Sycamore Gap
You’re history, said the tree to the wall;
the last crumbling remains of empire.
You are the invader, replied the wall.
I am the conqueror, said the tree to the wall;
sending platoons of seeds across my territory.
I stand alone, replied the wall.
I chose this valley, said the tree to the wall;
stretching my roots under your scored foundations.
I belong here, replied the wall.
I am growing taller, said the tree to the wall;
you’re a lonely stone sentry outstripped by a sapling.
I remain, replied the wall.
I am a survivor, said the tree to the wall;
I host the resurrection of each turning season.
I endure, replied the wall.
You’re the one they blame, said the tree to the wall;
insensate barrier, stone-deaf to the rough bark of liberty.
You cannot know, replied the wall.
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Witches are not the only subjects of investigation for Zoe Mitchell in her first collection, Hag, which appeared in 2018. Folklore and myth allow various approaches to contemporary pastoral, and Mitchell finds new resonance through her own mythological inventions.
The dialogue structure is an ancient one for songs and poems, and Sycamore Gap demonstrates its continuing possibilities. Here, the exchange between the tree and a nearby section of Hadrian’s Wall, representing (at least in the tree’s view) “the last crumbling remains of empire”, points up similarities as well as differences between the speakers.
Sycamore Gap is a real place, near Crag Lough in Northumberland, where a magnificent sycamore tree, several hundred years old, occupies a dip between two hills. Significantly, in the poem it’s the tree rather than the wall which favours a militaristic vocabulary (“empire”, “conqueror”, “territory” etc).
The wall is visualised in the poem’s structure, having a line to itself for each of its replies. The device emphasises its isolation and immobility (“I stand alone, replied the wall.”) But the tree is not less assertive than the wall and the poem works subtly against potential stereotypes as it progresses. Described by the wall as “the invader”, the tree retorts: “I am the conqueror,” and goes on to boast about the spreading roots and “platoons of seeds” that are its means of conquest.
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” as Robert Frost’s Mending Wall persuasively begins. Enlisting with the anti-wall brigade, I found myself tempted to change sides as the tree became more rhetorically florid: “I am a survivor, said the tree to the wall; / I host the resurrection of each turning season.” The tree seems to imagine itself as God or having godlike abilities. It’s interesting, though, that in the same couplet it has referred to itself as “a survivor”. The word delivers a moment of parity between the two opponents. “I remain” and “I endure” are the proud assertions of the wall. Both speakers are proclaiming the power of endurance.
A change of voice and tactics occurs with the tree’s accusation, “You’re the one they blame.” This is effective in several ways. It suggests the tree is not entirely sure of its facts about the history of the wall and the reason for its presence, but perpetuating a received idea. And it gives a larger identity to the wall, suggesting that walls habitually, and possibly unfairly, get a bad press for malign separations. The tree continues its verbal attack, in a tone of mixed impatience and revolutionary fervour, castigating the wall as an “insensate barrier, stone-deaf to the rough bark of liberty”.
Now the tree’s credibility has been called into question, and it seems the wall is allowed the last inscrutable word: “You cannot know.” Youthful ambition is often defeated by similar assumptions. But this one has the ring of truth in the poem’s narrative.
Sycamore Gap engages with gaps in perception. It’s a vividly chilling illustration of bad political negotiation. Neither character has asked the other a question, or acknowledged any common ground. As to the larger context, readers are given plenty of room to imagine what the sycamore and the wall might represent metaphorically. Perhaps the tree represents a new spirit of national self-determination. Perhaps the wall, once a heavily fortified border, now stands for strong, local community (“I belong here”) feeling vulnerable to a vigorous immigrant culture creating its own strong roots.
The dialogue between the two figures was potentially a conversation. Instead, it has remained a combat or agon. The absence of an easy resolution adds to the strength of the poem, though.