by Mary Frances Erler
Today I ran across a book of poetry and quotes about wilderness that I made in response to a canoe trek I took in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters back in 1970. Nearly 50 years ago–hard to believe so much time has passed in my life since then. It was a very formative time in my life, influencing much of what I have become. As I was reading the quotes I chose from Thoreau, Aldo Leopold, Theodore Roosevelt, and others, I was surprised to find one unsigned poem. I have a feeling I wrote it–otherwise it would be identified with the author’s name. It was a long time ago, 1970, but as I re-read it, I could tell the words had originally come from within me. And I was surprised to find that my 18-year-old mind had thought such deep things. But then, maybe not so surprising, for I was a very philosophical person back then. Maybe still am. So here it is.
Its original title was “Is It Man That Counts?”
‘How can you be so no-caring?’ a boy demanded,
Staring into the old man’s eyes;
‘Do you want all our life to die
And leave nothing to show our lives ranged?’
‘Every animal dies,’ the old chief would say
And gaze with deep-seeing silent eyes
About the village around them.
‘Timeless is not changeless,’ he would repeat.
But a boy’s heart-strength is different
And his restless feet thus wandered,
Searching over forest-depth and countryside,
His mind straining with searches just as deep.
He drank in the wildness ’round him,
Knowing in his animal-part
It had no time, no beginning,
And no end? Their village
Already was shrinking, the forest depths
Pricked by hard, cold disruption,
A steeling chill so unlike winter–
More senseless–as rape or pillage.
And as the Wild spread its winter
Blanket, with its natural death,
He prayed that this might be
The end–to die as wild things died.
Then as the cold and steel creeping in
On them increased its breath to a roar,
He knew it wasn’t death that was coming–
Just as the old man had tried
To tell. It was what the Wild was really
Made of; so though their villages–
And all men–passed; the Wild would
Sustain itself–timeless because it changed.
I like this, and pray that it is true. What a gift, to encounter your younger self and have this conversation. Thank you!
Thanks, Nancy, for your comment. Yes, it was quite a surprise to find myself hidden in an old poem.