This is a spectral and beautiful poem. Its sanctity as a truly sublime poem is haunting. There are a lot of words I don't know. It sounds beautifully and arduously crafted. Great job!
Daniel, I was drawn to the image of the fallen tree bleached and gleaming in the moonlight (though I suppose it could be sunlight too), and then I had to work a little harder for the other images. I was momentarily stuck on the girl tracing a line in the clay as a runaway, so that really threw me off track. The fact that Fortune was capitalized clued me in that these were symbols, so I went back and discovered the girl was the river winding her way through the clough. Then I was off and running again. The idea of winter being the river's womanhood is a bit chilling. Yet not necessarily damning womanhood I suppose since there is a yearly thaw. Does the river become a girl again every spring? I enjoyed the "patois of the tires" as a contrast, making the reader feel more strongly the pull to join the tree, and yet it is a wretched orison because the bare branches are not lifting in praise but scrabbling for purchase on the land. The river represents a loss of self or remembrance. I did not expect this. I first thought of the track the river cuts ever deeper as a kind of lasting tribute to the river and all who observed it. But this is too optimistic. The tree will not join the river willingly but lose its self or its consciousness when it is pulled in, so the anxiety of the title is fulfilled. The alliteration and rich vocabulary work with the strong images, making this one really fun to think through. Thank you!
Abigail, this has to be one of the most thoughtful engagements with and responses to anything I've written on Substack. Thank you for sitting with it and wrestling with what some of these weird little symbols might have meant. The girl in particular is certainly an odd presence in a poem that is otherwise concerned with features of the natural world. In a way, I view the girl as stepping somewhat outside the symbolic nature of the rest of the poem (I do like your reading though).
It feels dangerous to talk about one's intention in writing a poem as it exposes failures on the poet's part to communicate those intentions, but since you have done me the honor of really sitting with this poem, I'll give it a go anyway.
In my imagining, the "terebinth of bone" is a man, fallen but still stubbornly rooted in place. The girl is, in fact, a girl—his daughter—and the fine line she draws on the ground was meant to represent a break in their relationship, which the tree/man in his stubbornness cannot cross. Since the tree can't (or refuses to) move to repair the relationship, he can only pray that she returns of her own volition as time expands what began as a small rift into a vast canyon ever more difficult to cross. "Her womanhood" is not supposed to be damning so much as a point of sorrow for the man whose stubbornness has caused him to miss the girl growing into womanhood.
Thank you for your generous response. I can feel my literary analysis skills coming back to life the more I interact with writers here on substack. It's good to practice close reading on poems I have never taught (when I don't know the “right answer”) because it makes me realize that sometimes I'm not aware of why a poem evokes such a strong reaction. Slowing down for a play-by-play is helpful in itself, but getting to interact with authors is just too much fun. I love hearing more of the backstory here and can definitely see all of that at play. Reading it again, I see my initial gloss that the girl was a runaway fits better than my final analysis. I wonder if you could give that shadowy father figure a stronger voice distinct from the tree and the river? Thank you again for a read I really enjoyed sitting with.
That's a great thought! If I ever have the occasion to revisit this poem, that seems like an obvious element to fix. As it is, there is nothing indicating any familial connection between the tree and the girl. The working title of a previous draft made the poem explicitly about fatherhood, but perhaps in a way that was too on the nose. That said, on the scale of blatant or cryptic I tend to err on the side of cryptic, which has some real downsides.
Anyway, thank you again for your thoughtful comments, Abigail!
This is a spectral and beautiful poem. Its sanctity as a truly sublime poem is haunting. There are a lot of words I don't know. It sounds beautifully and arduously crafted. Great job!
These are very kind words. Thank you for reading, Michelle!
Thanks! You’re a great poet, I also write poetry.
Daniel, I was drawn to the image of the fallen tree bleached and gleaming in the moonlight (though I suppose it could be sunlight too), and then I had to work a little harder for the other images. I was momentarily stuck on the girl tracing a line in the clay as a runaway, so that really threw me off track. The fact that Fortune was capitalized clued me in that these were symbols, so I went back and discovered the girl was the river winding her way through the clough. Then I was off and running again. The idea of winter being the river's womanhood is a bit chilling. Yet not necessarily damning womanhood I suppose since there is a yearly thaw. Does the river become a girl again every spring? I enjoyed the "patois of the tires" as a contrast, making the reader feel more strongly the pull to join the tree, and yet it is a wretched orison because the bare branches are not lifting in praise but scrabbling for purchase on the land. The river represents a loss of self or remembrance. I did not expect this. I first thought of the track the river cuts ever deeper as a kind of lasting tribute to the river and all who observed it. But this is too optimistic. The tree will not join the river willingly but lose its self or its consciousness when it is pulled in, so the anxiety of the title is fulfilled. The alliteration and rich vocabulary work with the strong images, making this one really fun to think through. Thank you!
Abigail, this has to be one of the most thoughtful engagements with and responses to anything I've written on Substack. Thank you for sitting with it and wrestling with what some of these weird little symbols might have meant. The girl in particular is certainly an odd presence in a poem that is otherwise concerned with features of the natural world. In a way, I view the girl as stepping somewhat outside the symbolic nature of the rest of the poem (I do like your reading though).
It feels dangerous to talk about one's intention in writing a poem as it exposes failures on the poet's part to communicate those intentions, but since you have done me the honor of really sitting with this poem, I'll give it a go anyway.
In my imagining, the "terebinth of bone" is a man, fallen but still stubbornly rooted in place. The girl is, in fact, a girl—his daughter—and the fine line she draws on the ground was meant to represent a break in their relationship, which the tree/man in his stubbornness cannot cross. Since the tree can't (or refuses to) move to repair the relationship, he can only pray that she returns of her own volition as time expands what began as a small rift into a vast canyon ever more difficult to cross. "Her womanhood" is not supposed to be damning so much as a point of sorrow for the man whose stubbornness has caused him to miss the girl growing into womanhood.
Thank you for your generous response. I can feel my literary analysis skills coming back to life the more I interact with writers here on substack. It's good to practice close reading on poems I have never taught (when I don't know the “right answer”) because it makes me realize that sometimes I'm not aware of why a poem evokes such a strong reaction. Slowing down for a play-by-play is helpful in itself, but getting to interact with authors is just too much fun. I love hearing more of the backstory here and can definitely see all of that at play. Reading it again, I see my initial gloss that the girl was a runaway fits better than my final analysis. I wonder if you could give that shadowy father figure a stronger voice distinct from the tree and the river? Thank you again for a read I really enjoyed sitting with.
That's a great thought! If I ever have the occasion to revisit this poem, that seems like an obvious element to fix. As it is, there is nothing indicating any familial connection between the tree and the girl. The working title of a previous draft made the poem explicitly about fatherhood, but perhaps in a way that was too on the nose. That said, on the scale of blatant or cryptic I tend to err on the side of cryptic, which has some real downsides.
Anyway, thank you again for your thoughtful comments, Abigail!
The reading was enchanting.