JOURNAL 6

THEODORE ROETHKE

Moss-Gathering

To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber

And lift up a patch, dark-green, the kind for lining cemetery

     baskets,

Thick and cusiony, like an old-fashioned doormat,

The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with

     roots,

And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top, —

That was moss-gathering.

But something always went out of me when I dug loose those

     carpets

Of green, or plunged to my elbows in the spongy yellowish

     moss of the marshes:

And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the

     logging road,

As if I had broken the natural order of things in that

     swampland;

Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,

By pulling off flesh from the living planet;

As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a

     desecration.

In “Moss-Gathering,” Theodore Roethke offers a 20-line free verse poem of vivid images and meanings behind moss-gathering.  His thoughts are chock full of detail, but every few lines they pause with a single word.  Up until the very end, each of these words is a noun, the last a verb (“desecration”).  The quiet momentum he builds with this structure is released and lingers with the power of the final word.  The first half invites the reader in with innocent details and is punctuated with a single phrase (“That was moss-gathering.”) He allows the physical descriptions to trickle a bit beyond this phrase, but they are swallowed up with his emotion and he hints at the meaning behind the structure that has carried us to this point: (“As if I had broken the natural order of things in that/ swampland;”).

HENRY DAVID THOREAU

To the Maiden in the East

Low in the eastern sky

Is set thy glancing eye;

And though its gracious light

Ne’er riseth to my sight,

Yet every star that climbs

Above the gnarled limbs

     Of yonder hill,

Conveys thy gentle will.

Believe I knew they thought,

And that the zephyrs brought

Thy kindest wishes through,

As mine they bear to you,

That some attentive cloud

Did pause amid the crowd

     Over my head,

While gentle things were said.

Believe the thrushes sung,

And that the flower-bells rung,

That herbs exhaled their scent,

And beasts knew what was meant,

The trees a welcome waved,

And lakes their margins laved,

     When thy free mind

To my retreat did wind.

It was a summer eve,

The air did gently heave

While yet a low-hung cloud

Thy eastern skies did shroud;

The lightning’s silent gleam,

Startling my drowsy dream,

     Seemed like the flash

Under thy dark eyelash.

Still will I strive to be

As if thou wert with me;

Whatever path I take,

It shall be for thy sake,

Of gentle slope and wide,

As thou wert by my side,

     Without a root

To trip thy gentle foot.

I’ll walk with gentle pace,

And choose the smoothest place,

And careful dip the oar,

And shun the winding shore,

And gently steer my boat

Where water-lilies float,

     And cardinal flowers

Stand in their sylvan bowers.


Roethke and Thoreau both explore the presence of the divine in these poems.  Roethke reflects upon his childhood ways and laments the wrongs he believes he's committed.  Thoreau, on the other hand, spends the entirety of the poem simply acknowledging the beauty and magnificence that has been created in nature.  He recognizes that nature seeks to care for him and take him in, but still he pledges to do more ("Still will I strive to be / As if thou wert with me").  The following poem is the most poet-centered of the ones I have created, and may very well be void of meaning beyond the EarthWalk community.  I start with addressing the barefoot theme of my time at EarthWalk, then I describe an activity where we were blindfolded, led to a tree, brought back to where we started and challenged to find our tree again.  I continue on through various activities and ways that I learned how mothering nature seeks to be.  I've tried to capture the childhood adventure of Roethke and the undeniable thankfulness and awe of Thoreau.


She Invites  Me In

Slip on a pair;

your delicate skin

we must spare.

But why? we ask

a response does not come

barefoot is fine for nearly any task.

She wraps it snugly over mine eyes

I’m guided to a tree—

inspect its structure, branches, smell and size.

My feet notice the terrain change.

Cool, soft needles; sun-warmed grass.

I’m doubtful once unveiled I’ll determine the range.

My hands informed my head;

Three low, broken branches give it away.

Connecting further—collect some needles it’ll one day shed.

Chop ‘em up and simmer for tea.

Select your favorite—nearly any will do.

Cure a cold with a hefty dose of vitamin C.

My feet are sticky with pine needle sap

to capture our setting

he draws a beautiful interpretive map.

Down to the river next ye shall lead

Along the way you can’t help but notice

The orchestra playing in shades of green.

One plant in particular I’m glad to know

Pankey’s “fleshy plantain”—

no need to seek seeds of which to sow.

To recall its uses begin with a ‘B’

chew it up and

relief ye shall see.

Bites, bees, blisters and more

use it to cure bad breath

before you chuck your boyfriend out the door.

We’ve made it through a peril less path

I thought my feet would cry

pleading for the end of an uncomfortable wrath.

Surprisingly I find it’s the river floor

With all its half-dollar smooth stones

That will actually make my feet feel sore.

We question and wonder how she feels

as we scamper about and pluck around—

but I believe she’d be happy providing all our meals.

When did I stray so far away

My feet feel free and my heart is strong

Green leaves applaud my plans to stay. 


___

Roethke, Theodore. “Moss-Gathering.” Wild Reckoning: An Anthology Provoked by Rachel Carson's Silent

     Spring. Ed. Burnside, John, Maurice Riordan. London: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2004. 100. Print.

 

Thoreau, Henry D. Walden: Or, Life in the Woods : And, on the Duty of Civil Disobedience. New York: New

     American Library, 1960. Print.