Though Marianne Moore (1887–1972) was born in Missouri, she became the quintessential New York City Modernist poet. The city and its “inhabitants” live in her poems, whether they be her beloved Bronx Bombers or a specific tree in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.

Over Christmas, Sue and I returned to NYC with my Minnesota daughter and son-in-law to spend the holidays with my Brooklyn daughter and son-in-law. One of the highlights for me was when my Brooklyn son-in-law took us to see the Camperdown Elm in Prospect Park and read Moore’s poem aloud.

Here is some background information I found on both The Camperdown Elm and Marianne Moore..

Located near the Boathouse in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, the Camperdown Elm is a living testament to the power of poetry and civic preservation. Often described as a “giant bonsai,” this rare tree is a mutant cultivar of the Scottish Wych Elm that lacks the gene to grow upward; instead, its gnarled, twisted branches “weep” horizontally, creating a low, umbrella-like canopy. Planted in 1872 on a raised mound to allow its branches room to spread, the tree fell into a state of severe neglect by the 1960s, riddled with rot and infested with rats. It was only saved after the 80-year-old Marianne Moore famously championed its cause in her 1967 poem, “The Camperdown Elm,” where she dubbed it our “crowning curio.” Her advocacy led to the formation of the Friends of Prospect Park (now the Prospect Park Alliance) and secured the expert care that allows this “mortal” landmark to still thrive today.

Now, here is the poem she wrote.

Enjoy!

“The Camperdown Elm”
  by Marianne Moore

I think, in connection with this weeping elm,
of “Kindred Spirits” at the edge of a rockledge
overlooking a stream:
Thanatopsis-invoking tree-loving Bryant
conversing with Thomas Cole
in Asher Durand’s painting of them
under the filigree of an elm overhead.
No doubt they had seen other trees—lindens,
maples and sycamores, oaks and the Paris
street-tree, the horse-chestnut; but imagine
their rapture, had they come on the Camperdown elm’s
massiveness and “the intricate pattern of its branches,”
arching high, curving low, in its mist of fine twigs.
The Bartlett tree-cavity specialist saw it
and thrust his arm the whole length of the hollowness
of its torso and there were six small cavities also.
Props are needed and tree-food. It is still leafing;
still there. Mortal though. We must save it. It is
our crowning curio.

LISTENING WITH MY PENCIL AND MY EAR

Moore’s poetry is best known for two things:

• Syllabic Verse: A meticulous technique where she counts the syllables in every line to create complex, jagged stanza patterns.
• Found Text: The practice of weaving lines and phrases from books, technical manuals, and advertisements into her poems.

She uses the latter technique in two places in this poem: “Kindred Spirits” and “the intricate pattern of its branches.” The irregular, jagged stanza pattern is also clearly visible throughout the piece.

But the Art of Poetry is not about technique, it is about how the poet uses their chosen technique(s} to express with words what is ultimately beyond words. To “call-forth” our attention to the sacred and to the things that really matter. The Camperdown Elm is both of those.