When He Died An Oak tree sprung, before dusk ramming its way in one mighty heave through living room floor pressing upper branches greenery, limbs flat to the ceiling, and for a trifling second, I wondered would it break an opening for something to come through. I climbed the rubble at its great base a mountainous pyre, of dirt, broken wood slats; and with meager arms rounded wide, I gauged its circumference, face close, bark scratching at cheek, at ear, and I lingered… for floating nearby his fading voice the bold scent of his life, and resonating deep in that trunk, his laughter and as I listened, the fault line trembled around my edges but the Oak’s leaves didn’t rustle, didn’t stir. *as requested, I've reposted this poem. Thanks for the suggestion Aidan. I'll reply to your question on the other post soon via pm.
I think this is great. The oak gives an image of somebody typically male, powerful, somewhat reserved and unmovable. I think that maybe the last couple of lines refer to this. That maybe you were being moved to tears, in your memory, and that as always, he was unmovable, unable to console you or even react to your grief. I'm not sure. But the oak, for me brings to mind, old world furniture, old world values. That sort of dusty austerity in the libraries of the wealthy. Anyway, I think this poem is wonderfully well written and leaves a lot of room for the reader to extract many ideas and thoughts. Peace, A.
I went around and around on this poem and one morning I woke up and said to myself... just personalize it. So it became, "When He Died"... the Oak that unmovable Oak that sprung through the floor in my head when I wrote this - the Oak was the representation of 'Grief' - but not simple grief... one that is massive, that your arms look meager against... So yes, grief at it's most powerful is masculine, reserved, unmovable... I like dusty austerity because this enormous grief is all that... and what could be older then grief... and what could impact wealthy or poor equally powerful... so you did sense all that it was meant to represent... the leaves didn't rustle, didn't stir... because yes, when your fault line - the break down in tears that you saw here.... the emotion pouring.... didn't even move the unmovable... the grief unchanged... not even the leaves of the Oak moved. Thanks for taking the time you did with this Aidan. :sunny:
Thanks for this. It's like having an online poetry lesson. The bit about the rubble and destruction that the oak brought makes more sense now. I previously had a little problem linking the first half of the poem with the second. I'm really happy that you dissect your work like this for my(everybody's) benefit. You are giving me a better understanding of poetry and are helping me improve my own. Peace, A.
