This perfectly captures the sense of epic timelessness in those few remaining old-growth redwood enclaves. Feels just like Muir woods did when I spent time there.
Thank you Mark. There's not a lot left, but when you get to walk through one, it's something special. I'm happy to hear you got that feeling reading it.
Reading this was truly a stimulating experience in the best sense! The artwork is wonderful, to start with—and the way you’ve woven in the echoes of many voices from the poetic tradition is such a perfect evocation of the self-regenerative forest-- or Nature as the "Heraclitean Fire."
I loved the Miltonic appeal to the Muse, loved the Dylan Thomas references-- “The Force that Through the Green Fuse” is one of my all-time favorites. The imagery of the “midwifing shore” recalled Thomas’ “Heron-priested shore,” and also, at least in my mind, was a beautiful counterpoint to Hopkins' “widowmaking, unchilding, unfathering deeps”--
Recently I re-read Tintern Abbey, and I found that same tone here, of passionate feeling for a well-loved landscape. The image of the fog as a heroic Titan was a fabulous reminder of (and contrast to) Sandburg’s fog that walks on little cat feet.
Also, I was wondering if you borrowed— if not ideas then at least atmosphere?— from either The Living by Annie Dillard, or The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben?
I may have supplied some of my own allusions here but felt there was a beautiful braiding of “Tradition and Individual Talent” in this piece. Thank you for sharing, and I’m looking forward to further installments!
Thank you Evelyn. You've caught me red-handed on all of them (except for Sandburg, but I will look that one up). I did read The Hidden Life of Trees while writing this. If you're into Wohlleben, you might like David George Haskell, who's also an excellent nature writer.
I love Tintern Abbey. It's the one of his I return to the most. Sublime poem.
Delightful descriptions here that make me look forward to future installments. Anyone who has spent time in a forest will recognize the quality of stillness married to vibrant life. You capture the dappled light: "The floor scintillates with checkered light / that dazzles like the shallow of a seabed soaked
in the midday Sun. Green the floor and downy / with leaf litter and greased with the black rot
This is a gorgeous start to a long poem, Robert. I thought the gradual unfolding and unreeling of it all the way to the final word - and the layered sequence of it - obviously perfectly matches the theme of trees and growth. And the way it takes its time, too. Really like this, and look forward to working my way through the different parts. Thanks for writing.
It is strong, evocative. I liked most the section which depicts fog as a giant climbing up from the sea, trying to grasp the moon, and then melting away in the sun’s warmth. Very well-executed: enough that I think I’ll put that bit in my notebook for future rereading.
This perfectly captures the sense of epic timelessness in those few remaining old-growth redwood enclaves. Feels just like Muir woods did when I spent time there.
Thank you Mark. There's not a lot left, but when you get to walk through one, it's something special. I'm happy to hear you got that feeling reading it.
Reading this was truly a stimulating experience in the best sense! The artwork is wonderful, to start with—and the way you’ve woven in the echoes of many voices from the poetic tradition is such a perfect evocation of the self-regenerative forest-- or Nature as the "Heraclitean Fire."
I loved the Miltonic appeal to the Muse, loved the Dylan Thomas references-- “The Force that Through the Green Fuse” is one of my all-time favorites. The imagery of the “midwifing shore” recalled Thomas’ “Heron-priested shore,” and also, at least in my mind, was a beautiful counterpoint to Hopkins' “widowmaking, unchilding, unfathering deeps”--
Recently I re-read Tintern Abbey, and I found that same tone here, of passionate feeling for a well-loved landscape. The image of the fog as a heroic Titan was a fabulous reminder of (and contrast to) Sandburg’s fog that walks on little cat feet.
Also, I was wondering if you borrowed— if not ideas then at least atmosphere?— from either The Living by Annie Dillard, or The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben?
I may have supplied some of my own allusions here but felt there was a beautiful braiding of “Tradition and Individual Talent” in this piece. Thank you for sharing, and I’m looking forward to further installments!
Thank you Evelyn. You've caught me red-handed on all of them (except for Sandburg, but I will look that one up). I did read The Hidden Life of Trees while writing this. If you're into Wohlleben, you might like David George Haskell, who's also an excellent nature writer.
I love Tintern Abbey. It's the one of his I return to the most. Sublime poem.
Thank you for the encouragement.
Delightful descriptions here that make me look forward to future installments. Anyone who has spent time in a forest will recognize the quality of stillness married to vibrant life. You capture the dappled light: "The floor scintillates with checkered light / that dazzles like the shallow of a seabed soaked
in the midday Sun. Green the floor and downy / with leaf litter and greased with the black rot
of humus..."
Thank you Abigail. I'm a lover of the forests, and of the language of nature which has a long, poetic tradition in English to draw from.
In some ways is an ode.
An ode to the redwood forests of the pacific northwest, which I love very much.
This is a gorgeous start to a long poem, Robert. I thought the gradual unfolding and unreeling of it all the way to the final word - and the layered sequence of it - obviously perfectly matches the theme of trees and growth. And the way it takes its time, too. Really like this, and look forward to working my way through the different parts. Thanks for writing.
It is strong, evocative. I liked most the section which depicts fog as a giant climbing up from the sea, trying to grasp the moon, and then melting away in the sun’s warmth. Very well-executed: enough that I think I’ll put that bit in my notebook for future rereading.