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The Northern Classical Garden

—on the transformation of a vacant lot by
students and faculty at Northern Academy of the
Arts in Middletown, New York

—after Keats 

Our youth whose lives lie in the balance,
More so are lost inside a maze—
No guiding voice, but only silence
And screens create a digital haze.

How can they see the wondrous sight
That jolts the soul and also soothes?
And hear the Heavens set us right
With “Truth is beauty, beauty truth”?

Behold! Here come the students & teachers,
Parents & friends with shovels & hoes,
And gloves, these are the beauty seekers
Who makes sure Northern’s campus glows.

Hole by hole and plant by plant,
We forge a garden soul by soul,
And stone by stone and post by post
It forges us and makes us whole.

The beads of sweat drip from our heads,
Becoming early morning dew
On leaves and stems in garden beds
As Dawn arises with her crew

Of dancing, playing, painting colors
Of green and purple, silver, white,
Of yellow, pink, and many others
That wake the eyes in Spring’s new light.

Arranging symmetry brings order,
The pointed trees create a beat
Aligning tones with spheres and borders—
Atomic and the cosmic meet.

The sounds of chimes are resonating;
The water splashes, floats up high;
Rose and lavender emanating,
A fragrance reaching past the sky,

Evoking memories once distant
Of origins when all were youth
And knew one flashing, precious instant
That “Truth is beauty, beauty truth!”

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James H. Smith is an architect, photographer, teacher, garden designer and more. You can see his photos here: www.cartiophotos.com

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6 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    This poem has a sincere message for me of reclamation not only of turning a vacant lot into a beautiful garden, but also of souls of youth who learn the meaning of life with the phrase, “Truth is beauty, beauty truth.”

    Reply
  2. Margaret Coats

    James, this is a splendid poem by any measure. Masterful meter, rhymes, syntax, word choice, flow of ideas, and a narrative at once colloquial and transcendent. Let me point out especially the “beauty seekers” who make sure the campus (along with and including its students) “grows.” There are also the rose and lavender “emanating” (unusual but entirely proper transitive usage) “a fragrance” that is and does much more than the “nose” or sense of smell can comprehend.

    “History of Gardens East and West” is a course my husband, professor of art history, taught and occasionally had to justify as seriously academic. There is, of course, plenty of history, many artists, and much scholarship behind this kind of study. The class was also writing intensive, as students were required to make technical design descriptions of gardens in the community while commenting on the history and style evident in them. In addition, they had to participate in the tradition of viewers making poetic response to a garden. That’s what you’ve done here, including a good statement of its purpose and a brief story of its construction.

    Congratulations on achieving the classical project of the garden and the additional one of the poem. As the garden grows and changes and matures over seasons and years, you’ll have opportunities to teach about upkeep and sympathetic design alterations, but also to recommend that students and others visit the garden to fulfill its spiritual purposes and make their own poetic responses.

    Reply
  3. Yael

    This is a charming poem about a worthy art project and the photo is nice too. Well done, I enjoyed this!

    Reply
  4. C.B. Anderson

    Everybody likes a good garden, but few know how to create or manage one. The same goes for poems.

    Reply
  5. Daniel Kemper

    I learned a love of gardens only a few years ago. I didn’t dislike them before; it’s only that I didn’t really ‘see’ them. Ironically, I was nose blind across multiple senses and states.

    My favorite part of this poem is the swooping direction change in the following two stanzas.

    The beads of sweat drip from our heads
    Becoming early morning dew
    On leaves and stems in garden beds
    As Dawn arises with her crew

    Of dancing, playing, painting colors,
    Of green and purple, silver, white,

    The sweat drops down and into the plants and then we swoop up into dawn. The dynamism is quite charming.

    Reply

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