But from the forest later…later springs
the spring anew; in it subtle song, a timid light
the soil is wild alive; when rain had ceased to fall,
and you’ve forgot to mourn, forgot and lost
your sorrows as the gloom in wood subsides
when from the bough that lost its twig
a blackbird sings, and buds are breaking, bursting
into leaves and bloom, bloom and sun, the sun you lost
is back, burning back behind your eye-lids, childhood
lost as shoeless wandering you can sense its joy
as it tickles back the roots you lost; gently gripping
into soil, in land, this land awoken, found at last;
while melodies of hazel-sprigs harmonizes
with memories, healed you wander in its scent.
Written for Laura who hosts at dVerse, where we can either write a poem in response to a poem of something lost, or find a poem inside. My choice was to write a response to:
Pablo Neruda “Lost in the forest”
“Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood—
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.”
Reading this, I thought of exile and I admired how much he used the imagery of a forest in autumn, and how both childhood and land means you have been uprooted.
I cannot write as Pablo Neruda, but wanted to write a response on how you can find your new roots when spring is back.
October, 19, 2021