LET THE TREES ANSWER

Back on The Mountain at Sewanee, Tennessee for the spring and summer seasons, I shiver in temperatures dipping to the 30’s and 40’s and winds blustering out of the North today. I’m warmed by the sight of the cover of my new book of poetry, Let the Trees Answer, designed by my grandson Martin Romero from a photograph of the Gebert oak taken by Victoria I. Sullivan. Dr. Sullivan, a botanist and writer, photographed the trees included in this salute.

The book of poetry is my contribution to National Poetry Month and is slated to be published by Border Press within this month. A description of the poems and an acknowledgment by Dr. Mary Ann Wilson, Professor of English at the University of Louisiana, Lafayette, are featured on the back cover of Let the Trees Answer.

This volume, a poetic tribute to trees, includes poems conveying the idea that “trees can talk,” a form of humanistic botany within the frame of verse. Let the Trees Answer is the third book in the series Between Plants and Humans, ranging from pines in Louisiana to jacarandas in Florida, and along the way, crabapple, Chinese Tallow, catalpa, and other trees scattered throughout the woods of the United States. This is a must-read for tree huggers.

“This loving tribute to trees, beautifully illustrated and full of plant lore, celebrates and remembers childhood, first love, betrayal, loss—all the time markers of our lives. Its lyrics turn us back to Nature, to the “consolation of spirit” trees offer whether they deflect family sorrow or embody erotic longing. Jacaranda, Joshua, Cedar, Paradise Apple—even the lowly Chicken Tree—emerge newly clothed with memory and desire. Let the Trees Answer gives us a writer at the top of her form, fully alive to the wisdom and mystery at the heart of our life on this earth. Kudos to Diane Moore for inspiring us to stop and look and remember.”

—Mary Ann Wilson, Professor of English, University of Louisiana, Lafayette —

Happy National Poetry Month to all of you poetry writers and lovers, as well as tree huggers everywhere!

APRIL IS THE MONTH FOR POETS AND POETRY

Although I read and write poetry every day, every month in the year, I'm always excited to see that the Academy of American Poets commemorates April as National Poetry Month. The Academy has been sponsoring this observance since 1996 and encourages schools, libraries, publishers, and poets to celebrate poetry during April through readings, workshops, and festivals. This year, members of this supportive organization have suggested that poetry lovers carry poems in their pockets and read them during casual encounters with friends, co-workers, and other people they meet on the street on April 24. 

I own approximately 400 books of poetry and house most of them in my bedroom here at Sewanee, Tennessee, and when I'm in Louisiana, I suffer pangs of withdrawal from the lack of availability of my books. However, right now, just as the "blooming yellows" appear—daffodils and forsythia, our first signs of spring—I'm in my Tennessee poetry library again and am happy to be in the company of bards ranging from Shakespeare to Charles Simic.

I teethed on Robert Louis Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verse, thanks to my mother, memorized Henry W. Longfellow's poems in the third grade, and had an epiphany about becoming a poet when I was eleven. The epiphany occurred as I was sitting at one of those old fold-up seat desks reading "Hiawatha," and as I read the poem, I experienced the same sensation that Emily Dickinson said she felt when she read a good poem—as if the top of her head had blown off. I also received the revelation that I could write a poem. We had just moved into a new stucco bungalow in Franklinton, Louisiana, and I wrote the poem about this new home, the sight of which gave me an overwhelming feeling of security after traveling in the West the preceding summer, "gypsying," as my wanderlust father described my childhood odyssey to California.  

I only remember that two of the lines of the poem I wrote described the home as being "away from the town's noisy din/safe from the roar of the cotton gin," unimpressive lines to mark the advent of the life of a poet, but enough expression to make me think that I could write poetry. And, by the way, this early effort is one of the few rhyming poems I've penned during my lifetime.

I didn't become serious about writing poetry until I was 29, and my first published poem appeared in The American Weave in 1967 when I was 32. I was paid from the Hart Crane Memorial Fund and felt as though I had arrived in the world of poetry. Five years later, I received an award for inspirational poetry during the Deep South Writer's Conference but, again, time passed and I read more poetry than I wrote. During the early 1970's, I became serious about writing poetry while I sojourned in the desert of southern Iran and have remained dedicated to the craft and to publishing my work for almost forty years.

A friend once told me that no one is successful at any endeavor until they put in their 10,000 hours of practice, and I think that measure is probably a good marker for success in writing poetry that engages people. A better measure is that of writing a poem a day, and I feel that the ritual of writing is a spiritual act, as well as an act requiring discipline and study.

My poems will probably never be recited by third graders or sit on the shelves of academicians in the university realms, but the writing of them is still as exciting as the day I wrote that first poem when I was eleven and said to myself: "I can do that! For me, poetry provides what Jacque Maritain declared:  "You cannot attain eternal life through poetry but it is as essential as bread to the human race as it fits us for the life of the spirit."

PUBLISHED POETRY BOOKS OF DIANE MARQUART MOORE:  In A Convent Garden and Other Poems; Mystical Forest; Everything Is Blue; Post Cards From Diddy Wah Diddy; Alchemy; Old Ridges; Rising Water; The Holy Present and Farda; Grandma's Good War; Afternoons in Oaxaca; The Book of Uncommon Poetry; Counterpoint; Your Chin Doesn't Want to Marry; Soaring; More Crows; Just Passing Through; The Beast Beelzebufo (children's poetry); and A Moment Seized. 

Poems have appeared in The Daily Iberian, Yaddasht Haftegy, American Weave, Trace, Pinyon Review, Interdisciplinary Humanities, Southwestern Review, and other journals.

JAZZ ON THE BLUFF

Jazz on the Bluff program

Last Sunday was a day of serendipity. The weather lifted, and after church we ventured over to Chattanooga, Tennessee for lunch. We had glimpsed early signs of Spring on drives to Cowan in the valley–pear and cherry trees in full bloom–but the newest color on the route to Chattanooga were the purple blossoms of the redbud trees scattered along the highway. The sun had finally appeared, and the gloomy gray clouds that often hang over Sewanee had dispersed, revealing greening on the lower slopes of The Mountain.

Serendipity appeared following lunch at Tony’s Italian Restaurant in the art district of Chattanooga when we decided to take advantage of our membership in the Hunter Museum, one of the finest museums in the South. We had talked about seeing the glass art exhibit, “Beauty Beyond Nature,” the work of Paul Stankard who does botanical compositions under glass, but we were drawn to the sound of jazz being played on the outdoor terrace of the Hunter Museum. Booker T. Scruggs, II and his jazz ensemble were playing some old-time favorites of Duke Ellington: “Satin Doll,” “Solitude,” “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore,” and other crowd pleasers. A river breeze blew in while they played, and it was a perfect day for nostalgic listening–I became especially wistful when they struck up a Henry Mancini tune, “Moon River.” It was an apt rendition to perform on the Museum’s River View space that overlooked the bright blue-painted bridge spanning the Tennessee River.

Scruggs and his group were celebrating “JazzaNooga,” part of Chattanooga’s Creative Underground Family, in honor of National Jazz Month, which coincides” artfully” with National Poetry Month. His group’s rendition of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee,” played New Orleans style, caused a lot of toe-tapping and would have been a curtain call had Scruggs chosen to play an encore.

Booker T. Scruggs Ensemble

Scruggs is a familiar face on the jazz and gospel music scene in Chattanooga and has produced four albums, one of which I bought, “A Salute to the Duke,” which he recorded with the MaxTiam Trio. He’s an adjunct professor of sociology at the University of Tennessee at Chattonooga and is noted for his service as director of Upward Bound at UTS for thirty-six years. The sales of his Ellington CD generated $10,000 for “Upward Bound” UTC students from low income families one year. Music wasn't really Scruggs' vocation, but he played at Howard High School and Clark Atlanta University where he earned a Master’s in Social Science and gradually became known throughout Tennessee for his clarinet and sax performances. He claims that he didn't plan to make a lot of money playing music and adds that he certainly hasn't but he has a lot of fun, especially when he plays gospel and inspirational music.

I wonder if National Poetry Month will sponsor readings that will draw as much attention as the JazzaNooga celebration. April is the month when the Academy of American Poets highlights the legacy and ongoing achievement of American poets and encourages increased publication, distribution, and sales of poetry books, as well as increases public and private philanthropic support for poets and poetry. I couldn't help wishing that the Hunter Museum of American Art would sponsor a poetry event for both young and old poets who believe that poetry influences the progress and health of a culture as much as politics and religion.

If you haven't participated in a Jazz or Poetry appreciation event this month, try a little listening and reading–you'll likely find some serendipity.