NPM: The Trees

(Photograph stolen from Jay Wesler.)

Well ladies, it has been brought to my attention that April is National Poetry Month in these United States. Explanation from poets.org:

Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is now held every April, when publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture.

Ha ha ha! I think that's very cute.

Nevertheless, as I am one of those soy milk-drinking, dreamy-eyed little dandies who enjoys reading poetry, for the duration of April I will update this "web-log" every other day or so with a favorite poem of mine to share. Once National Poetry Month is over, I promise we can talk more about video games and children's cartoons again.

Let's get this thing started with a piece by New Jersey's own William Carlos Williams (1883-1963): Modernist, Imagist, physician, stylistic tinkerer, and quirky weirdo. The man continues to be a mystery to me. I have a volume containing every poem he wrote between 1909 and 1939, and I am still trying to figure out how he thinks. I often find myself approaching a W.C.W. piece as I would a riddle. Indeed, in "Janauary Morning" (1917), the man himself writes:

I wanted to write a poem
that you would understand.
For what good is it to me
if you can't understand it?
But you got to try hard—
But—
Well, you know how
the young girls run giggling
on Park Avenue after dark
when they ought to be home in bed?
Well,
that’s the way it is with me somehow.

Perhaps he would make more sense to me if I got along to reading the stuff he wrote after 1939.

Anyway, here's a piece of his from around 1930. My edition's appendix includes two longer, less-edited versions published prior to the "final" take, which I'll include below to help us triangulate the piece's intended meaning(s). As for a possible reason why the finished version ended up so much shorter than the prototypes, Williams writes: "I was trying to get speed in verse. There is not enough time in the modern world to be prolix. [Editor's note -- ain't it the fucking truth.] I was feeling for an impetuous rhythm -- a Declaration of Independence from every restraint."

Without further ado:

The Trees
by William Carlos Williams

(Final version)

The trees—being trees
thrash and scream
guffaw and curse—
wholly abandoned
damning the race of men—

Christ, the bastards
haven't even sense enough
to stay out in the rain—

Wha ha ha ha

Wheeeeee
clacka tacka tacka
tacka tacka
wha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha

knocking knees, buds
bursting from each pore
even the trunk's self
putting out leafheads—

Loose desire!
we naked cry to you—
"Do what you please."

You cannot!

—ghosts
sapped of strength

wailing at the gate
heartbreak at the bridgehead—
desire
dead in the heart

haw haw haw haw
—and memory broken

wheeeeee

There were never satyrs
never mænads
never eagle-headed gods—
These were men
from whose hands sprung
love
bursting the wood—

Trees their companions
—a cold wind winterlong
in the hollows of our flesh
icy with pleasure—

no part of us untouched

(Imagist Anthology version:)

The trees—being trees
thrash and scream
guffaw and curse—
wholly abandoned
new with buds—
damning the race of men—

Christ, the bastards
haven't even sense enough
to stay out in the rain—

Wha ha ha ha

wheeeeeee
clacka tacka tacka
tacka tacka
wha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha

knocking knees buds
bursting from each pore
even the trunk's self
putting out leafheads—

The cold wind
has had us his own
winter long, his kiss
did not leave
a part of us untouched—

Wailing at the gate
heartbreak at the bridgehead—

What gone
And whence returning?
Seedless, spent

Science
—wheeeee!

ghosts
sapped of strength—
desire dead
in the heart—

Philosophy!
—haw haw haw haw
and memory broken.

Loose desire.
"Do what you please"
we naked cry to you

Listen!
there were never satyrs
never mænads
never eagle-headed gods—

these were men
from whose hands sprung
love
bursting the wood—
Trees were their
companions—

(The Miscellany version:)

The trees—being trees
thrash and scream
wholly abandoned
new with buds—

Christ (man) God in
Heaven Almighty
why have you created me
for lice to crawl on?

they lash
resisting the wind

God (man) Almighty King
in Heaven since men
have no thought
other—

than to kill,
the only hole left—
we, the undersigned,
the trees, rooted
make a vocabulary
of our green pricks
to resemble the sharp stars—
while we are hot,
hot and the wind whips
us till the triple
crotch wrenches and
groans—

Christ, the bastards
haven't sense enough
to stay out in the rain—

Wha ha ha ha

There stands "Shakespeare"
on his branch of
glass not even his
name certain—

and here he stands for
this is he—
in money
unable to pull his foot
out—

wheeeee
who aw ah eeeee
clacka tacka tacka
tacka tacka
wha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha

knocking knees buds
bursting from each pore
even the trunk's self
putting out leafheads—

The cold wind
has had us his own
winter long, his kiss
did not leave
a part of us untouched—

Blight the
race of men. Chop
them down.

Wailing at the gate
heartbreak at the bridgehead—

Seedless, spent

Science
—wheeeee!
ghosts
sapped of strength—
desire dead
in the heart—

Philosophy!
—haw haw haw haw

Where is the memory
unpocked with
the disease of school—

Loose desire,
we, naked, cry to you
"Do what you please."

You cannot,
no wind winterlong
in the hollows of
your flesh—
icy with pleasure—

There were never satyrs
never mænads
never eagle-headed gods—
This is
the language of desire

these were men
Trees their
companions—

nothing
on this earth then
not now to be had here—
but for a decaying
memory; nothing
to be learned now
not long since forgotten.

I would like very much for you to consider a few things:

1.) What's at the bottom of the riddle here? What is Mr. Williams trying to get across to us? (And please don't fall back on some limp environmentalist message. That would be too easy and also wrong.)

2.) The finished version obviously contains a lot less information than the Imagist version, which itself differs from the Miscellany take. Does each version mean something different? Is the final version streamlined, saying more with less -- or does it say something entirely other once those pieces are removed?

3.) Go out right now and look at some trees. Do they look more sinister to you than they did before?

If you have any replies, thoughts, complaints, etc., please post them! I would truly like to know your reactions, especially if you happened to wander in here from some a video game website or other and aren't accustomed to reading this sort of thing.