Trees, Steve Loved

Steve's Words:

The driver, the
trees, the sun and the seasons.

Yesterday I named three favorite winter trees at 86th and 5th Ave -
"reaching, curling and spreading".

I've gotten so I love trees. When I first got my glasses in about the fifth grade, I came out of the
optometrist's to realize that I could actually see the individual leaves. I had come to see trees as little kids draw
them - circles of green on trunks of brown.

It was before disease stripped the Midwest of its American elms, which really did make cool arched boulevards of our
modest main streets. Old towns now look like denuded suburbs.

Before that only many decades or the big winds near tornados
could kill off a few of them.

In my backyard there was a huge one which took several kids
to touch hands around.

When we learned to get to its lower limbs with a rope, we
began to build a tree house in a very high crotch. My dad took over and built a
big, solid one, much lower down. For beams he used the varnished hardwood
pieces of a big old pipe organ, which had just been replaced in the next door
church where he was pastor. He did not view little kid helpers as actually
helpful or safe, which I understand, but also regret.

Today, in New York City, I often reverse "you can’t see the forest
for the trees". Here they stand
more isolated, individual.

In winter we can see the fabulous differences of their limb
structure. Since they've been cared for and pruned over their decades of life,
I sometimes wonder if an old arborist could say, "Now that's pruned in the
Mendelssohn manner. And you can see O'Neal's work in that one."

The isolation and care of our trees in Central and Riverside Park and around the Natural History museum may
explain why we enjoy some of the few stands of these magnificent trees which
remain in North America.

We all enjoy the first leaves in the spring. The green that
will later seem uniform at first has great various beauty, just as the fall
dying leaves draw bus tours to Vermont,
but may be less noticed in the midst of our city.

Then of course there are the many stages of a tree's cycle
of renewal that each species present to us as the days grow longer, and then
shorter.

If we look up close, we can see the wonderful little
structures that nature has constructed over ages to give each tree the best
chance to live on.

Horse Chestnuts are my favorites. Lindens are good too.

As well as the changes over the warmer months, each day
trees present many different views to us. At high noon, the shade of their
leaves cools us, but obscures the tree's details.

But as the sun lowers, its light cuts between the leaves and
lets us glimpse the structure that we love so much in winter.

These are things I've learned to see over time as I grew
older. Who says there’s nothing to look
forward to. Just like the little piece
of white paint that looks like a gold ring on the finger of a Rembrandt
portrait.
---------------------------

A Poem by Dan LaBotz

Inline image 1
A Poem for Steve by Dan LaBotz 


Don’t go Steve. Don’t go.
We need to talk.
I need to hear once more about the sds convention
held at your father’s church in Iowa.
I want to hear again how the cops tirelessly
persecuted you in Chicago.
You then just a kid, a step ahead of the law.
I want to hear again about the carhaulers' strike,
the strike you’re going to write about one day.
I want to hear about the latest book you’re reading
on astronomy or Africa.
I want to have a drink with you,
not your cheap wine, the good wine,
and to eat something that Ellen has brought us,
some things from Zabar’s served
on a bunch of mismatched plates,
with maybe some pickles.
I’ll wait while you take a nap for an hour or two,
knowing how the narcoleptic whatever grabs you
because,
I want you to talk to me once more
about John Brown.
I want to talk to you about where we did right
and where we went wrong in the Teamsters,
that thirty-five year conversation we keep having.
I want to go for a walk with you up Broadway,
as you pick up trash and give handouts to homeless guys
whose names you know, and who count on you for a few bucks,
and as you startle female passerby with your compliments
or for a moment strike fear in the heart of some guy
whom you never met, but who believe feel has crossed you.
I want to go with you and Ben to that restaurant
on Broadway—Is it Nick’s?--
with the the picnic table booths
and the waitress who knows you
and is nice to you anyway
and eat burgers and fries
and listen to you talk to me
while Ben shakes his head in disgust
with a conversation that is not dark enough
to be amusing to him.
We have a lot more to talk about.
You have a book you want me to read.
You have an idea you want to tell me about.
You have some long and apparently interminable
story you want to tell me
about your past and our past
and about what we might do now,
might do with some young people
beginning again to try to turn things upside down,
to make things how they ought to be.
So, Steve, don’t go.
Don’t go Steve. We need to talk.

2 comments:

  1. Michael RuscignoJanuary 31, 2014 at 4:08 PM

    I have never read a poem that speaks of ones life so well. And it was wonderful hearing Steve speaking again! Thank You Dan.
    Mike Ruscigno TDU member

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousMay 19, 2022 at 10:12 AM

    What a wonderful poem and tribute to a wonderful person. It was like being with Steve once again.

    ReplyDelete

Thanks for your input to the Steve Blog. Learning about him through one another's stories is something we can continue to enjoy, beyond his passing. May his vision, work and passions live on through our paths, and be invigorated by our stories, sharings, and dialogues.
Thanks, from niece Audrey Kindred

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