Sunday, June 13, 2010

"The Sound of Trees"

I have written before about Robert Frost and his love of trees. One of his poems in particular keeps coming back to me these days:

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to your dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.


Sometimes, we must listen to the silences. We must wait for the angels to lead us home.

7 comments:

-K- said...

I suppose you're right but jeez louis, it takes a lot of practice and patience.

jguywrite said...

I like the Robert Frost poem. Someday I would like to take my family & visit his old place in Concord, New Hampshire.

jguywrite said...

My name is Jeff Guy. I live in Kansas, am married with two kids. Back in the '90s, I got a degree in journalism. I have recently returned to school to become a teacher. I have two blogs: jguywrite.blogspot.com & jguyreview.blogspot.com.

Paul L. Martin said...

Kevin, I agree, it is difficult and it does require a lot of practice and patience. But if life is about working toward perfection, we have no choice but to soldier on. Nirvana awaits.

jguywrite, thank you for both comments, and I applaud your decision to enter the classroom. Again, have patience with the red tape and those who will attempt to frustrate every move you make. Ultimately, you are doing the noble thing, and that is all that matters. I will check out your blogs and sites.

Shelley said...

Frost is the poet I honor above all others. Since I write about a world in which a tree surviving is a kind of miracle, I read this poem slowly and with awe.

Paul L. Martin said...

Thanks for your comment, Shelley.

Susan said...
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