening
I returned with the clouds
drifting under the rosebushes
(great, round tenderness)
among the faithful tree trunks.
The solitude was eternal
and the silence never-ending.
I stood still like a tree
and listened to trees talking.
From "Men Trees" in Three Hundred Poems, 1903-1953, by Juan Ramon Jimenez (Austin:
University of Texas Press, n.d.), p. 201
