[443] Poems
I think that I shall never read
A tree of any shape or breed -
For all its xylem and its phloem -
As fascinating as a poem.
Trees must make themselves and so
They tend to seem a little slow
To those accustomed to the pace
Of poems that speed through time and space
As fast as thought. We shouldn't blame
The trees, of course: we'd be the same
If we had roots instead of brains.
While trees just grow, a poem explains,
By precept and example, how
Leaves develop on the bough
And new ideas in the mind.
A sensibility refined
By reading many poems will be
More able to admire a tree
Than lumberjacks and nesting birds
Who lack a poet's way with words
And tend to look at any tree
In terms of its utility.
And so before we give our praise
To pines and oaks and laurels and bays,
We ought to celebrate the poems
That made our human hearts their homes.
-- Tom Disch
|
I must say I like Disch's parody [1] a good deal more than I do
Joyce Kilmer's original [2]. The latter is weak, sentimental, and on
the whole, just not very good; today's poem, though, is witty,
sensible, and much more in accord with my own views of what
poetry is and does.
Having said that, though, I'd be the first to admit that Kilmer's poem
(or at least the first and last couplets thereof) will probably be
immortal; 'Poems', on the other hand, will almost certainly not.
Such is life.
thomas.
[1] How could I resist a piece that rhymes 'poem' and 'phloem'?
[2] 'Trees', at poem #146
[Afterthought]
There's a pretty famous sf author called Thomas M. Disch ('Camp
Concentration', '334', 'Angouleme'). I wonder if he's any relation?
[One fatbrain search later]
Yup, I think it's the same chappie. One of fatbrain's listings is for a
collection titled 'Dark Verses and Light', by Tom Disch / Thomas
M. Disch.
Who'd have thunk it?
(Though actually, 'poems that speed through time and space / As
fast as thought' is a bit of a giveaway).
[After the afterthought]
I wonder what Disch would have to say to people (geeks, aptly
enough) who refer to published material as 'dead-tree' versions...
From: mallika <mallika@>
Trees
A poem is much more than verse
As Joyce should know, both James
and Kilmer. Tom's unduly terse
when he dismisses trees. He names
Not the forms that verse can take
The villanelle, the sonnet;
And though he does a good rhyme make
He's bees within his bonnet.
Consider this, that trees do make
For human bodies - homes
And verse- at best - can only take
Space in a shelf of tomes.
So trees are poems, too but they
Are also utilitarian
Can we the same of poems say?
Why, it would be Barbarian.
Mallika Chellappa. 2000.
--
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Mallika Chellappa email: mallika@
Tel: 91-80-225-1554 X 1081 Voice: 447 6218
1 Floor 29 Cunningham Road
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From: "Sodergren, Ted" <TSoderg@>
Mallika:
Bravo! Well said!
Ted
From: "Jonathan Robin" <jonathanrobin@>
Given the Parody on Trees online I thought the verses below might amuse.
I have in fact a substantial collection of poetry written over the last 30
years which I have never sought to publish and also an extensive
collection of parodies many of which pre 20th century, are not to my
knowledge online.
Would this be of any interest ?
Best regards, Jonathan Robin
Life: A finite succession of infinite opportunities
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Tree's Breeze
I know I'll never feel a breeze
as soft as is a poet's frieze.
A poet sows sweet soothing rest
where winds are wild, blow to the west.
A poet, praised, demands no fees
but sees through breezy censor's sneeze
that all life's petty jealousies
may into opportunities
be turned, to gold transmutes life's clay, -
a triumph of ephem...hourray !
A poem heats the arteries
when east winds sleet, and boilers freeze.
A poem's rich rhymes warm heaven where
a storm which rimes warns, sends despair.
A poem fresh emotions frees,
a fresh breeze lifts the leaves from trees.
Far from the madding crowd with ease
a poet flies, - soon dies the breeze.
The breeze's blasts snow banks contain,
the poet casts no rank refrain.
God knows there's none who disagrees,
no zephy's soft as poet's frieze
29 July 1991
Tree's Son's ... Eggs
I think that I could never beg
for food as oblong as an egg.
An egg which did the hen precede, -
or is it 'follow' ? - there's a need
for eggs where salmonella's trace
is absent, absent, too, disgrace, -
an egg with its protective shell
not laid last year - which some would sell !
An egg ! - that Gulliver might reign, -
which ultimately breaks in twain
to hatch to cheep no cheap complain
or on the tablecloth to stain.
Poets are fools who live to beg
for foot and mouth and God's good egg ...
25 July 1991
Tease
I think I think I'm really me, -
I'm free I think to think I'm free -
I'm me, who looks for God each day,
and then goes out to fight life's fray.
I'm me, who may forever bear
more kids till old age dyes my hair,
whose bosom beats till Time does drain
those dreams of castles lost in Spaon.
Poems divine are made by me, -
but what is God, and where is She ?
29 July 1991
Trees-Son Able Poets
(A Tree's bark being adverse to a Poet's bite)
----------------------------------------------------------------
"'Art for Art's sake', pray set no fee"
some say subjectively to be
the Way, for with asperity
the jealous judge prosperity.
The poet's hungry mouth is pressed
leach-like to reach the Public's breast, -
A Public which would browse all day
without the courtesy to pay
for what won't stand the acid test
of Time, or critics past their best,
for what no chuckle hearts may sway
to wrap up quickly, take away.
Time KILls MERe poets, those that rest
through death remain, do reign twice blessed,
once in their lifetimes, so some say,
once after strife, when day-to-dau
considerations are a jest.
Which one am I or you ? Suggest
no answer trite, for, friend, you may
not read on here, let home display
the shelves of books and cabinets
where lofty thoughts have been expressed,
where arets of war and hearts at play
in peace, unopened, virgin lay.
Ah, woe is me ! One might have guessed
at looks embarrassment repressed,
yet all agree that pages fray, -
recycled prose has had its day.
So turn your back on Poetry
which ne'er as lovely as a tree
can blossom, and ecology
embrace to solve life's mystery ...
29 July 1991