ready

I called this series 'ready' and I do feel ready for something.

my parents had a big library. I'd go exploring there, making exciting, disturbing, thrilling discoveries (like some kids went exploring in woodlots).

I remember there were a few books of poems by Al Purdy. The only title I remember from back then was 'love in a burning building' - exactly the kind of hint I was looking for.

Today, looking at odd little trees on a condo balcony, I thought about urban trees, and suddenly the thought of arctic trees jumped into my mind. I remembered a poem from back then. I thought it was called Arctic Trees, but Google informed me that the title was actually 'Trees at the Arctic Circle'. Re-reading, I was surprised by how accurately I had remembered the body of this poem.

I've never seen arctic trees, but I do know a lot about making self small, and about catching myself being stupid, arrogant. I hope you do read the poem.



Trees at the Arctic Circle

They are 18 inches long
or even less
crawling under rocks
groveling among the lichens
bending and curling to escape
making themselves small
finding new ways to hide
Coward trees
I am angry to see them
like this
not proud of what they are
bowing to weather instead
careful of themselves
worried about the sky
afraid of exposing their limbs
like a Victorian married couple

I call to mind great Douglas firs
I see tall maples waving green
and oaks like gods in autumn gold
the whole horizon jungle dark
and I crouched under that continual night
But these
even the dwarf shrubs of Ontario
mock them
Coward trees

And yet---and yet---
their seed pods glow
like delicate gray earrings
their leaves are veined and intricate
like tiny parkas
They have about three months
to make sure the species does not die
and that's how they spend their time
unbothered by any human opinion
just digging in here and now
sending their roots down down down
And you know it occurs to me
about 2 feet under
those roots must touch permafrost
ice that remains ice forever
and they use it for their nourishment
they use death to remain alive

I see that I've been carried away
in my scorn of the dwarf trees
most foolish in my judgments
To take away the dignity
of any living thing
even tho it cannot understand
the scornful words
is to make life itself trivial
and yourself the Pontifex Maximus
of nullity
I have been stupid in a poem
I will not alter the poem
but let the stupidity remain permanent
as the trees are
in a poem
the dwarf trees of Baffin Island

al purdy