Remembering "I Think That I Shall Never See...." And Taking The Time To Do So

As homage to a poet, who, for all time, immortalized the loveliness of a tree, I write of Joyce Kilmer. Born in New Jersey in December 1886, Mr. Kilmer died bravely in combat during World War I in July 1918, certainly prematurely, at the age of 31. As fully a writer as gallant soldier, the poet once surveyed the scene outside his bedroom/office window and began, “I think that I shall never see… a poem lovely as a tree.” While modern literary critics, as well as critics in Mr. Kilmer’s day, have judged his poetry style “too simple, overly sentimental…far too traditional, even archaic,” according to his Wikipedia entry, I say, here’s to simple things. Here’s to a simple poem, now quoted in this advent of spring, remembered ninety-six years post-penning, in this blog entry:

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree. - Joyce Kilmer, 1913

Surely Mr. Kilmer would savor great joy and satisfaction knowing someone in the world, nearly a century later, would consider his prose of a tree, in this small, yet appreciative, moment in the future, alas a moment he would never see. I celebrate the dedication following Kilmer’s reflection to allow something to spring forth…permitting the time needed for appreciation to grow larger than at first sight…accommodating the space for artful words to be composed…instead of engaging in a quickly forgotten sort of pastime. Thus Joyce Kilmer lives on, even if quietly, in the literary world.

Trees are indeed a spectacle easily pushed aside in our view. Hardly any living thing is truly as grand as an expansive-canopied Oak tree, having the capability of enduring through several hundred seasons or so. We drive by a beautiful, old house in our weekly travels, and as impressive as the two- story, white-columned, brick structure is, rivaling the home in stateliness are the leafy Oak trees that adorn the front yard beginning in late spring and throughout summer. On one drive-by, I remembered the home had recently been bought by a young couple. I wondered out loud if the previous owners had planted those impressive trees. My husband quickly enlightened me, claiming the trees would have, in all probability, been planted in the latter 1800’s. Oh, of course. With that newfound, practical knowledge, I deduced the planters never saw the trees in their fullest glory. But they took the time and effort to plant anyway.

The time necessary for task completion in our culture has been forever changed with warp speed technology. I can remember when the first mass-affordable digital watches, set with state-of-the-art, fluorescent-red LCD’s, were the newest techno-savvy marvel. Now we carry not only the time, but calendars, phones, cameras, mail, texting keyboards, music, videos, news headlines and TV along with the World Wide Web in one pocket-sized device, if not yet in watch-sized form: A communication and information command central. I love this life. But I need to, in slow time, plant and grow something that will outlast me. Not something instantly gratifying…something that needs extensive time… something good…something memorable. A deed…a love…a faith…something like…a tree. Something I won’t see matured in the timing of a mouse click. Something maybe my children will see…or even their children’s children. For what will I be commended, if anything, by the following generations?

“The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.”
Chinese Proverb

I consider the short cut. “Fast-growing but short-lived trees tend to be poor choices…because they often develop disease or insect problems, (and) often have weak wood,” writes Karen Youso, columnist for the Minneapolis/St.Paul Star Tribune. I reconsider the short cut; frustrated, perhaps, because I like to see immediate results.

So, in an encore round of cheers, here’s to the longer route of time-taking, nature-gazing and sapling planting…to beautiful things remembered for generations to come…to a lovely, forever –made- timeless tree…and its poem, and to its poet, well done.