The picture is of a 150-year-old American black walnut tree in France (https://www.promhaies.net/news/arbre-dici-et-dailleurs-le-noyer-noir-de-sablonceaux,6999/)






To escape from the narrow pound of my own thought, I sometimes attempt to translate a poem. Here's one I've spent several hours on; the reward is the process. 

Walnut Tree (Le Noyer)
by Rainer Maria Rilke
 
i.
Tree that in place
proudly grows and bends
all around the space
of summer as it ends,

tree whose volume,
round and exuberant,
is proof and epitome
of all we want: 

I’ve seen your leaves redden
as they are turning green;
with that display of modesty
your magnificence
demands their punishment. 

ii.
Tree, always in the center
of all that’s about--
tree that savors
heaven’s entire vault;

like anyone else
you turn here and there--
like an apostle
who does not know where

God will come down. . . .
so to be sure, it aims
to make itself round
and holds out ripe arms.

iii.
Tree which perhaps
within itself sees
an ancient Tree Master
among the serving trees!

Tree that self-controls
and slowly grows and bends
into the shape that eludes
the hazard of winds:

full of austere forces
your clear shade offers
a leaf that refreshes,
fruit that perseveres.

NOTE: The original, like the translation, alternates between 2nd and 3rd person in addressing the tree.

​This website features the work of a great-aunt I never knew, Cynthia Reeves. She was the legitimate child of John Andrew Reeves, and through him the half-sister of my paternal grandfather, Elbert. My father thought that Elbert’s temper and irascibility stemmed from his illegitimacy, but I have my doubts. Such births were not uncommon in the NC mountains, as family trees, DNA tests, and family  stories attest; beyond that, I have learned from Cynthia Reeves’ daughter-in-law that Elbert was welcomed to Reeves family events and recognized as John Andrews’ son.
 
Cynthia created a number of paintings in imitation of Asian characters. This one has no title or date, but I keep it near in my office—in part because it is damaged (it has noticeable brown spots, from age or water perhaps, not visible in this photo) and (so I imagine) needs to be tended; in part because it represents the odd status of art works in relationship to “real life.” It is not unlike those translations of East Asian poems that were so influential in the development of free verse, even though the originals followed quite strict rules—rules that, according to Milosz, we can only approximate in English. But losing the rhythmic qualities of the original poems allows the images the image to become more expressive (Czeslaw Milosz, “Against Incomprehensible Poetry,” in To Begin Where I Am: Selected Essays (FSG, 2001, 380).

Find the book on Amazon.
     L. R. Travis had a hard beginning in life. Possibly his first memory is of his father beating his mother down and kicking her as she lay on the floor. When he was quite young, he and his older brother were stolen by their father. The next several years were dreamlike and brutal: “I never knew where I was because my father traveled around and worked off the books, picking fruit, picking cotton.…—a different town all the time, a different shack. I didn’t know how old I was. I didn’t have a sense of time’s passage: every day was the same—fear that my brother and I would be beat for something we hadn’t done, or beat for not doing something, or abused for any reason and no reason.”

Abandoned by their father in Phoenix, L. R. and his brother spent years in foster homes and orphanages. Because L. R. was small for his age, wore glasses, and had speech impediments, he was picked on mercilessly. He and his brother learned how to escape bullying by becoming bullies themselves. Understandably, L. R. grew up angry and mean. How I Lived Through & Survived Brutality is the story how he overcame his start in life to become a loving husband and father.

When I started talking to L. R. several months ago, I realized that he had an interesting story to tell. We recorded our conversations, and he dictated memories between our discussions. I transcribed the recordings; as we reviewed the transcriptions, new details emerged. We clarified, as much as possible, the timing and chronology, and organized his stories. He found some family photos, and I found some newspaper stories and pictures.

Why did he willingly relive his traumatic past? “If I can overcome all that happened to me, you can, too, with the Lord’s help, and with the help of therapists, doctors, and the appropriate drug therapies. I hope I can help one person, just one person, with this story of mine. That would make me happy.”

Paperback and Kindle editions are available on Amazon