Under the Black Oaks
Poems to Listen By: Sharing the Canopy: 8 Ways Trees Embody Our Stories—Under the Black Oaks. Presented by Laurie Klein
Audio script:
From seed to sapling, from leafy crown to taproot, from understory to back story (and beyond!), trees—and tree poems—may enchant and mystify as well as delight us.
Take the chestnut, for example. Poet Pablo Neruda once compared the seed’s mahogany sheen to a violin newly born in the treetops, falling to earth as a way to offer the gifts locked inside it.
I love that image. Neruda’s whimsical violin metaphor—like poetry itself—promises riches untold. It’s the polar opposite of Chicken Little’s shrill, one-note warning: “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!”
Bearing these two different energies in mind, listen to this poem. You might hear a dash of mischief alongside musings—and unexpected music!—as poet Stephen Dunn moves his lawn chair . . . and, in so doing, becomes the understory.
[“Under the Black Oaks” poem]
Photo by Jan Tik, Creative Commons license via Flickr. “Under the Black Oaks” used with permission of the poet. Audio and script by Laurie Klein with thanks to Pat Stien for direction and Bill Klein for engineering and music from his solo album, “Lauda.”
Dunn, Stephen, Under the Black Oaks, in New and Selected Poems 1974-1994 (New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1994), 189.
Neruda, Pablo, ”Ode to a Chestnut on the Ground,” in Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon: Selected Poems of Pablo Neruda / translated by Stephen Mitchell (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., 1997), 39.
Poetry Prompt
Write a poem about being the “understory,” beneath either a forest or a single tree. What kind of forest? Or, what kind of tree is it? Are you alone? What do you hear, see, taste, feel? Consider researching a little about your chosen forest or tree, to give us some unexpected details and help us really see and feel your understory experience.
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L.L. Barkat says
Laurie, this series is so infused with spirit and love! Thank you for giving voice to Stephen Dunn’s poem (and those to come).
Now I am wanting to sit under a tree on Thanksgiving and experience a sky-harvest of acorns. 🙂
Laurie Klein says
Thank you for the opportunity, L.L.
Your wish sounds like a poem-in-the-making . . . 🙂 I wonder: What style music might they make for you?
Bethany R. says
Happy Thankgsiving to you and the Tweetspeak Poetry community! Laurie, what a comforting, expressive, winsome way you have of delivering words. I’m grateful for this delightful post and TSP’s idea to host more of them. I’ll be ruminating on the word, understory, over the holiday weekend.
Laurie Klein says
Bethany, hello, and thank you for entering into the oral adventure. That word “understory” feels ripe with possibilities to me, too. If you end up writing something, I hope you’ll share it.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family!
Bethany says
Thank you, Laurie. 🙂
Megan Willome says
Laurie, this is delightful! Thank you for introducing me to a new poem.
Here’s one I wrote this fall, titled “Eggs”:
Eggs
That day we
were on the phone
two thousand miles
between us
Your anger knocked me over and
I noticed there
beneath the burr oak
acorns
You yelled
I picked acorns
(three melded into
one triangle)
saved them in a cup you left
behind.
Each autumn I pull it out
Fill it with oak eggs
Laurie Klein says
Megan, thank you for sharing these clear, compelling words about “having words”—the (long-distance) range of emotions suggested in so few words is marvelous—jarring, then sad, the crumple of anger, the persona embracing distraction (the triangle!), then the implied movement toward acceptance, over time, the yearly ritual luminous with latent possibility. The two phones we are left to imagine being hung up feels so emblematic of relational disconnect. And that vivid closing image: the oak eggs, nested in the abandoned cup. Moving and beautiful.
Bethany R. says
Those acorns. Appreciating that the speaker in the poem took those bonded acorns and
“saved them in a cup you left
behind.”
Makes me feel hopeful–like they are waiting or welcoming something else to birth (love the egg imagery).
Jody Collins says
My friend, my friend…. your voice is like music. And the poetry is such a gift. I am inspired, as always.
Laurie Klein says
Jody, thank you so much for listening. Isn’t that Neruda image brilliant? Glad you’re feeling inspired! May beauty spill forth because of it . . .