• LibraryThing
  • Book discussions
  • Your LibraryThing
  • Join to start using.

Poems about forests

Poetry Fool

Join LibraryThing to post.

This topic is currently marked as "dormant"—the last message is more than 90 days old. You can revive it by posting a reply.

Sep 1, 2010, 5:40am Top

Can anyone recommend any poems about forests, please?

Sep 1, 2010, 11:16am Top

In the hourless forest
Jules Supervielle

In the hourless forest
a tall tree is being felled.
A vertical void
trembles in the form of a shaft
near the outstreched trunk.

Search, birds, search,
for the site of your nests
in this high memory
while it is still murmuring.

Sep 13, 2010, 11:03am Top

Lost in the forest...

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

-Pablo Neruda

Sep 15, 2010, 2:45am Top

#2 & #3 - Thank you! Those are both fabulous!

Oct 17, 2010, 5:07pm Top

Pine Forest
by Gabriela Mistral

Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face,
and I will stop and offer you to them,
but they cannot bend down.
The night watches over its creatures,
except for the pine trees that never change:
the old wounded springs that spring
blessed gum, eternal afternoons.
If they could, the trees would lift you
and carry you from valley to valley,
and you would pass from arm to arm,
a child running
from father to father.

Oct 18, 2010, 2:34pm Top

i want to hear Gabriea in her own voice

in her own language

brought back young form the dead

sitting at the chair behind the desk

at the head of the class

young pablo's attention captured

torn from the window where children his age

are swatting at stones or plinking marbles at marbles

while in the room

to Pablo and perhaps the other few who are left in the room

Gabriela draws them in

slowly at the nibble

on poems of whispers and winds and trees that cease to die

and he is carried to her world of bringing us poems

we in turn bring to our children

and thus,

in words

we are brought to life

we are taught to see and listen and breath

and love the words of the mistress poet

who teaches us to exist

Edited: Oct 18, 2010, 3:08pm Top

The Rain in The Pinewood
by Gabriele D'Annunzio

Hush. On the edge
Of the woods I do not hear
Words which you call
Human; but I hear
Words which are newer
Spoken by droplets and leaves
Far away.
Listen. Rain falls
From the scattered clouds.
Rain falls on the tamarisks
Briny and parched.
Rain falls on the pine trees
Scaly and bristling,
Rain falls on the myrtles-
On the broom-shrubs gleaming
With clustered flowers,
On the junipers thick
With fragrant berries,
Rain falls on our faces-
Rain falls on our hands-
On our clothes-
On the fresh thoughts
That our soul discloses-
On the lovely fable
That yesterday
Beguiled you, that beguiles me today,
O Hermione.

Do you hear?
The rain is falling
On the solitary
With a crackling that persists
And varies in the air
According to the foliage
Sparser, less sparse.
The weeping is answered
By the song
Of the Cicadas
Which are not frightened
By the weeping of the South wind
Or the ashen sky
And the pine tree
Has one sound, and the myrtle
Another sound, and the juniper
Yet another, instruments
Under numberless fingers.
And we are
Immersed in the spirit
Of the woodland,
Alive with arboreal life;
And your ecstatic face
Is soft with rain
As a leaf
And your hair
Is fragrant like
The bright broom-flowers,
O earthly creature
Whose name is

Listen, listen. The harmony
Of the high-borne cicadas
Gradually becomes
Beneath the weeping
That grows stronger;
But a song mingles with it-
Rising from down there,
From the far damp shade.
Fainter and weaker
It slackens, fades away.
Only one note
Still trembles, fades away.
Rises again, trembles, fades away.
One hears no sea voice.
Now one hears upon all the foliage,
The silvery rain
That cleanses,
The pelting that varies
According to the foliage
Thicker, less thick.
The daughter of the air
is mute; but the daughter
Of the miry swamp, in the distance,
The frog,
Is singing in the deepest shade,
Who knows where, who knows where!
And rain falls on your lashes,

Rain falls on your black eyelashes
So that you seem to weep
But from pleasure; not white
But made almost green,
You seem to emerge from bark.
And within us all life is fresh,
The heart in our breasts is like a peach
The eyes between the eyelids
Are like springs in the grass,
The teeth in their sockets
Are like bitter almonds.
And we go from thicket to thicket,
Now joined, now apart
(And the rough green vigour
Entwines our ankles,
Entangles our knees)
Who knows where, who knows where!
And rain falls on our faces-
Rain falls on our hands-
On our clothes-
On the fresh thoughts
That our soul discloses-
On the lovely fable
That yesterday
Beguiled me, that beguiles you today,
O Hermione.

Oct 18, 2010, 9:48pm Top

AR Ammons' a coast of trees would be worth your looking up.

Oct 28, 2010, 9:49am Top

Thanks - these are all new to me! Wonderful!

Group: Poetry Fool

926 members

3,742 messages


This topic is not marked as primarily about any work, author or other topic.


You are using the new servers! | About | Privacy/Terms | Help/FAQs | Blog | Store | APIs | TinyCat | Legacy Libraries | Early Reviewers | Common Knowledge | 115,245,987 books! | Top bar: Always visible