[John Riley]

Should point out this is from a manuscript of connected prose poems.

Separate

Each way he turns, he is invited into the forest. Wide tree trunks offer him dreams, and the small trees entice him to wrap his arms tightly around their small trunks and become new bark. He continues on the path, certain the next step will be his final step into the dark, but even as the dark parts for him, he realizes he will never become part of the trees or the wrap-around vines, or the birds with their calls drawing him deeper into the forest. He knows that eventually he will be birthed by the forest and will be who he is and nothing more. He can see the forest and he can touch it and smell the deep green, but he cannot remove his feet and hands and eyes and become an ageless tree. His feet almost stop stepping as he accepts the truth, but they then decide to move on, and he begins to feel the freedom of not wanting to be something else.

[R. Nemo Hill]

I like it, John, but have two suggestions, one a grammatical quibble, the other merely a preference.

The quibble: "and the small trees entice him to wrap his arms tightly around their small trunk"...the plural trees call for the plural trunk[s].

The preference: "or the vines that wrap around" has an awkward sound. I'd suggest "or the wrap-around vines".

Nemo

[Matt Q]

Hi John,

I like it too.

I wondered a little at the "again" in "and will again always be who he is and nothing more" since it implies that in the forest he is currently not "who he is" but something else. And yet, as I read it, the poem is saying he wants to be part of the forest, but he isn't -- this doesn't happen. So presumably, he's still who he is in the forest even though he wishes it were otherwise? Or maybe the poem is saying he is different in the forest, but just can't be part of it?

Like Nemo, I also wondered at the "vines that wrap around". Maybe "the vines that wrap around them"? Though it's not wrong to say "the vines that wrap around", since, after all they do.


Matt

[John Riley]

Thank you, Nemo and Matt. I've made the changes you both suggested. Help is always appreciated.

[Harry Nicolas]

Hey John, here are my thoughts

to me there is a theme of identity in this. I am not sure exactly what the forest and trees represents, maybe within the context of the manuscript it might be more clear. I think the man is struggling with some kind of unconscious identity crisis and there is a push and pull within him to try and accept not becoming apart of the forest which is some kind of metaphor for a negative aspect of his subconscious.

to me the word "ageless" stands out so maybe the man is struggling with aging and maybe the inevitability of his death or other negative aspects of aging?

[Hilary Biehl]

I like this, even not knowing the larger context. It has an inner logic and makes intuitive sense, I think. The ending is excellent.

"but they then decide to move on" sounds awkward to me and could perhaps be tweaked.

[Trevor Conway]

Hi John,

I found it a bit too explainy. Give the reader more space to breathe and think, I'd suggest. There's no need to refer to his perception so much, so I'd suggest removing "He can see" and similar things, just saying directly what is there. There's probably too many "he"s in general, anyway, making the rhythm/tone more mundane.

I've put in bold below what I feel you could delete to strengthen the poem. In most cases, the deletions are suggested due to the things above (perception references or too much explaining). Others are just for pace/flow.

I hope it helps.

Trev

Each way he turns, he is invited into the forest. Wide tree trunks offer him dreams, and the small trees entice him to wrap his arms tightly around their small trunks and become new bark. He continues on the path, certain the next step will be his final step into the dark, but even as the dark parts for him, he realizes he will never become part of the trees or the wrap-around vines, or the birds with their calls drawing him deeper into the forest. He knows that eventually he will be birthed by the forest and will be who he is and nothing more. He can see the forest and he can touch it and smell the deep green, but he cannot remove his feet and hands and eyes and become an ageless tree. His feet almost stop stepping as he accepts the truth, but they then decide to move on, and he begins to feel the freedom of not wanting to be something else.

[James Brancheau]

"wrap-around" is a good adjustment. I like this as well, John. I found it refreshingly straightforward, and yet still keeping the door cracked open to interpretation. I'm especially fond of the becoming new bark part (and that small trees entice him to do this), "smell the deep green," and how the poem finishes. Nice one.

[R. Nemo Hill]

I feel like all the he... phrases are what give the poem its particular peculiar tone. Trevor's comment inspired me go back through the poem and record them in sequence:

he turns...he is invited...he continues...he realizes...he will never become...he knows...he will be birthed...he is and nothing more...he can see...he can touch...he cannot remove...he accepts...he begins.

There is something about the repetition of that structure that provides an almost shocking precision to the poem, an earnestness of purpose that has no time for ornament or narrative complication, a stripping away of all but the central trajectory of being: the poem as an arrow shot straight through the core of existence.

Nemo