Here lies a fine encapsulation of the poetry of Merton’s non-poetry writing. (Perhaps a perfect book for the poetry skeptic.) He writes with clarity, stating his observations quite plainly. Yet, in these simple and small paragraphs he captures the reader with his ability to pick the most fitting (and surprising) words to describe things in a way that gives new life, in which it becomes new to the reader.
His writing is unassuming. His approachably simple and straightforward style offers a low barrier of entry. Once immersed in these snippets and vignettes, Merton’s writing begins to open like a blossom. This is not high poetry and, thus, does not require one to wrestle with hidden meaning and symbolism. It is, in a sense, quite easy reading. Much of the book is journal entries from his day-to-day life. What could be more monotonous than the day-to-day life of a monk following the same strict routine day-in and day-out? Yet, among his routine Merton is able to dive into the idiosyncrasies of the world around him and the very hidden beauty lurking behind the obvious and ignored. He is able to silence himself enough that the world slowly begins to reveal itself, showing him and, through his well-practiced and effective skill of writing, us of its wonders rather than monotony. Where many might see boredom, Merton, true to form, is able to plumb the depths of life’s exuberant elegance and the essence of an embodied life on this very physical earth.
When the Trees Say Nothing can be picked up and read in small doses. That is, in fact, exactly what I did. Over the course of an entire year, I turned to it when life in urban San Francisco felt overstimulating and I needed brief but essential respite. When I couldn’t afford the the time or energy to get out of the surrounding concrete and noise of the city but craved the silent spaciousness of nature, this book was an effective salve to my mind and soul.
I will treasure this book and look forward to reading it again (and again). His tactile images, observations, and poetic elucidation of the natural world are often stunning. Merton has the power to make any modern city-dweller (religious or not) long to live a simple life of rural contemplation. Of course, in curating these beautiful “nature” writings of his, an element of romanticism bleeds into the projected life of a Trappist monk. Yet, perhaps this is exactly what a world obsessed with progress, technology, constant movement and action needs in order to anchor itself to the fact that we are part of the very physical earthly nature that Merton paints. We are a small but essential part of the ecosystem that surrounds us. Merton models this humbling fact by choosing a simple life where he is able to better attune himself to the environment around him. “Why do I live alone? I don’t know… In some mysterious way I am condemned to it. … I cannot have enough of the hours of silence when nothing happens. When the clouds go by. When the trees say nothing. When the birds sing. I am completely addicted to the realization that just being there is enough, and to add something else is to mess it all up.”