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.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This is such a beautiful, contemplative poem. You did a terrific job of transporting me into that cul-de-sac, that tree, the surrounds, the sounds. 💕

[Eilis]

Thank you, Linda. That’s a lovely comment. I appreciate you reading.

[Gerald Parker]

I admire the way you transport the reader out of the clearing into a vast galactic space. This works so effectively. Then the calm contemplative state of mind become aware of sounds - how suggestive is "curling in from somewhere else"! Must ask about line 3 "beats" - is it actually the quiet that does the beating or is it "the silent heart"? "And I was not alone" these simple are so wonderful - for me they connect with everything
and everybody. The last four and a half lines, are we in a city? Not sure what you mean by pavement - over here it's the part of the road you walk on, so I can't see how it can absorb all sound. Sorry, I'm perplexed by your ending.

[Eilis]

Hi, Gerald. Thanks so much for the comment.

For beats I meant surpasses. Maybe I need to make that section clearer.

And in the end, yes, we are in the city neighborhood. Pavement on a neighborhood road. It is meant to connect back to the beginning. I’m glad you asked the questions. I can see it’s confusing and needs a bit more work. So, thank you.

I appreciate both your compliments and comments of critique. This is very helpful to me.

[Vin]

wow. wonderful stuff! I admire this

[Eilis]

Many thanks, Vin.

[CD Campbell]

We use to call them horse apples when I was a boy. Dont try to feed them to a horse though, they wont eat them. Where do these names that have nothing to do with nothing come from?
Some of the biggest trees around here are 100+ y/o Pecans. Around here pu khan, not pea cans. Weird huh? Anyway, we had this gigantic pecan in my grandad and nans backyard that I use to climb when I was much younger. I would climb into the very tops of the tree and disappear. After a lot of effort and being 70 to 90 feet in air, I would spend some time just sitting on a limb surrounded by green. Smell, listen, observe. Ants, mad squirrels, birds, all kinds of things would be up there. This tree was in the heart of a suburb, but it was a world unto itself. It felt like it wanted me to climb it and escape.
I have never felt the blackness of a tree. Maybe irritation. The older I get though, I feel they are still a different universe, but now there are of one beyond me to climb into. I hate seeing the solitary tree in your vision. It's an almost all too common sight these days.
It's a really good poem. Thought I would go back in time on this one. Made me feel that way.
Seems like your kicking a*s. Keep it up.

[Eilis]

I’ve heard them called horse apples too. Weird how we name things. I’d like some insight into that one too.

I was just telling my husband last week we ought to have a pe-can farm. We have loads of them around here too. He just laughed. I say it puh-khan too, ha ha. I’m not southern enough.

Anyway, thanks for the great story, CD. I was a forest hider or hollow hider or however you say it as a kid. Fort builder. We lived in apartments mostly growing up, so you had to take whatever little oasis presented itself. Don’t think I ever climbed that high though.

[CD Campbell]

I thought puh-Khan was only an okie tex thing. Welcome to the club of being wrong from the rest of the country. Ha. Climbing that high was stupid. Nature was supposed to weed out people like me, but who has the last laugh now.

[Eilis]

Ha ha! I’m a long time card-carrying member of that club.

Down in these parts, you can either embrace the accent or try to pretend you don’t have it. Key word being pretend. I tell myself I don’t, and say things like puh-khan, but you know, who am I fooling.

[kentuck14]

E,
Indeed, as others have said you have traveled deep in this one. I felt like Alice chasing the rabbit in normal time only to fall down the rabbit hole into another world. This particular tree (or its memory) seems to have sent you to another world . . . at least for the moment . . . somewhere out of the cul-de-sac . . . but we live in a real world of "bloodless pavement." But we can rejoice at those moments of escape. A thoughtful poem.
T

[Eilis]

Yes, the moments of escape. Thanks for your thoughtful comment, T. Your visits are appreciated.

[Neville]

rooted to the very spot they were raised in .. now older than old and perhaps slowly dying .. they see everything around them and clearly.. there is a marked loneliness here despite all the activity .. a yearning for a forest maybe where there is safety in numbers ...... Another great poem here Eilis and true...

[Eilis]

Thank you, Neville. And that is a beautiful review. Always glad to hear from you...and true :D

[Neville]

............... N is :)ing here..

[Eilis]

:)ing back