Trees, Billboards, and Stress

Joyce Kilmer, early 20th-century poet, wrote many poems before dying in action in France in July 1918, but people remember him for only one: “Trees.”  

I THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 

A tree that looks at God all day,    

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;    

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree. 

            Ogden Nash, the 20th-century poet who enjoyed taking popular images and revealing a dark side, produced 19 volumes of poetry and wrote for many years for The New Yorker. He wrote the following words about 35 years after Kilmer:  

“I think that I shall never see

a billboard lovely as a tree

Indeed,

unless the billboards fall,

I’ll never see a tree at all.”

            In Indiana, we live in a part of this nation where this could not happen. We see plenty of trees. Yet, when I read what Mr. Nash said, I not only found some humor, but I also think I got his point. He is summing up one of the struggles of us modern folks. Technology surrounds us, and the city determines much of our lives. I realize this struggle may not hit us in Indiana quite as deeply, but it still hits. Cities are crowded and congested. The automobile traffic, yes, even here, can create an imbalance. In big cities, gridlock, noise, pollution, poverty, is so much a part of human life. 

            Some mental health professionals have concluded that urban stress causes mental disorders like schizophrenia. We may not want to believe it. Yet, a coroner in Birmingham, England, ruled that noisy neighbors had pushed John Vanderstam to his death when he committed suicide at only 46 years of age. In Pennsylvania, John Bereznak shot and killed a young dirt biker who was riding on mounds of coal only 200 yards from his house. Bereznak, 70, then went into his house and killed himself.

            It at least appears that some people have trouble adjusting to the stresses of modern life. I confess that, given my reading in history, we have less about which to be stressed than those in tribal cultures, for example, but at another level, I understand. The modern stress on the individual can make it seem as if we must face life substantially alone.

            One citizen, Jeff Peckman of Denver, in the Fall of 2003, came upon a creative way of resolving his issue with stress in his city. Had his bill passed, it would have required the city to “ensure public safety” by utilizing “stress-reducing techniques or programs.” The anti-stress proposal was the first of its kind in the nation and attracted attention from media outlets such as USA Today, and national television networks. In Denver, the proposal was greeted with consternation by some, hoots and hollers by others and thoughtful consideration by a minority. Councilwoman Rosemary Rodriquez found the debate distracting and exhausting: “I’m getting stressed over this bill.” Other council members called it fantasy, frivolous and “lunatic.”
            If only it were so easy: voting stress away!