The great Polish poet Czesław Miłosz was asked once how he could write of beauty and maintain hope after living through two world wars and Stalinism. His answer was that he had known happiness in childhood, and if we have ever been happy in our lives, then we know happiness and beauty are possible. That seems to be what Carl Little discovers in his poem, “Cling,” turning the concept of being stuck into the ability to cling to what is beautiful and sustaining during seasons of change and doubt. His young man learns when to stay perched and when to drop (gently) to the ground.
Carl Little is familiar to the readers of this magazine. What you may not know is that his new book of poetry is Blanket of the Night: Poems, recently published by DeerbrookEditions.
Betsy Sholl, MAJ Poetry editor
Cling
“I had kept my appointment.”
—Stanley Kunitz, “The Testing-Tree”
Revisit boyhood as you age
recover hair that shone,
beaver teeth and eyes that found
sunfish nests by the dock.
Stab rotted apples with tip
of bamboo pole, fling them high
into sky beyond the garden
where they disappear
into leaves burned red
by fall. Climb trees
to watch the world
from a safe distance: wars,
spats, friends who fell.
Cling when seasons shift
and doubt returns, but
know those glowing nests,
apples cast, stalwart trees
hold you steady against
winds that threaten to
wrench you from your perch.
“Stay safe, young man.”
Who said that? You look around,
dazed and dumbfounded, then
drop gently to the ground.
Janice Kasper, Dancers, Old County Road, oil on canvas, 36 x 26 in., 2024 (photo: Bob Brooks, courtesy Caldbeck Gallery).
I would drive by these two trees on my way to work. They caught my eye because they seemed
to be embracing as if caught in a joyous dance. My only problem was that they were situated on
a busy road with no shoulder and the nearest house had a big “Beware of the Dog” sign. I
mustered my courage one day, stopped and took a series of photos.
When the leaves appeared, the dancing branches were muted. Fully leafed, the effect was gone.
Now that the leaves are gone I can again drive by these trees and smile.
—Janice Kasper (Janice Kasper, Trees: Real and Imagined, Caldbeck Gallery, 25 October–30 November 2024)