Feeding A Tree



Monday, the mailman delivered “A Conference of Birds” into my hands.  I’d been waiting with excitement for the recently released chapbook by Christopher Martin, father of Cannon and Opal, husband to Deanna, editor of Flycatcher: A Journal of Native Imagination.

My husband Richard read the book before I did.  Yes, he does read poetry now and then, and has been known to write a little poetry. He’s quick to tell me what he likes and doesn’t like.  After reading He Who Planted Trees with God,” a work of nonfiction by Chris in drafthorse, he decided to take a look at the author's poetry.  My husband is choosy and won’t waste his time reading something that doesn’t immediately touch him. He wants it spelled out in clear language.  He says, "I don't want to read anything that's not what it appears to be." As a man who plants and sows and digs and nourishes a garden of beautiful flowers, trees, shrubs, ferns, grasses, and plants of all kinds, he prefers poetry that deals with the simple life.  He found me in the studio writing.  The book was in his hands. He turned it, touching the cover, and I saw the title: “A Conference of Birds." He told me, “I like him.” Meaning, of course, that he likes the author.  When asked which poem he likes best, he said, “The Water Oak.  The one about the grandfather talking about death.”    

I’ve pulled a few lines from the poem.  The grandfather has been speaking to his grandson about coffins and cremation and old women who always say corpses look good in their caskets.  He goes on to say:

About as good a chance
as anybody’s got at eternal life
is going back to the ground,
feeding a tree like this one here,
living forever in its leaves,

My husband identifies with the grandfather who hopes he might live forever by nourishing a tree after his death. The grandfather—the poem—says everything Richard feels.  The words of that poem live now in my husband who hopes to one day fertilize some soil so something else might live. Does that mean Chris’s poem—the words now planted in Richard’s soul— will live forever in the trees?


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Still in Love

September 9, 2012


The Invitation  

Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author



It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
Thank you, Richard, for reminding me.


Sept 9, 2012

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