Born to Fly: Mary Poppins, Bruce Springsteen, and the Spell of Immortality
My husband is a crier in movies; I am not. Occasionally something will tug out a tear or two, but it’s rare. And weeping? Unheard ... Read More
This week I checked out Wendell Berry’s The Country of Marriage and stumbled on a poem I hadn’t read before. Just a few days ago my kind neighbor Tommy gave me permission to harvest a few maple seedlings from his property and I spent an afternoon replanting them around the Warren with these same hopes for the blessing they might be to my children’s children. Once again, the sage words of the Mad Farmer gave me a clear picture of what it means for us to be keepers of his creation, standing amidst a breadth of old beauty that we didn’t ask for and don’t deserve. I’m tempted to draw out a metaphor, like I did in my song of the same title, but I think maybe it’s good (especially in light of the glorious autumn all around me in Nashville right now), to let the trees in the poem stand in their own bright significance as members of God’s creation.
PLANTING TREES
In the mating of trees,
the pollen grain entering invisible
the domed room of the winds, survives
the ghost of the old forest
that was here when we came. The ground
invites it, and it will not be gone.
I become the familiar of that ghost
and its ally, carrying in a bucket
twenty trees smaller than weeds,
and I plant them along the way
of the departure of the ancient host.
I return to the ground its original music.
It will rise out of the horizon
of the grass, and over the heads
of weeds, and it will rise over
the horizon of men’s heads. As I age
in the world it will rise and spread,
and be for this place horizon
and orison, the voice of its winds.
I have made myself a dream to dream
of its rising, that has gentled my nights.
Let me desire and wish well the life
these trees may live when I
no longer rise in the mornings
to be pleased by the green of them
shining, and their shadows on the ground,
and the sound of the wind in them.
Check out Wendell Berry’s books currently in the Rabbit Room Store.
As a singer-songwriter and recording artist, Andrew has released more than ten records over the past fifteen years. His music has earned him a reputation for writing songs that connect with his listeners in ways equally powerful, poetic, and intimate. He has also followed his gifts into the realm of publishing. His books include the four volumes of the award-winning Wingfeather Saga.
8 Comments
LauraP
Driving through the forested mountains of upstate New York, and that just brought quick tears to my eyes. A thing resounds when it rings true. Thanks for the post, AP.
Jaclyn
Breathtaking. I’ve been teaching kids how to say otoño, autumn, in my Spanish classes. This reminds me why we make up such words to capture the beautiful shiftings of life. Thank you, AP.
Peter B
Like a golden sky on a summer’s eve — wow, what a pull. Where and whenceforth, I cannot say, but it calls.
It’s almost dizzying to peer with the inner eye into these vast depths of truth — through a fathomless longing that nevertheless gives a feeling of solidity and rightness. Does that make any sense?
Julie @ Wife, Mother, Gardener
Beautiful poem! Thanks for sharing it.
Becca
Golly, I love him.
Caleb M
I was driving along this morning and “Planting Trees” came on Pandora. What a great song. Inspired so many thoughts and emotions. Nice work.
jarrod justice
Hey Andrew,
First saw you in a Texas barn when you opened for Caedmon’s.
Last saw you in Knoxville at a Baptist Church.
I’m a lead pastor and local artist in Knoxville. I turn 32 tomorrow, and have been writing songs and painting for years. It’s odd to write this on a “planting trees” comment feed, although your song by the same name is a prophetic utterance for my church.
For some odd reason and odd time… I thought to myself… Andrew needs to read this poem I wrote tonight! It is for a series of “heavendown” paintings I just finished. Enjoy at your leisure.
jarrod
“heavendown” by jarrod justice
earthup striving, straining, earning
babeling towers of manmade show
the rambling urban sprawl of who’s new
steeling glory and clawing clouds
ourphones veil the rain and stars
heavendown receiving, tasting, soaking
trickling cascades of Kingdom wine and window
pouring love, drinking blood, His saints enjoying
filled with song, meek ones resounding, resting
we build the sky down, unveiling Holy
-jarrod justice
Brian Strickland
Love, love, love Wendell Berry. I proposed with a stanza of “Country of Marriage” written out with the ring. Thank you for this. Quite beautiful.
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