Monday, June 6, 2016

Myself in the distance ...



Green shadows                                              gray                                   away,
            lighter and                              lighter                                  until
                   the fog seems             everyth                          ing.
          Each           tree is just a tree;
             every             row, a row.                                            Yet
                        the more       I see                  of        all
                                     the less             of each      I   (think
                                         I)                     know:
                                         I see      leaves,    so  close
                                              on the   nearest    one—
                                             smooth-topped  and
                                                 fuzzy-backed,     catch                       ing
              a                              veiled sun.    And   dry                ing
                lo       wer-           branches, thin   and
                  brit          tle           brown, that
                       must itch      before                    they
                              fall off,    I'm                imagin    ing.

                                      One   known    tree. 
                                                              Short,
                                           by the    measure of 
                                             those at its side. 
                                              And
                                                       me. Not even 
                                               tall enough
                                               to be        part of that 
                                                      towering line.
                                             I could cut them all
                                              down; make them
                                            square   towers. Still,
                                           what       a small life
                                                                    is mine.

6 comments:

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  2. What initially interests me about this poem is its physical shape. It visually represents one of the trees that it describes, and is largely focused on the physical description of the tree. Thematically, this poem deals with the relationship between humans and nature. There is a common sensation of feeling like your life is small when coming face to face with magnificent nature, and the speaker clearly experiences it. He says, “I could cut them all/down; make them/square towers. Still,/what/a small life/is mine” (Lines 27-31). The speaker feels that, even if he diminished the trees to a physically smaller size by cutting them, they would still possess a greater inherent power than his human life will ever contain.

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  3. "they would still possess a greater inherent power than his human life will ever contain"...How do you begin to compare life with life? More importantly, WHY compare? This is not about power--this is about existing. Cut down every tree; it does not change that you are merely another sapling in the forest.

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  4. This poem discusses the relation of any individual to the world as a whole, literally that of an insignificant tree in a huge forest. Visually, the poem forms a tree shape, which is a reminder to the reader that the speaker itself is a tree. The poem by evoking a vast and indeterminate natural landscape with images of

    “Green shadows gray away,
    lighter and lighter until
    the fog seems everyth ing.”

    that form the tops of the trees branches. As the poem continues, it moves both literally and metaphorically to the root of the matter. The speaker notes that

    “I could cut them all
    down; make them
    square towers. Still,
    what a small life
    is mine.”

    at the base of the tree. The trees could all be destroyed but that does not diminish the fact that every individual is insignificant among the forest as a whole.

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  5. The poem “Myself in the distance…” on the surface is about a tree that and what the tree looks like on the surface. The poem talks about how the tree interacts with its environment. But the poem through the tree is alluding to society and how as the individual we interact with in our lives. It talks about comparing our selves with others, “Short by the measure of those at its side”. The poem continues to question what importance our lives have in the greater scheme of nature. We are just a small part of the universe, “Still what a small life is mine”. Along with the words the poem is structured to look like a tree, with a large trunk and then branching out into small branches and then the small leaves at the end of the branches. He is so creative in that the some of the delicate words or even the suffix of word in the beginning just dangle in the air. As the poem approaches the end, the concept is deeper and more powerful which corresponds to the words being positioned in the thick trunk of the tree.

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  6. I think one of the funniest things I always hear parents saying is “well look, what a small world” when meeting someone from their hometown or some cousin of their favorite professor because of how unimportant and throw away the comment seems, yet how deep that conversation can go. As a teenager, a tiny speck in my community, I have even wondered about the extent to my own reach and my literal relation to the world around me, seeing it as so large compared to little old me. Also, as a teenager in the 21st century, I feel even tinier as I look onto the centuries of history before me, all of that life existing before my 17 years on earth began. I think this realization of how small we are is what pushes so many people to try and be the best they can and make their own marks on history, all so they can prove that they are more than just a tiny speck. Even in the grand scheme of things, celebrities, historical figures, and making your own mark only goes so far, just as the poem mentions about all the other trees in the forest other than you, you “could cut them all down; make them square towers. Still, what a small life is mine.” Putting this idea at the base of the poem in the trunk of the tree shape reminds me how this realization of scale and existence is understood and comprehended by the human population, although it is stuffed deep inside ourselves as we don’t want to acknowledge or admit some lack of importance in what we do, which only pushes us harder to want recognition .

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