Elation

by January Gill O’Neil

In the city’s center is an unwalled forest:
a dense plot of cedars so thick their canopy
keeps light from reaching the ground.

We gaze at the stretched-out stalks—
Etiolation, you say, pointing skyward,
but all I hear is elation.

Its the elongation of stems,
the branches growing up, not out,
their long trunks turned white

They claim this space as their own,
making the most of what’s given them.
We listen to spindly trees creaking—

rocking chairs on a wooden porch,
the clatter of branches like the chatter
between old, coupled voices

when no one is around.

Originally published in The Kenyon Review Online.
Reprinted by permission of the author.

Read other poems by January Gill O’Neil in Rewilding, available from Amazon or your local bookstore.
(Note Elation is not included therein)

In “Elation,” January Gill O’Neil exquisitely captures the sense of privacy and relief that can arise when we enter a forest, even if it happens to be in the middle of a bustling city. As she and her companion walk through this stand of cedars, she learns about etiolation, the process by which plants grow longer, paler stems and limbs because of the lack of light. Perhaps the speaker can’t stop hearing the word elation, instead, because of how uplifted she feels in the softening presence of these resilient trees, growing “up, not out,” and making do with what they’ve been given. O’Neil’s poem reminds me of what David Wagoner once wrote: “If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,/You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows/Where you are. You must let it find you.” No doubt all of us, especially during challenging times, have felt a sense of lightness after spending even a short time outside in a park or hiking on a trail in the forest, our own resilience returned to us. The closing of the poem offers evidence of the speaker’s close attention as she describes the sound of these trees rubbing against each other in the wind, a kind of “creaking,” like “rocking chairs on a wooden porch” or “a cello’s drawn breath,” both of which suggest some deeper, more complex consciousness that is always at work around us.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Think back to a time when you had a similar sense of “elation” while out in nature. What did you notice that you had never paid attention to before?

ABOUT THE POET: JANUARY GILL O’NEILL

January Gill O’Neil was born in Norfolk, Virginia, and received a BA from Old Dominion University and an MFA from New York University. She is the author of Rewilding (CavanKerry Press, 2018), recognized by Mass Center for the Book as a notable poetry collection for 2018; Misery Islands (CavanKerry Press, 2014), winner of a 2015 Paterson Award for Literary Excellence; and Underlife (CavanKerry Press, 2009). The recipient of fellowships from Cave Canem and the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, O’Neil was awarded a Massachusetts Cultural Council grant and was named the John and Renée Grisham Writer in Residence for 2019-2020 at the University of Mississippi, Oxford. She is an associate professor of English at Salem State University and holds board positions at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs and Montserrat College of Art. O’Neil lives in Beverly, Massachusetts.

POETRY SELECTION AND COMMENTARY BY JAMES CREWS

James Crews is the author of four collections of poetry: The Book of What Stays, Telling My Father, Bluebird, and Every Waking Moment. He is also the editor of two anthologies: Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection and How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. His poems have appeared in Ploughshares, The New Republic, The New York Times Magazine, The Sun, and have been reprinted in Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry and featured on Tracy K. Smith’s podcast, The Slowdown. James teaches at SUNY-Albany and lives with his husband in Vermont.

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