Eco-Human Theory and Practice
ISSN 2713 – 184x
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The new section of our journal, “Poetic Anthology of Eco-Human Experience”, presents poetry, which reflects the human connections with the natural world. In this issue we offer a selection of poems dedicated to plants and fungi, written by poets of the 20th – early 21st centuries, allowing us to see the eco-human, ecopoietic dimensions of these relationships, and human ability to generate new meanings and forms of experience through interaction with these forms of life. We invite readers to contribute to this selection of poems. Please feel free to send us poems on plants and fungi that you find relevant.


Robert Frost (1874 – 1963), is one of the most celebrated figures in American poetry, the author of numerous poetry collections on universal themes infused with psychological complexity and layers of ambiguity and irony.

The Sound of the Trees

I wonder about the trees. 

Why do we wish to bear 

Forever the noise of these 

More than another noise 

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day 

Till we lose all measure of pace, 

And fixity in our joys, 

And acquire a listening air. 

They are that that talks of going      

But never gets away; 

And that talks no less for knowing, 

As it grows wiser and older, 

That now it means to stay. 

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder 

Sometimes when I watch trees sway, 

From the window or the door. 

I shall set forth for somewhere, 

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice 

And tossing so as to scare 

The white clouds over them on. 

I shall have less to say, 

But I shall be gone.


Marina Tsvetaeva (1892 – 1941) was a Russian poet, whose work is considered among some of the greatest in twentieth century Russian literature. As a lyrical poet, her passion and daring linguistic experimentation mark her as a striking chronicler of her times and the depths of the human condition.

Insomnia. 7. In the pine-tree, tenderly tenderly...

In the pine-tree, tenderly tenderly,

finely finely: something hissed.

It is a child with black

eyes that I see in my sleep.


From the fair pine-trees hot

resin drips, and in this

splendid night there are

saw-teeth going over my heart.


Denise Levertov (19231997), though Denise Levertov was born in England, she became known as one of the great American poets and became an important voice in the American avant-garde. Levertov went on to publish more than twenty volumes of poetry, including The Freeing of the Dust (1975), which won the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize.

In California During the Gulf War

Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among

trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,

the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,


certain airy white blossoms punctually

reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink—

a delicate abundance. They seemed


like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed

festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving

the sackcloth others were wearing.


To some of us, the dejected landscape consorted well

with our shame and bitterness. Skies ever-blue,

daily sunshine, disgusted us like smile-buttons.


Yet the blossoms, clinging to thin branches

more lightly than birds alert for flight,

lifted the sunken heart


even against its will.

                             But not

as symbols of hope: they were flimsy

as our resistance to the crimes committed


—again, again—in our name; and yes, they return,

year after year, and yes, they briefly shone with serene joy

over against the dark glare


of evil days. They are, and their presence

is quietness ineffable—and the bombings are, were,

no doubt will be; that quiet, that huge cacophony


simultaneous. No promise was being accorded, the blossoms

were not doves, there was no rainbow. And when it was claimed

the war had ended, it had not ended.


Vladimir Soloukhin (1924 – 1997) was a Russian poet and writer. The main theme of Soloukhin's work is the Russian countryside, its present and future. He was considered to be a leading figure of the “village prose” group of writers.

The Birch

In fir plantation all is dreary,

The tone is muted and subdued.

A silver birch’s flash shines cheery

Alone among the firs that brood.


For people, death’s less complicated.

I saw myself an hour ago,

In distant grove, when agitated,

Birch started cheerful autumn show.


And here her leaves she now is shedding,

From other birches tucked away.

In hazy covert, blaze is spreading,

A hundred paces’ golden spray.


And dreary firs uncomprehending

Still closer in upon her crowd:

We both were verdant skywards trending

A while ago. Why’s she so proud?


And so, the serious firs stand thinking

As if they’re lowering gaze to ground.

For dying birch that now is shrinking

They vigil keep without a sound.


Robert Hass (1941 –), his books of poetry include The Apple Trees at Olema: New and Selected Poems (2010); Time and Materials (2007), which won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize; Sun Under Wood: New Poems (1996), which won the National Book Critics Circle Award; Human Wishes (1989); Praise (1979), which won the William Carlos Williams Award; and Field Guide (1973), which was selected by Stanley Kunitz for the Yale Younger Poets Series. He received the 2014 Wallace Stevens Award for proven mastery in the art of poetry by the Academy of American Poets. He is a distinguished professor in poetry and poetics at the University of California, Berkeley.

The Apple Trees at Olema

They are walking in the woods along the coast

and in a grassy meadow, wasting, they come upon

two old neglected apple trees. Moss thickened

every bough and the wood of the limbs looked rotten

but the trees were wild with blossom and a green fire

of small new leaves flickered even on the deadest branches.

Blue-eyes, poppies, a scattering of lupine

flecked the meadow, and an intricate, leopard-spotted

leaf-green flower whose name they didn't know.

Trout lily, he said; she said, adder's-tongue.

She is shaken by the raw, white, backlit flaring

of the apple blossoms. He is exultant,

as if some things he felt were verified,

and looks to her to mirror his response.

If it is afternoon, a thin moon of my own dismay

fades like a scar in the sky to the east of them.

He could be knocking wildly at a closed door

in a dream. She thinks, meanwhile, that moss

resembles seaweed drying lightly on a dock.

Torn flesh, it was the repetitive torn flesh

of appetite in the cold white blossoms

that had startled her. Now they seem tender

and where she was repelled, she takes the measure

of the trees and lets them in. But he no longer

has the apple trees. This is as sad or happy

as the tide, going out or coming in, at sunset.

The light catching in the spray that spumes up

on the reef is the color of the lesser finch

they notice now flashing dull gold in the light

above the field. They admire the bird together,

it draws them closer, and they start to walk again.

A small boy wanders corridors of a hotel that way.

Behind one door, a maid. Behind another one, a man

in striped pajamas shaving. He holds the number

of his room close to the center of his mind

gravely and delicately, as if it were the key,

and then he wanders among strangers all he wants.


Dorianne Laux (1952 –), the author of several collections of poetry. She was elected a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2020. Among her awards are a Pushcart Prize, an Editor’s Choice III Award, and a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Her poems have been translated into French, Italian, Korean, Romanian, Afrikaans, Dutch, and Brazilian Portuguese.

The Life of Trees

The pines rub their great noise

into the spangled dark, scratch

their itchy boughs against the house,

that moan’s mystery translates roughly

into drudgery of ownership: time

to drag the ladder from the shed,

climb onto the roof with a saw

between my teeth, cut

those suckers down. What’s reality

if not a long exhaustive cringe

from the blade, the teeth. I want to sleep

and dream the life of trees, beings

from the muted world who care

nothing for Money, Politics, Power, Will or Right,

who want little from the night

but a few dead stars going dim, a white owl

lifting from their limbs, who want only

to sink their roots into the wet ground

and terrify the worms or shake

their bleary heads like fashion models

or old hippies. If trees could speak,

they wouldn’t, only hum some low

green note, roll their pinecones

down the empty streets and blame it,

with a shrug, on the cold wind.

During the day they sleep inside

their furry bark, clouds shredding

like ancient lace above their crowns.

Sun. Rain. Snow. Wind. They fear

nothing but the Hurricane, and Fire,

that whipped bully who rises up

and becomes his own dead father.

In the storms the young ones

bend and bend and the old know

they may not make it, go down

with the power lines sparking,

broken at the trunk. They fling

their branches, forked sacrifice

to the beaten earth. They do not pray.

If they make a sound, it’s eaten

by the wind. And though the stars

return they do not offer thanks, only

ooze a sticky sap from their roundish

concentric wounds, clap the water

from their needles, straighten their spines

and breathe, and breathe again.


Emily Dickinson (1830 –1886) was an American poet. Little-known during her life, she has since been regarded as one of the most important figures in American poetry. Although much of the early reception concentrated on Dickinson's eccentric and secluded nature, she has become widely acknowledged as an innovative, proto-modernist poet. The world of nature and plant life, in particular, were significant themes in her poetry. Dickinson's herbarium, which is now held at Harvard University, was published in 2006 as Emily Dickinson's Herbarium. The original work was compiled by Dickinson during her years at Amherst Academy, and consists of 424 pressed specimens of plants arranged on 66 pages of a bound album.

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants -

At Evening, it is not

At Morning, in a Truffled Hut

It stops upon a Spot


As if it tarried always

And yet it’s whole Career

Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay -

And fleeter than a Tare -


’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler -

The Germ of Alibi -

Doth like a Bubble antedate

And like a Bubble, hie -


I feel as if the Grass was pleased

To have it intermit -

This surreptitious Scion

Of Summer’s circumspect.


Had Nature any supple Face

Or could she one contemn -

Had Nature an Apostate -

That Mushroom - it is Him!


Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963) is credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for two of her published collections, The Colossus and Other Poems (1960) and Ariel (1965), and also The Bell Jar, a semi-autobiographical novel published shortly before her suicide in 1963. The Collected Poems was published in 1981, which included previously unpublished works. For this collection Plath was awarded a Pulitzer Prize in Poetry in 1982, making her the fourth to receive this honour posthumously.


Overnight, very

Whitely, discreetly,

Very quietly

Our toes, our noses

Take hold on the loam,

Acquire the air.


Nobody sees us,

Stops us, betrays us;

The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on

Heaving the needles,

The leafy bedding,


Even the paving.

Our hammers, our rams,

Earless and eyeless,


Perfectly voiceless,

Widen the crannies,

Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,

On crumbs of shadow,

Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.

So many of us!

So many of us!

We are shelves, we are

Tables, we are meek,

We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers

In spite of ourselves.

Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning

Inherit the earth.

Our foot's in the door.

About the journal

In accordance with the Law of the Russian Federation on the Mass Media, the Federal Service for Supervision of Communications, Information Technology and Mass Communications (Roskomnadzor) on September 22, 2020, the web-based publication - The peer-reviewed scientific online journal "Ecopoiesis: Eco-Human Theory and Practice" was registered (registration number El No. FS77-79134).

“Ecopoiesis: Eco-Human Theory and Practice” is the international multidisciplinary Journal focused on building an eco-human paradigm, disseminating eco-human knowledge and technology based on the alliance of ecology, humanities and the arts. Our journal aims to be a vibrant forum of theories and practices aimed at harmonizing the relations of mankind and the natural world in the interests of sustainable development, the creation of Eco-Humanity as a new community of human beings and more-than-human world. The human being is an ecological being, not separate from the world. The Ecopoiesis journal is based on that premise and aims to develop a body of theory and practice within that framework.

The Journal promotes dialogue and cooperation between ecologists, philosophers, doctors, educators, psychologists, artists, musicians, designers, social activists, business representatives in the name of eco-human values, human health and well-being, in close connection with concern for the environment. The Journal supports the development and implementation of new environmentally-friendly concepts, technologies and practices in the various fields of health and public life, education and social work.

One of the priority tasks of the Journal is to demonstrate and support the significant role of the arts in their alliance with ecology and the humanities for the restoration and development of constructive relations with nature, raising environmental awareness and promoting nature-friendly lifestyles.

The Journal publishes articles describing new eco-human concepts and practices, technologies and applied research data at the intersection of humanities, ecology and the arts, as well as interviews and conference reports related to the emerging eco-human field. It encourages artwork, music and other creative products related to eco-human practices and the new global community of Eco-Humanity.