Newsletter #141 - The Lilac
Walt Whitman, mourning and wondering if it's a tree or a bush?
A few days ago I was looking at the Lilac tree in my backyard.
Whenever I see lilacs in the spring I am reminded of Walt Witman’s poem “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”.
You might have read it when you were in college. If you haven’t, put simply, the poem is an elegy mourning the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. The poem uses symbols like blooming lilacs, a falling star, and a singing thrush to represent grief, remembrance, and the journey towards healing.
Through vivid imagery and a deep connection to nature, Whitman reflects on the nation's sorrow and the enduring impact of Lincoln's legacy.
I’ve photographed this lilac tree in bloom almost every year since 2014.
Some years it’s perfect. Some years, not so much.
I don’t think there is a president I would ever write a poem about. But I would maybe write a poem about my cat Bean, who passed away in January. I think about her all the time and I still expect to see her sleeping in the bedroom every time I go in.
Sometimes when the sun starts setting I hear the hermit thrush singing in the woods.
Walt Whitman describes the hermit thrush as a solitary and mysterious bird whose song embodies a deep, mournful beauty. The bird's song serves as a symbol of natural lamentation and a profound expression of grief. Whitman finds comfort and resonance in the thrush's melody, which seems to echo his own sorrow and the collective mourning of the nation. The hermit thrush's song becomes a pivotal element in the poem, representing a voice of nature that mourns alongside the poet and offers a sense of solace and understanding in the face of loss.
I decided I wanted to make a bouquet of lilacs for Bean. But I didn’t want to ruin my perfect lilac tree by cutting off the flowers.
So I drove down the road to pick some off the giant lilac bush blooming in front of an abandoned house.
But then I got arrested for trespassing.
They had me locked up for days. I couldn’t take photos inside the jail but I got a stranger to take this photo of me leaving.
Just kidding, I didn’t get arrested. But I did spend hours trying to figure out if my lilac tree is actually a bush and it’s just been trained like a tree. In some ways, this conundrum is worse than jail.
I finally gave up trying to figure it out and went outside to look at my lilac bush again. By then, most of the flowers had died.
I’m sorry, Bean.
Throwback
Newsletter #88 - Strip Mall - In this newsletter, I visit the Walt Whitman birthplace in my hometown of Huntington, NY, and then I visit the strip mall next door.
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Kristen Neufeld copy-edited this letter.
Zach Vitale still doesn’t know how to pronounce “Lilac.”
This was a beautiful read, with some truly inspirational photographs. "Sorry Bean" at the end really got me. I'm now staring at the magnolia tree just outside my window with some ideas swirling around in my head.
Love a good hermit thrush, but now that you and Walt Whitman mention it, yes, it captures the vocalization and exclamation of grief. Bean was a beautiful cat, my condolences... P.S. Lilac is definitely a bush, or is it a shrub? What is the difference?