
Artwork by John Gibson, 2011
When I was growing up, I would watch my father draw. He loves to draw trees. And somehow, he sees more about trees than I see. I think an artist must see more than we see. He makes the trees come alive on the page.
As I work on my poetry project about my father’s art, I remember growing up in Mississippi on the banks of Purple Creek, playing in the woods, building forts and pretending to live in the wild frontier like Laura Ingalls Wilder. I remember hiking with a friend and choosing “our” own tree.
So I was thinking all these things, trees in art, growing up in Mississippi, and working on the craft of poetry when I came across a blues poem by Etheridge Knight that inspired a rhythm in me.
A Poem for Myself
I was born in Mississippi;
I walked barefooted thru the mud.
Born black in Mississippi,
walked barefoot through the mud…
This is my favorite poem that I have written so far. Sometimes you work on a poem over and over, and sometimes they just come. This one came, and I am grateful to my Creator for giving it to me.
Dance of the Trees
—Look at trees, think of God who comes to bring love.
I watch you watching trees.
I watch you watching those trees
outside your window in the loft.
If you could walk on the roof,
If you could walk out on that roof and touch them,
You could feel their hearts beating,
their hearts beating out the rhythm of the wind.
I watch you drawing the trees.
I watch you drawing those trees
in perfect chiaroscuro, shading just so
Just so they come alive and dance.
The trees dance in the moonlight
when you draw them.
When you draw them, God’s hand moves.
God’s hand is moving.
Beautiful, Margaret! So lovingly detailed, I can see him creating!
[…] Margaret continues to work on writing poems to her father’s artwork at Reflections on the Teche. […]
You have a beautiful way with words. This is lovely!
Margaret, I love this. You have captured the feelings of a tree watcher.
Thanks, Dad. This one came so quickly, fresh and surprising. I love it when that happens.
I love this!
Your father’s art, and yours, are just beautiful, Margaret. What a blessing for you both. I love that idea of walking on the roof & hearing the trees’ hearts beating.
Beautiful. And I LOVE the word chiaroscuro.
Love both your reflection and the poem that came from it all. Isn’t it great when a poem you read strikes a chord and good things happen in your own heart and head!?
I love how your poem spirals!