Trees

The Sound of the Trees by Robert Frost

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

One of the ways writers read the world is through images. For as long as there have been trees, people have felt a connection to them; Robert Frost is just one of a multitude that has read the world in this way. Robert Probst, in Voices from the Middle (March, 2003), writes: "All these are acts of literacy, all these involve reading; all these involve looking at signs, interpreting codes, seeking to discover significance in an event or text, trying to figure out what the world surrounding us means for us, for our own lives, for our own happiness." I think trees mean something different for everyone; symbolically, the tree is said to denote the life of the cosmos: its consistence, growth, proliferation, generative and regenerative processes. It stands for inexhaustible life, and is therefore likened to a symbol of immortality. Who among us has not read the seasons through the appearance of a tree? Who has not sought shelter, literally and figuratively, under branches, against bark, in moments of tears, laughter, reflection? As a poet, trees figure largely into my poems for a multitude of reasons. I feel connected to trees because they are a part of my world, and are one of my connections to my place here. When I am able to translate this into text, when I can shift from the world of the living object with its canopy of branches, rough bark, and presence into the world of text - written and spoken - I am part of the literacy of the world.

-Tracy Sitterley