Trees are the quintessential image of nature. And they are regionally specific, meaning that often the trees that appear in Southern Poetry are similar in appearance or even identical. In the south, there are live oaks and longleaf pines and magnolias and cypresses and myrtles and palmettos. Depending on where the speaker is from, different trees appear in the poetry, sometimes in the background and sometimes as an integral part of the depiction. For example, in Robin Kemp’s This Pagan Heaven there is mention of “shattered trees” when describing the destruction of Katrina, which brings to mind the bald cypresses and huge old live oaks of formerly picturesque New Orleans. While in Kathryn Stripling Byer’s Wildwood Flower, there are images of coves and thickets of trees; abundant and verdant clusters of trees frequent the mountains of the poems, thriving in a bygone time.
In many of the poems we’ve read this semester, there has been instances of nature actually becoming a character in the poem, particularly in the form of a tree. A tree could be a fixture in the speaker’s life or yard, or trees in general could represent a cage or an escape. The destruction of trees could be important or the destruction imparted by trees on man-made structures. In the poem, “My Window Tree” by Julie Kane, a tree that has managed to grow through a window is admired and meditated on. The speaker describes the awe at the tree’s ability to tunnel its way into the house and her sorrow that she must prune “the crippled growth I loved/dearer, Lord, than straight.” In a very different way, Andrew Hudgins’s poem, “Tree” also delivers this message about surviving in harsh conditions and the importance of flaws. Hudgins describes wanting to be a tree, with thick bark for skin, sprouting green and healthy, and juxtaposes this with his abusive father and academic failings.
In both of these poems, the main character interacts with trees in an intimate way. In R.T. Smith’s poem “Neglect”, the speaker is also interacting with the tree intimately. He has allowed it to die because he was busy seeking pears and pastures and did not bother to prune it. In the poem, he is proceeding to burn the cherry wood, considering his behavior and the life of the tree, which provided ciders and pastries for two decades. The tree is representative of areas of his life that he has neglected despite their importance to him. In many ways, it seems that southern poetry often uses nature as a foil, as a symbol of the South or their own failings or humanity’s failings or even of various emotions. My succeeding posts will focus on non-visual motifs that are often related to imagery of nature. Trees are unique in their regional specificity and their grand presence in nature, hence their import in Southern poetry.
Julie Kane (Rhythm & Booze, 60)
Tree
I'd like to be a tree. My father clinked
his form down on his plate and stared at me.
"Boy, sometimes you say the dumbest things."
You ought to know, I muttered, and got backhanded
out of my chair. Nowadays, when I chop wood
and my hands gum with resin and bark flakes,
I hunker at the tap and wash them human.
But in math class, I'd daydream of my choices:
not hickory or cedar not an oak --
post, red, live, pin, or water oak. Just pine.
If not longleaf, I'd settle for loblolly.
My skin would thicken with harsh bark, my limbs
sprout twigs, my twigs sprout elegant green needles.
Too soon, Miz Gorrie'd call on me. "Why did
you do step four that way?" Who me? It looked
good at the time, I guess -- and got invited
to come back after school and guess again.
And that's when I decided it: scrub pine.
Andrew Hudgins (The Glass Hammer, 44)
R.T. Smith (Brightwood, 47)
I never really realized how important the role of trees is when talking about Southern poetry, so I'm really glad you were able to make this connection. When I think of the South one of the first things I picture is huge trees that have been there forever or trees lining the streets of Savannah with Spanish moss hanging down. Also, when I think of the word 'nature' trees are always the first thing that come to my mind.
ReplyDeleteYou're dead on about the significance of trees in Southern poetry and culture. When I think of home, the first thought that comes to mind is Spanish moss hanging from the branches of live oaks. I've tried to explain the appeal of those trees and that fungus to people from outside of north Florida, but they never seem to get it. While there is a certain beauty in the natural simplicity of that scene, it goes beyond that. Those oaks and that moss were part of the backdrop I grew up in. It was almost as if they were a quiet kid in the background, always there but never speaking, contributing without ever being heard.
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