by
I have never understood how
the mountains when first seen by hunters
and traders and settlers were covered
with peavines. How could every cove
and clearing, old field, every
opening in the woods and even
understories of deep woods
be laced with vines and blossoms in
June? They say the flowers were so thick
the fumes were smothering. They tell
of shining fogs of bees above
the sprawling mess and every bush
and sapling tangled with tender
curls and tresses. I don’t see how
it was possible for wild peas
to take the woods in shade and deep
hollows and spread over cliffs inhanging gardens and choke out other
flowers. It’s hard to believe the creek
banks and high ledges were that bright.
But hardest of all is to see
how such profusion, such overwhelming
lushness and lavish could vanish,
so completely disappear that
you must look through several valleys
to find a sprig or strand of wild
peavine curling on a weedstalk
like some word from a lost language
once flourishing on every tongue.
the mountains when first seen by hunters
and traders and settlers were covered
with peavines. How could every cove
and clearing, old field, every
opening in the woods and even
understories of deep woods
be laced with vines and blossoms in
June? They say the flowers were so thick
the fumes were smothering. They tell
of shining fogs of bees above
the sprawling mess and every bush
and sapling tangled with tender
curls and tresses. I don’t see how
it was possible for wild peas
to take the woods in shade and deep
hollows and spread over cliffs inhanging gardens and choke out other
flowers. It’s hard to believe the creek
banks and high ledges were that bright.
But hardest of all is to see
how such profusion, such overwhelming
lushness and lavish could vanish,
so completely disappear that
you must look through several valleys
to find a sprig or strand of wild
peavine curling on a weedstalk
like some word from a lost language
once flourishing on every tongue.
(click on the title of the poem to go to a site where the poet is reading his work and click on the poets name to read more about him)
lovely just lovely i can smell them
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful, Mary. I can envision everything this poem describes. Love, Laurita.
ReplyDeleteMary Ellen, this poem is divine; what wonderful descriptive language, and the final words so telling:
ReplyDeleteyou must look through several valleys
to find a sprig or strand of wild
peavine curling on a weedstalk
like some word from a lost language
once flourishing on every tongue.
Just gorgeous, a wonderful choice. Thanks so much!
I've read about the landscapes of lushness the first settlers discovered in the Americas...it must have been a wonder to behold. This work captures the sentiment of how we far we have come from preserving this land of ours. What a lovely descriptive poem!
ReplyDeleteSounds so wonderful. I love peavine. Thank you for bringing this to us.
ReplyDeletei'M NOT SUPRISED ... LOK AT ALL THE REST OF CREATUIRES AND NATURE'S GIFTS AND PEOPLE WHAT HAVE GONE EXTINCT BECAUSE OF THE DESTRUCTIVENESS OF THE EOPLE WHO CAME HERE TO THESE LANDS ... WE CONTINUE TO DO MORE OF THE SAME, EXTINCTION IS A WAY OF LIFE FOR MANY CREATRUES AND OTHER THINGS THAT ARE BARELY HANGING ON IN OUR WORLD.
ReplyDeleteSAD WRITE THAT BROUGHT UP SAD THUGHTS AND ANGER FOR ME. NOT YOUR FAULT, BECAUSE IT HAS A BEAUTY OF IT'S OWN, TOO.
Now that's a fine poem. I am happy to meet this poet & will look for more of his work. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteHere is a link to 'wild peavine' - http://www.em.ca/garden/native/mentzelia_decapetala1.jpg
ReplyDeleteThank you Stan - that makes the post so much nicer!
ReplyDelete;-) Contra to other indications, vines are normally creepers. It appears as though this variety - is not.
ReplyDelete