First time, again

© harrington

Well? Was it good for you too? The first 70 of the season. We went of to the Taylors Falls drive-in for dinner. Today was their first day of the season. The cormorant flocks are moving north. The spring calves were out in the pasture at one of the local farms (probably at more than one but only at one farm did I see any). Poplar trees have gone from buds to leaves as small as they can be and still be called leaves. We have a few days left in National Poetry Month. I had thought that we had taken a look at Barton Sutter's poetry, but a search of My Minnesota says "no results." That means we can follow up on the northward moving Spring and cormorants and read from Barton's "The Reindeer Camps" his poem How to Say North.

How to Say North

Nothing says north like a white pine
Unless it's a maple gone red to maroon
Except for the way cedars lean from the shoreline
Nothing says north like a white pine
But birches so bright that they shout about sunshine
And then there's the tamarack's gold in the gloom
But nothing says north like a white pine
Unless it's a maple gone red to maroon

This is both a nature poem and a poem about place, but you knew that. I can think of several of Snyder's points that, if they're in this poem, are extremely non-obvious. The trickster's there. Bear's there in his cave, hiding between the lines. Science links trees to location. Language and mind as wild? Maybe not so much. If you reread Snyder, I don't think he's absolute about whether nature poetics needs to meet each of the points he mentions. What do you think? Non-spam comments welcome. Thanks for listening. It's time now for me to go play with my new blond girl friend. Come again when you can. Rants, raves and reflections served here daily.