Cathy Hailey

And now a poem from our judge:

 Listening to Trees 
  
 I
 In April’s final week, a flourish 
 of green stippling fills spaces 
 held by sky, thickening leafscape, 
 deepening hues forming forest 
 understory. Canopy trees call my 
 name, beckon me closer as wind-waves 
 produce sonorous shutter, a secret 
 language I don’t fully understand,
 yet in newness of leaves, delicate tapestry
 of lace-filtering sun, casting shadows 
 like flashing strobes, light spectrums
 of graduating greens, I feel an intimacy
 with trees, their tranquility transferring
 across species a melody and baselines, 
 a crescendo of adoration, singing 
 joy, sharing rebirth, rejuvenation 
 with diverse living creatures 
 converging in spring forest havens. 
  
 II
 The forest is not an assemblage 
 of solitary beings. Trees, like humans, 
 like animals, are social, not isolated,
 not indifferent, not merely competing,
 but an intricate society of reciprocity 
 and symbiosis. I yearn to be a part 
 of their spiritual communion. 
 Tree survival, our survival depend 
 on our connection, our collective courage.
 Threadlike fungi fuse with tree roots, 
 forming mycorrhizae, connecting 
 flora to one another, complex webs 
 linking nearly every tree in the forest, 
 like the masterwork of a spider, 
 its web shining in sunlight, fine 
 individual threads visible, vulnerable, 
 strengthened through interconnection, 
 familial bonds brought about by 
 our largest mother trees reaching out 
 to our youngest, smallest, even trees 
 of different species, a matrix of 
 identities, a model of devotion,
 of acceptance we can strive for. 
 Through their mycorrhizal network, 
 altruistic trees give life to sick neighbors, 
 sacrifice for others, share life-altering 
 carbon, no selfish genes, only selflessness.
 Isn’t that what’s asked of us? 
  
 III
 Let us learn the language of trees, 
 form an alliance, unlocking silence 
 in the life force underground.
 Scientists turn to sonar to magnify 
 sounds in individual trees
 and deep within forest networks.
 If trees share water, nutrients,
 through labyrinths underground,
 why not  language? At Kew Gardens,
 visitors listen through headphones,
 high-tech amplifiers resembling 
 old fashioned ear trumpets, tuning in
 to rumblings of eucalyptus trees, light 
 roll of thunder like an idling motorbike, 
 a click clicking of water carried 
 through xylem tubes, tiny air bubbles 
 bursting, displaced air releasing 
 a popping sound. Will trees let their 
 verse flow if we suspend disbelief?
 
 IV
 Imagine the stories buried 
 like time capsules in trunks 
 and roots of fruit trees planted 
 in Eden’s garden of forbidden fruit, 
 a fall from grace, 
 or of trees bearing strange fruit,
 white terror against black, 
 a fall into hatred. 
 Might the murmurs of trees 
 lay a groundwork for penetrating 
 today’s stubborn darkness, 
 lift us from xenophobia, isolation. 
 What tales will their whispers tell?
 Mediterranean olive trees, 
 thousands of years old still 
 bear fruit in Crete’s Ano Vouves 
 Village, the eldest, a protected national 
 monument, its layered trunk projecting 
 faces, figures, a puzzle to be solved, 
 the phoenix of trees--if a trunk 
 dries out, another will rise from ashes 
 or root, eternal nourishment 
 for islanders. What could it tell us 
 about nearby cemeteries of the 
 Geometric period, funerary vases 
 painted in geometric motifs in 
 the Greek Dark Ages? Still chronicling 
 experiences in modern times, Cretan 
 villagers wove branches of this 
 storied olive into wreaths awarded to
 Olympic winners in Athens and Beijing.
 And what of fig trees along the Jordan 
 River, Dead Sea in ancient Holy Lands, 
 of Mastiha trees on Chios island, 
 bark releasing resin in the shape 
 of tear drops, in legend, a lament 
 of Agios Isidoros, tortured by Romans, 
 in reality, a discovery of Herodotus, 
 Father of History. If we decode 
 the language of trees, what light, 
 what life might they teach us? 
 
 
 
 
 
 V
 Mother trees, goddesses 
 of the Arbor, I call on you, 
 free-thinking pillars of power 
 independent, yet rooted 
 in networks below ground, 
 nurture your children, 
 your neighbors--it will take 
 a village to heal our forests, 
 our animals, our people, our world. 
 Sing out through xylem flow, 
 tap percussion of need. Sing us 
 out of darkness. Mystify us 
 with love, compassion, empathy. 
 Show us all, Darwin’s theory 
 of competition, survival 
 of the fittest, need not rule alone. 
 Cooperation, collaboration 
 offer balance for growth. 
 Invite us to your forest reverie.
 Let us summon our collective 
 courage, lock limbs and hands, 
 strive for the survival of all.
  
 © Cathy Hailey 2021

Artist’s Statement
“Listening to Trees” was inspired by Ferris Jabr’s article, “The Social Life of Forests,” (with photography by Brendan George Ko) in The New York Times Magazine, 12/2/2020. The article discusses research by Suzanne Simard, now a professor of forest ecology at the University of British Columbia. I also wanted to commemorate Arbor Day, April 30, 2021. I included words taken from my poems, “Aspens Call” and “Earth Day Good Friday.” I wrote “Aspens Call” when working with Rosemarie Forsythe in a visual arts collaboration and gallery show/performance organized by Mike Maggio. I drafted “Earth Day Good Friday” during a trip to Richmond to see the Picasso exhibit at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts when art from the Musée National Picasso in Paris was displayed in honor of its seventy-fifth anniversary.

Bio:

Cathy Hailey teaches as an adjunct in JHU’s MA in Teaching Writing program and previously taught high school in Prince William County, VA. She is Northern Region Vice President of The Poetry Society of Virginia and organizes In the Company of Laureates, a reading of poets laureate held in PWC. Her poems have been published in The New Verse News, Poetry Virginia, Written in Arlington, NOVA Bards, The Prince William Poetry Review, and are forthcoming in Stay Salty: Life in the Garden State, Volume 2

30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review