Ode to lonely trees

I find it strange at the center
of a cul-de-sac that there is a quiet
that beats the silent-heart of a long-left

forest. It is true, I remember
that single Osage orange-stoic
in the middle of a clearing.

Its dark fruit orbiting a tilted limb
like a burnt-out meteorite. And there,
me, gazing at the pendant leaves

as though they were stars
caught amongst a smoky farness.
I was certain the forest could open

its body then and immure me inside-
a black hole full of light-an entry
into another universe-just one wrench

away. So I did not blink-just stood
my distance from that lonely tree
and listened, expecting silence. But

instead there was that palaver of birds,
that vagabond stream murmuring,
that cosmopolitan wind come curling in

from the edge of somewhere else.
And I was not alone. But here, this
bloodless pavement-knurled-and

empty of movement-swallows
all sound like a hungered owl
until there is no body left but its own.

Author's Note

2019

Innocuous, absorbing everything. Some grief is larger than my body is. - Lucy Brock-Broido

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

It’s diabolical that you focus on the Osage orange as a kind of last standing vestige of wild things. I love the picture that it conjures up in my mind. I had a professor when I was in school, Daniel Janzen, who would talk about this tree as a sort of evolutionary anachronism. And by that he meant that in his mind, its large cumbersome fruits must have at one time been fed on and dispersed by now extinct species of the megafauna, mammoths or some other large creature. So, there is double meaning for me in this piece, the poetic and the scientific.

I get it, that sadness one feels when pondering these survivors. The “cosmopolitan wind” could be a whiff of diesel exhaust, and the lifelessness of the pavement obscuring all living things sounds like a burial. But I see some hope. The forest might still one day swallow usl and in so doing provide nurture.

[Eilis]

I find an incongruity in the loneliness of civilization vs the fullness I can feel in nature. Perhaps it is the way nature whispers and accepts you in. The space you take alone equals so little in the breadth of it all yet I feel more swallowed surrounded by human conception. It’s fascinating how things hold different meanings according to the context. The species that have this long history but when we encounter them for the first time they are new to us. There’s freshness. That juxtaposition of history to newness holds a lot of power. I liked your use of the word diabolical here. There is so much poetry in the natural world. Thanks for your thoughtful and interesting comment.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

another stunning piece of writing by you. so many expressions i love 'palaver' 'bloodless' 'pendant leaves'. this grasp of language really adds power to your writing.
thematically, this one really resonated with me. i once wrote a poem 'an ode to a tree' it's long lost now but the point is, i have at least once felt a deep connection to a tree before. and so i can empathise. yet this work takes it further - understanding that this place was once a forest, and now a sole survivor is all that occupies it. the loneliness, and the injustice it has faced is quite heartbreaking.
sensitivity is the essence of a great poet, indeed, the essence of a good human being. and here that is demonstrated - feeling connected to something most consider unsentient; being curious about its story; and willing to feel the pain it suffers. there is a lot going on in what on the surface appears to be a simple narrative.

[Eilis]

Thanks for your kind comments, Ern. You said in a review reply about having an imaginary friend as a child. For me nature is my imaginary friend. I feel there’s so much to learn in that space of silence and observation. So many parallels to human experience. I have always felt that everything has a soul of sorts. And part of being a better person is allowing that life itself is precious not just human life. I always appreciate your thoughtful comments, thanks so much.

[Beccy]

Your poem put me in mind that it would only take a blink in time, for nature to wipe out all evidence on our existence.

I wonder what advice, Methuselah, that ancient Bristlecone pine in the white mountains of California would give, if we could communicate with it. Uproot me at your peril, perhaps?

You write so beautifully

Beccy.

[Eilis]

Thanks so much, Beccy. I admire your writing as well. And your comments always offer such interesting tidbits of thought. I appreciate your reading my poems.

[Dave Brown]

another memory instigated with this write, of a tree in, I believe somewhere Africa, on a dry desert plain, that had somehow managed to grow, and in the process, had created a mini-ecosystem, attracting a huge variety of birds animals etc.
When it finally died, that ecosystem completely disappeared.
Isn't that, metaphorically, what many writers on this site seem to do?

[Eilis]

Ha, yes, I think internet writing is definitely like that. Just when you’re getting comfortable with expecting to see someone’s writing, they disappear.

That’s a cool story about the tree. The delicate balances needed to maintain life that are sometimes hidden because they are so prevalent.

Thanks for the cool comment, Dave. I look forward to reading your work real soon.

[R.E. Ray]

Eilis, I had a rush of images flood my head as I read this poem and considered what you were thinking
when writing it. I grew up on an old family farm, and though the animals were gone, the fruit trees and concord grapes survived. I especially remember the lone cherry tree and how my grandmother knew the perfect time to start picking cherries before the blackbirds ravaged the tree. After she passed, the birds feasted, and I could not look at that tree without thinking about her. She died when I was a young boy, the first time I heard about breast cancer.

Joyce Kilmer's 1913 "Trees" poem is the only tree poem I could recall when I read your title. Yours and that one now remain in my mind. Another great poem, Eilis.

[Eilis]

Thanks for sharing that memory, RE. I love when people share those types of things. Makes a poem seem more real, and not just like something symbolic.

Memory is such a powerful thing. Especially when connected to people we have loved and lost. I have some memories like that as well.

I haven’t read that Joyce Kilmer poem you mentioned, but I’m going to seek it out. Thanks for another great comment. I enjoyed reading your thoughts and associations. Always appreciate your visits.

[R.E. Ray]

TREES
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.

[Eilis]

Ah, I do know that poem but just wasn’t aware of the name or poet. Thanks for sharing it here!

[Samuel Dickens]

There can't be too many tree poems, can there? So majestic they are, those long-lived organisms. Around here, we call them "Horse apple" trees. Also, some call them "Ironwoods". (Their wood is very hard!)

[Eilis]

I think you’re right, Samuel. The world can always use more tree poems. I’ve heard the horse-apple but not the ironwood. Thanks for dropping by, nice to meet you.

[Robert Trakofler]

a barren and bleak feel to this a sense of outside looking in come thru to me in these lines and a feel of one of my favorite themes... the lovely incongruous nature of living in today's society I feel this way too sometimes I feel like the soul is slowly getting digested bit by bit in the begrudging conformity. but the truth is even when I feel this way I know I wrapped my self in the many souls I have known and loved and then I feel the warmth of the weave to stave the dark loneliness. a very poignant write Eilis

[Eilis]

Thank you, Robert. It’s funny, when I was a girl and moved to my husband’s family’s rural property I went through a period of intense loneliness and depression due to that separation from the constant activity of city life. But, when we moved to the city a few years ago I found that a hard adjustment, again. I suppose our souls are always flitting between states. Mine anyway. Finding balance is seems to be a constant. Our modern ways of living amongst each other but apart do make it difficult. But, it’s what we’ve got. Incongruous was a great description from you.

Thanks for your thoughtful reading and commentary. Always appreciate your thoughts.

[Kay Salisu Titilola]

Great poem here, Eilis.
Loneliness sometimes don't really mean having no one around anymore but when you are there with million and couldn't feel their present. A tree to me can said to be lonely when the breeze of life doesn't amuse it anymore. That's my thought.

Still pondering...

[Eilis]

Thanks for your thoughtful comment, Kay. I think loneliness is something different for everyone. But like you mention a lot of people feel intense loneliness even when they are surrounded by people on all sides. One of the weird things about our modern ways of living.

Thanks for reading.

[gram linski]

amazing writing, I could pick any line as my favourite but after verse two the poem really sang to me, loved the vagabond stream, I have sat by many of them, wine in hand, notepad on knee, and the connection between the lonely tree and society … I think most of us feel like we are drowning in concrete most of the time, rooted, but still striving for the sun,

[Eilis]

Gram, I always enjoy your comments. They have personality.

I think you’re right about what you say at the end. We need less roads. We need more trees.

And notebooks by the vagabond steam sounds awesome too.

Thanks for reading, I do appreciate it.

[Eilis]

Streams not steams, iPhone. Doh

[DAH]

"as though they were stars
caught amongst a smoky farness" __ love this imagery!

I agree that this one is so Alice-like, so Wonderland-esque.

Bravo, Eilis, to this higher consciousness write, mystical in
all of its allegorical meanderings.

Cheers,
DAH

[Eilis]

Many thanks, DAH. I’m glad you liked it. Thanks for stopping by!

[DAH]

My pleasure!