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Old Apple Tree

by joanie 

Posted: 11 October 2004
Word Count: 245
Summary: This is written as a response to Mark Doty's 'White Kimono', which we studied in Poetry Seminar. Apple tree again!


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Silver-grey and yellow lichen,
delicate minute fronds
on gnarled, arthritic boughs

which bear fruit. Unnamed diseases
have blighted it and stunted
its growth for years;

a stooped old man
whose fruits are diminutive
brown-spotted apologies.

Grandad used to say they weren't
worth bothering with. He knew.
He wanted to rip it out

once and for all. Jane
(with the haughty superiority
of a thirteen-year-old)

would not eat them.
Supermarket shelves spawned fruit
in her eyes; anything else

was disgusting and hardly worthy
of recognition. I cut across
the plumpness, through the blemishes;

two five-pointed stars
shine at me. I smile back.
The leprous peel hides pure

white fruit. We wonder if we should,
then take a knife and cut.
I taste the bitter sweetness

and salivate involuntarily. Remember
Grandad's face when he ate
something sharp? We laugh

(and cry, inside, for him). Andrew,
fruit-lover extraordinaire, chomps
happily and goes for more,

revelling in the bitterness.
We shall spend hours in the kitchen,
peeling, chopping, boiling, sweetening,

so we can proclaim, "They're from the tree!"
then maybe brave scatches - attacks
from brambles - so we can gather

wild blackberries and set up
the once white, now crimson-stained
square of muslin, pinned

overnight to the legs
of an unpturned stool.
My tongue tests its taste again;

more thirst-quenching than
a litre of ice-cold mineral water,
mountain fresh. As the juices

begin to flow, so the memories
which blatantly defy time
flood in too. My lovely Dad.







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Comments by other Members



Nell at 08:45 on 11 October 2004  Report this post
Joanie, I've read through but must go now and walk the small and wondrous dog. Will return and re-read and comment later.

Nell.

Nell at 12:20 on 11 October 2004  Report this post
Joanie, I think the 'silver-grey and yellow lichen' is the Candle-snuff Fungus mentioned in The Ring. I love your description of the tree as 'a stooped old man' ('brown-spotted apologies' made me think of liver spots on aging hands), and in the next stanza the line 'Grandad used to say...', which connects the two and makes the tree alive and almost human. It is true that fruit afflicted in this way tastes sharper and sweeter (is that possible?) than the perfect specimens, and I remember a tree in my grandparents' garden exactly like the one you describe. The particular detail of not one but 'two five-pointed stars...' helps to make the sequence of events real, and 'leprous peel' is exactly right. The memories of people, all evoked by the experience of eating the fruit, and shared with Andrew - as is the fruit itself - come across as genuine. I wondered about the blackberries - apple and bramble jelly? - the braving of scratches, the contrast of the 'once-white, now crimson-stained muslin', that seemed to suggest blood and bandages. So to the final three words, a surprise, as this is the first (and last) time Dad appears, and somehow I connected him to the images of the muslin and blackberries, but also to the reviving properties of the apple juice. The poem left me wondering, and like Mark Doty's White Kimono repaid examination. The sequence of events in the two poems is straightforward, yet something underlies the words; one is left with the companionship and warmth of those shared moments, and something elusive and almost spiritual lingers when you've finished reading.

Nell.

joanie at 15:58 on 11 October 2004  Report this post
Thank you for your full response, Nell. My Dad is 'Grandad' - always referred to as such when speaking to the children. His memory runs throughout the poem.

The crimson is when the apple and blackberry juice has dripped overnight through the muslin; yes, for jelly. It never washes out fully.

Thank you for reading!
joanie

Nell at 16:13 on 11 October 2004  Report this post
Joanie, it just goes to show how easy it is to read things into a poem that aren't there! I'm glad there was nothing sinister about the muslin and the juice even though they did add another layer to the poem. It does raise the question of whether one should explain, or allow the reader their own interpretation. It's possible that the crysanthemums in The White Kimono were there only because they are a favourite symbol of that culture (like the pine trees and the other embroideries) rather than that the author placed them in the poem to signify long life. An enjoyable poem though.

Nell.



fireweed at 11:04 on 12 October 2004  Report this post
joanie, this is a response on a first reading. I will re-read later - I feel there are so many details i want to look at again. I liked it very much and would echo many of Nell's comments especially about the connection between the tree and the grandfather. This seems to suggest something archetypal which I need to reread the poem to explain fully.

Will look forward to a second reading later today, all being well.

fireweed

The Walrus at 13:43 on 12 October 2004  Report this post
Great nostalgic poem Joanie. Really enjoyed reading the different responses to the tree - Grandad, Jane, Andrew and yourself.

Particularly liked:

delicate minute fronds
on gnarled, arthritic boughs

and the last stanza.

Christina

joanie at 16:32 on 12 October 2004  Report this post
Thanks, Christina! Much appreciated, as always.

joanie

fevvers at 16:19 on 17 October 2004  Report this post
Hi Joanie

I've printed it off and will try and comment on it soon.

cheers


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