Poetry Circle

I've always been fond of poetry. I don't often seek it out, but I do enjoy it when I chance upon it. I've even been known to write a few lines now and then. (Anyone remember "On My Island: A Poem of Philosophy Written Before the Exam"?)

Nature Poetry has caught my interest of late. Nature poetry is simply - poems about nature! - as the name implies. The poems don't have to be "about" nature, exactly. They must have thematic elements or imagery related to nature though, in order to be considered part of the genre.

Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth, and S. T. Coleridge are some great names in poetry that have added significantly to the body of nature poetry. I'm not aware of any poets that write nature poetry exclusively, but I'm sure there are some.

The following poem charmed me with its humorous sentiments and wisdom, and its references to mythology and ancient philosophy.

THE GRASSHOPPER
by: Anacreon (c.572-488 BC)
HAPPY insect! what can be
In happiness compar'd to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing;
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce;
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country-hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life's no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect, happy, thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)--
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

TRANSLATED BY ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667)

The next one is unpretentious, yet poignant and somewhat bitter. It is written by a Native American.

On earth as it is in heaven
by: Laura Martin-Bühler, (winter 1995)
Love is giving
Mother Earth gives all
Every sparrow’s song
Every waterfall.
No payment owing
On pink sunrise lights
No government loans
On desert moon nights.
Love is feeling –
Gratitude for all
Every mountain height
Every baying call.
No mortgages
On cedar trees and sand
Money is a game
Invented by a man.
Assets are acquired
Toys bought and sold
Useless possessions
Collateral cold.
Bondage of spirit
In gold we trust.
Cemented in servitude
Dreams turn to dust
God’s presence felt
In nature’s pure heart
Every creation
Unspeakable art.
Every white snowflake
Rainbow or rock
Emanates love and
A key to life’s lock.

This last one touches me on a deeper level even than the previous samples:

The Circus in the Trees
by: Andrew Hudgins
I love to watch the gray squirrels leap
from limb to leafy limb,
tumbling like furry acrobats –
and every tree their gym.

The oak limbs are their trampoline,
and their trapeze the pines.
They stroll like tightrope walkers, up
the looping power lines –

and sometimes they gnaw through a line,
exploding as it arcs,
and lighting up the evening sky,
cascading down as sparks.

Copyright © 2004 by Shenandoah:
The Washington and Lee University Review
Volume 54, Number 1 Spring/Summer 2004

Oh! That one gets me right. here. I have to stop writing now. I’m getting emotional.