Apple Tree series
Posted: 21 November 2009 Word Count: 303 Summary: As requested by James... I wonder whether I have missed any
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Apple Tree today
Your fruit still hangs, clinging on to life and nourishment long after it should have fallen to its death, its purpose.
Your staccato fingers dark against the unseasonal blue and gold. Where were the winds to urge you on, encourage you?
You stand majestic, pathetic, my strong silent sentinel amid a world of change. Hold on long to your charges.
Apple Tree (This is after Anna Akhmatova's 'Willow') And as the days began to lengthen the pink blossomed against the pale blue sky and I spent quiet hours under its dappled shadows. Young and free.
And while the summer's heat took its toll its heavy branches drooped almost to the ground and made a darkened cocoon of security. Contented calm.
But as the first fruits voiced their presence and swelled until they over-proved themselves and plumetted to the ground, Rotted, rotting,
the wasps rejoiced and I lost my innocence.
Early summer by the apple tree (a response to Mary Oliver's 'Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond')
I wonder how they seem to start from nothing, forming themselves in secret places until they emerge, fully-formed miniatures, as they are today.
Immature and insignificant fruits which have only rain, though often fierce, and earth, though seldom rich, and sun, though even that not essential to help them through life.
Remember so few weeks ago how it stood, as if deprived of life yet determined to live. Its dark denuded branches twisted into a wry smile of one who knows
that surely Spring follows Winter and Summer Spring - Death follows Life and Life Death. Return in Autumn and taste its perfect fruits.
On the death of an apple tree The sky is vast, empty from my window.
No leaves or branches block my view.
Inspiration once flowed whenever
I looked out.
Comments by other Members
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NicciF at 08:55 on 22 November 2009
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Hi Joanie
I think its great how each poem is constructed differently. The changes in the flow, rhythm etc reflect the changing nature/appearance of what is basically the same tree.
There are some wonderful images. I particularly like:
Your staccato fingers dark
against the unseasonal blue
and gold. |
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It describes the tree in our orchard perfectly.
Remember
so few weeks ago
how it stood, as if deprived
of life yet determined to live. |
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Nature, and the arrival of spring, is so remarkable. You know it will happen and yet the first signs are aways such a surprise.
The sky is vast,
empty
from my window. |
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Last year we lost an apricot and a nectarine in the same storm. Tragic. We still haven't got round to replacing them yet so there is still a gaping hole.
Too early to think any more deeply about these (also slept v badly last night), however, I am awake enough to appreciate the individuality of each poem and how they grow, almost organically, to make the series.
A lovely start to an otherwise dismal Sunday. (Meteo promised sunshine and we have rain!)
Thanks
Nicci
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joanie at 10:05 on 22 November 2009
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Thanks for reading and responding, Nicci. I hope the sun comes out for you today!
joanie
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NicciF at 10:08 on 23 November 2009
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Hi Joanie
A little more sun, however, the field opposite is so water logged that if we have any more rain (some expected) we'll soon need a boat!
Nicci
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V`yonne at 16:49 on 24 November 2009
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Joan these are wonderful. I loved lots but:
the wasps rejoiced
and I lost my innocence. |
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stunning
I think you could expand the theme to a chapbook.
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joanie at 18:10 on 24 November 2009
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Thanks, Oonah. I appreciate your response. I should really think about getting my act together and making a collection of some sort, I suppose!
Joan
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Joella at 18:41 on 24 November 2009
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Hi Joanie, I love your poem. I like the visual way the length of lines in respective stanzas represent the life of the tree. You've written some great description.
And while the summer's heat took its toll
its heavy branches drooped almost to the ground
and made a darkened cocoon of security.
Contented calm.
I like this because I can imagine being sat beneath the tree, taking shade and comfort.
I look forward to more of your work. Joella
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purpletandem at 22:10 on 26 November 2009
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Hi Joanie,
There’s a lot here. I’ll have a go at commenting – in random observations – on the first poem, Apple Tree today.
I wish I could write like this!
It’s very succinct, haiku-esque. There is a great deal distilled and reduced into 12 lines, mature and ripe, just like the fruit.
I think the fact that the voice addresses the tree gives the poem more energy than if it had been written in the third person.
The first stanza highlights a nice paradox – the fruit is the life of the tree, and the means by which it reproduces its life, but in order to fulfil that purpose, it must itself die.
There is a switch, which pleasantly surprised me, from the voice seeming to be ‘against’ the clinging on of the fruit in the first two stanzas, the second of which takes on a lamenting quality, to the voice being very much ‘for’ the tree retaining its fruit in the third stanza.
Each stanza has a balance between (excellent) visual imagery and reflection, which gives the poem structure and strength, like the tree –
1. Fruit clinging on – Its purpose is death.
2. The silhouette – Where are the winds?
3. The statue – Resistance to change.
The poem provides the reader with enough imagery and reflection, but not too much, so each reader can interpret the poem in terms of their own experience and circumstances.
Myself, I often resist change (when I am not the author of it) so the final stanza resonates particularly for me, but the poem as a whole reminds me that some change is inevitable, like the seasons, and even necessary – for the fruit must fall and die in order for the seed to grow and maintain life.
As we have seen over the last 12 months, we live in a fragile world, which needs only a burst of wind for everything to come tumbling down.
Word-wise, I noticed how in two places the positioning of the word ‘long’ in relation to other words in its phrases lends itself, when reading aloud, to a drawing out of the word (lonnng) thereby emphasising its meaning.
The one word that stands out for me is ‘staccato’. Although it is not literally possible for fingers to be staccato, nevertheless its meaning is absolutely clear and tellingly visual, and it seems exactly the right word to use to convey the image.
My single reservation is ‘onto’ in line 2, which I suspect should be ‘on to’? I’m not exactly sure of the difference in grammar, but ‘onto’ doesn’t look quite right to me.
A lovely and powerful poem – thank you very much for sharing it with us. I look forward to savouring the others in due course.
pt
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joanie at 11:32 on 27 November 2009
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Hi pt. Thank you so much for such a full and thoughtful comment. I do appreciate your time and expertise.
I think you are absolutely right about on to. I'll change it.
joanie
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FelixBenson at 12:42 on 09 December 2009
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Hi Joanie
I have returned and re-read these poems many times since you posted them, and I am so glad you did. I am squinting into my apple tree-less back garden and desperately wishing for one. These poems show how much poetic richness there is in trees and especially apple trees. Like the others who have commented, I love the differences of these poems, but also how the cycle holds together similar themes.
The first poem is just so perfect – in the way you can write these perfectly distilled lines. That final verse and especially the final line has so much power
You stand majestic, pathetic,
my strong silent sentinel amid
a world of change. Hold on
long to your charges |
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The holding on and the letting go of the fruit. And the way that is linked with death, change and the loss of innocence in the second poem is masterful. What kept echoing back with me were these lines:
But as the first fruits voiced their presence
and swelled until they over-proved themselves |
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‘over-proved’ especially. This is very good. Just right. I keep thinking about how perfect a description that is!
For the final poem I am full of admiration for the opening lines:
I wonder
how they seem to
start from nothing,
forming themselves
in secret places |
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The intimate tone – the direct way the poem speaks to the reader, and the simple truth of the lines.
Fabulous.
I am sure I will continue to re-read, but I have got such a lot out of these. I haven’t read all your poems, Joanie, but if you were going to put together a collection, I do think you should include these! And I will be buying a copy!! They really are great.
Kirsty
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joanie at 12:50 on 09 December 2009
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Thank you, Kirsty; that's a lovely response. Much appreciated!
joanie
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