Will There Really be a Morning?

I looked further into nature poetry today to find one that really spoke to me. One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson, and finding a poem about nature that I liked of hers did not surprise me. Her poem “Will there really be a morning” is such a wonderful, moving poem. When she questions the morning, she is simultaneously questioning the fact that she waking up to another day. She then she goes on to question the existence of day, attempting to grasp that sense of comprehension of something so magnificent as a day or a morning. The simile that connects a morning or a mountain with an object that has feet and feathers truly makes man a magnificent thing, much like the great “mountains” (v. 3) she mentions.

Not only did this poem move me, but this particular poem is also set to music by many arrangers. My personal favorite is the arrangement by Ricky Ian Gordon. The fact that a certain poem about nature was set to music by so many composers makes the wonder of the poem that much greater. So many individuals strive to catch just the right essence of nature through the chords, the notes, the piano, and the voice. It is amazing how many interpretations can come out of a simple twelve line poem. I think that is why Emily Dickinson is such an amazing poet, for her poetry has been interpreted by many generations, yet, still holds the same marvel to every single one.

Nature: A Sonnet by Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s sonnet ‘Nature’ stands as a superb illustration of the tenderness and gentleness of nature in guiding human souls from this world to whatever comes next. The two metaphors in the first octave, ‘a fond mother’ and ‘her little child’, are harnessed in the seemingly expected arrival of the bed time of the child, which compares itself to death in the last six lines. This split of ideals between the first octave and the last six lines that form two tercets, create the form of a Petrarchan sonnet. I believe that this form is very effective in portraying the abrupt shift from child’s play to inevitable death, as well as differentiate itself from the sonnet form most are used to – the Shakespearean sonnet and its ideals of love.  

Longfellow’s comparison between a child’s bedtime and death is so brilliant, for it makes death seem less harsh. As we age and approach death, nature takes away our “playthings” gradually (v. 10); that is, we slowly lose our physical strength, our energy, our vision and hearing, our abilities to do various things well, etc. We become tired and long for rest, but at the same time, we want to cling to life and its pleasures, just as the child wants to cling to his or her toys before bed. Longfellow never uses harsh phrases, but says that nature “leads us to rest gently” (v. 11). With this allusion to the ideals of the Christian faith and religion, Longfellow uses nature as God’s tool to help to smooth the way to death, lulling us gently toward that blessed future. Longfellow seems to believe, as the Christian faith proclaims, that the unknown existence awaiting us far exceeds the flawed life here on earth, even when we cannot grasp the immensity of the life that awaits our transition.

Sonnets are one of my favorite forms of poetry. The fact that a sonnet is merely fourteen lines and says so much is remarkable. I just recently tried to write a sonnet of my own recently, and it was a very fun and challenging project.

Sonnet II

Unearth the feeling in your blood

‘Twas buried ‘neath the skin of lies,

And never to uncover, would

If not the beauty in her eyes.

Dig into life, reveal the joy

The purpose to awake the day,

Entomb the sly and bitter ploys

That challenge every life this way.

And render in such living, bliss

What’s sought by every heart to find,

For some, a redirected miss

A fairytale of other kind.

Oh, revelation, rise, in lieu

Of what the heart already knew. 

                       

                           -Stephanie Gregoire

STOP!

So, I live in an apartment complex called Campus Court which is located right next to the Lawson Ice Arena. Every day I walk to class on the same route, up the same stairs, through the same parking lot, over the same bridge, and it is always the same – UNTIL recently when I walked by one morning and the Western Landscape Service workers were cutting down tree after tree after tree. I can now see the parking lot that is beyond the ice rink when I am walking home, and that makes me want to cry.

It’s kind of like the Olmsted essay we read for class the other day about Central Park. The sentence where Olmsted states that Central Park in his eyes was created to “secure an antithesis of objects of vision to those of the streets and houses which should act remedially, by impressions on the mind and suggestions to the imagination” (pp. 121-22) really hit home when I thought about the cutting down of the trees. As we discussed this passage in class, I was reluctant to agree to his position, merely because of the place I was raised, which is plentiful in the nature department. Kalamazoo, on the other hand, doesn’t have as much nature to offer in plain view, and that small thicket of trees by my apartment complex served as my antithesis to the hustle and bustle of college life in Kalamazoo. Just as the people of New York can imagine there are mountains beyond the rock structures that line Central Park, I was able (until now) to look at those trees and imagine a forest or waterfall behind them. Instead, I am now forced to look at stumps and a parking lot when I walk home.

Overall, this cutting down of trees and reading Olmsted’s article really made me realize that there are two sides to every issue in nature. Even though I am from a nature-plenty area, I am still able to appreciate small patches of nature, even if they seemingly cannot compare to my home.  Also, I am sure there is a good reason for the workers of Landscape Services to cut down these trees, I just really wish someone would tell me why so I don’t have to wonder why all the beautiful trees are disappearing right before my eyes.

Home

Some people go through life wishing to get out of the small town they grew up in, or get away from the people you saw everyday for the first two decades of your life. Let me tell you, I was one of those people. I knew from the second I started filling out applications for college that I was going to go somewhere a good distance away from my hometown, to get out and experience the world (or so I thought…really I am in a building most days and do not get to see any of the world beyond the walls of the Dalton Center and occasional Brown Hall). Nonetheless, college has been quite an eye opening few years for me.

This past weekend I had to make the drive home to the Upper Peninsula to sing in a wedding. I was truly dreading driving 16 hours in one weekend, but the second I crossed the bridge, I felt a surge of energy and excitement that I had never felt before. In that instant I knew I really did miss my home. Though I am loving the freedom and college life at Western, there are some days I wish I was back home by the lake, playing hockey with my sisters, or sitting outside our cottage with four generations of family. These are the things you don’t learn by traveling the world or experiencing new culture. Though that is an enriching experience, some of the best learning happens in your own backyard.