The world is broken and sparkling.

 

My friends, displaced from their homes, tell me first about the trees – bending and breaking under the weight of their own beauty. It’s a horror show – and also magnificent – the monstrous ice.

“Don’t worry about the magnolias. They respond well to pruning,” says one lady who has seen a few winters.

For now, in a still-frozen world, there is grief and amazement. Awe.

(Also – weariness.)

***

Bear with me while I share a very old poem with you. It’s completely out of step with modern taste. It might make you cringe. And also – perhaps – feel something else?

***

Trees

by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

***

Chat GPT describes this poem as “simple, devotional, almost embarrassing in its sincerity – which is exactly why it works.”

Chat GPT is too kind. “Trees” has been pilloried and parodied for generations now. (Also: remembered.)

To think about why it might be considered a “good” bad poem, check out this New York Times article called “A Tree Grows and Grows.”

It has something to do with this: the poem recognizes – taps into – touches – conveys a common and deep human feeling – the love and wonder trees can inspire.

We see them shattered in Nashville (I see them from a distance), and our hearts ache.

Also: it is possible I am entirely missing the most important aspect of the moment in Nashville right now. Shock and awe about the trees has for many turned entirely to fatigue and distress, as homes remain without power.

***

Coco has no words for this whole flocking experience, but her friend Mary does: “When there is a rupture in our sense of normalcy, that creates an opportunity to knit things back together as best we can. We need each other as much as we need light and heat and nourishing food. And we all benefit from the reminder of that even as we kick against it in our carefully curated lives.”

***

Photography by Grace Awh, Caroline Byrd, Camille Drummond, Deena Drummond, Tad Kinchla, Cindy Lassing, David Lien, Marina Lien, Mary Puryear, Mary Raymond, Mary Jo Shankle, Jennifer Thomas, and Caroline Trost.

***

Joyce Kilmer was born in 1886 in New Jersey. His mother was artistic, his father a physician and chemist employed by Johnson & Johnson, where he invented the company’s baby powder. After graduation from Columbia in 1908, Kilmer married his college sweetheart, Aline. A son arrived in 1909, then a daughter – Rose – in 1912. She contracted polio shortly after her birth and was paralyzed. In their grief, Joyce and Aline converted to Catholicism. They would have three more children.

Kilmer worked as a teacher, editor, and journalist for several years. In August of 1913, his poem “Trees” was published in the magazine Poetry, which changed his life. He became a celebrity poet almost overnight.

In April of 1917, after the U.S. entered World War I, Kilmer enlisted. Rose died at age 5 before his deployment to France. Kilmer sought hazardous duty and was well regarded by his fellow soldiers, who spoke with awe of his coolness, his nerve, and his habit of choosing dangerous and difficult missions. He was picked off by a German sniper on July 30, 1918, at the age of 31. France subsequently awarded him the Croix de Guerre for valor.

Categorized in:

Pepper and Poems

Tagged in:

, , , , , ,