A Good Bad Poem

Photo of Federal Hill Park by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

An essay by Thomas Vinciguerra in the New York Times Book Review of August 18th critiques the hundred year old poem "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer.

There is ingrained in the subconscious of many Americans the first two lines of Kilmer's poem "I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree."  and they leap readily to our national lips. Most critics (including Vinciguerra) think "Trees"  is a terrible poem and it has been parodied by many.

It wasn't the only poem that Kilmer wrote.  According to Vinciguerra, he wrote several volumes equally simplistic and sappy before he was killed in World War 1 at age 31. Perhaps had he the chance, he would have grown into a better poet.

Does he have no defenders?  George Orwell defends Kipling's "Mandalay" as a good bad poem writes Vinciguerra, a term that seems applicable to Kilmer's works.  We can all get some enjoyment out of these seemingly trite verses. We remember Kilmer's "Trees" and relate on an emotional level. Though perhaps not moved profoundly, if it makes us once look up from our technological devices to take in the beauty of a tree, it is a poem worth reading and remembering.

Happy Birthday to "Trees".  May you live another hundred years.

February Chill

Photo by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

My friend Cindy remarked that she thought February was the dreariest month of all.  I always gave that award to January in my childhood, because not much exciting happened in that month.  For me, February brought Valentine's Day, two school holidays and the most egotistical turn on of them all---my birthday.  Even something happened during Lent (which often began in February)---ashy foreheads, meatless meals and church rituals , which strangely managed to enliven the routine of dull January days. 

However, I notice that my "special" day in February isn't quite the fun event it used to be because I have to now celebrate it in the chilly environs of "elderhood".  Friends, food and wine do warm things up a bit, but I know as I swallow the last piece of birthday cake, it will be time to face again one of the major tasks of my mounting maturity---the dreaded downsizing. I'm working on it slowly, as are many of my friends. The angst of it all inspired me to write a poem.  Take a moment to chill out and read it.

 

 

Divestiture

 

Sorting, tossing, throwing.

Investing in divesting.

 

Memories circle, whirl into piles on the floor.

 

Regrets, remorse sail into garbage bags...  puffing out

with projects not completed.

 

Brittle papers cackle…testifying to procrastination.

The ceremony of divestiture, sad but cathartic

surrendering a lifetime of debris

in a solemn procession to the curb.