(Std.11-State Board) 2.1 CHERRY TREE- Pictorial Presentation

Ruskin Bond

Born in Kasauli, Himachal Pradesh, in 1934, Ruskin Bond has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas and more than thirty books for children. His first novel, ‘The Room on the Roof’, written when he was seventeen received the John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize in 1957. He has also published two volumes of autobiography, ‘Scenes from a Writer’s Life’ and ‘The Lamp is Lit’, a collection of essays and episodes from his journal. In 1992 he received the Sahitya Akademi Award for English writing in India. He was awarded the Padmashri in 1999. Ruskin Bond lives with his adopted family in Mussoorie, Uttarakhand.

About Poem

The poem, “Cherry Tree” is about the poet’s ecstasy over a tree which he planted that took eight years to grow. He is expressing his wonder at the ways of Nature and how the cherry blossoms are fragile and quick to fall. The tree gives him immense joy as he can see the stars and the blue sky through dappled green trees.

This is a beautiful poem that highlights the joy of planting and watching a tree grow. The poem tells the story of a small cherry seed that the poet plants. Despite facing many challenges, the seed grows into a strong tree and finally blooms. The poem celebrates nature’s beauty, resilience, and the patience required to witness growth. It also reflects the poet’s admiration for the simple yet magical process of life.

Poem

Eight years have passed
Since I placed my cherry seed in the grass.
“Must have a tree of my own,” I said,
And watered it once and went to bed
And forgot; but cherries have a way of growing,
Though no one’s caring very much or knowing.
And suddenly that summer near the end of May,
I found a tree had come to stay.
It was very small, five months child,
Lost in the tall grass running wild.
Goats ate the leaves, the grass cutter scythe
Split it apart and a monsoon blight
Shrivelled the slender stem….. Even so,
Next spring I watched three new shoots grow,
The young tree struggle, upward thrust
Its arms in a fresh fierce lust
For light and air and sun.
I could only wait, as one
Who watched, wandering, while Time and the rain
Made a miracle from green growing pain….
I went away next year-
Spent a season in Kashmir-
Came back thinner, rather poor,
But richer by a cherry tree at my door.
Six feet high my own dark cherry,
And I could scarcely believe it-a berry.
Ripened and jeweled in the sun,
Hung from a branch-just one!
And next year there were blossoms small
Pink, fragile, quick to fall
At the merest breath, the sleepiest breeze….

I lay on the grass, at ease,
Looking up through leaves at the blue
Blind sky, at the finches as they flew
And flitted through the dappled green.
While bees in an ecstasy drank
Of nectar from each bloom and the sun sank
Swiftly, and the stars turned in the sky,
And moon-moths and singing crickets and I
Yes, I! — praised Night and Stars and tree:
That small, the cherry, grown by me.

Presentation

Eight years have passed
Since I placed my cherry seed in the grass.
“Must have a tree of my own,” I said,
And watered it once and went to bed

And forgot; but cherries have a way of growing,
Though no one’s caring very much or knowing.
And suddenly that summer near the end of May,
I found a tree had come to stay.
It was very small, five months child,
Lost in the tall grass running wild.

Goats ate the leaves, the grass cutter scythe
Split it apart and a monsoon blight
Shrivelled the slender stem….. Even so,

Next spring I watched three new shoots grow,
The young tree struggle, upward thrust
Its arms in a fresh fierce lust
For light and air and sun.
I could only wait, as one
Who watched, wandering, while Time and the rain
Made a miracle from green growing pain….

I went away next year-
Spent a season in Kashmir-

Came back thinner, rather poor,
But richer by a cherry tree at my door.
Six feet high my own dark cherry,
And I could scarcely believe it-a berry.
Ripened and jeweled in the sun,
Hung from a branch-just one!

And next year there were blossoms small
Pink, fragile, quick to fall
At the merest breath, the sleepiest breeze….

I lay on the grass, at ease,
Looking up through leaves at the blue
Blind sky, at the finches as they flew
And flitted through the dappled green.
While bees in an ecstasy drank
Of nectar from each bloom and the sun sank
Swiftly, and the stars turned in the sky,
And moon-moths and singing crickets and I
Yes, I! — praised Night and Stars and tree:
That small, the cherry, grown by me.

also see

1.2 ON TO THE SUMMIT: WE REACH THE TOP- Pictorial Presentation
1.6 TIGER HILLS- Pictorial Presentation
2.2 THE SOWER- Pictorial Presentation
2.3 THERE IS ANOTHER SKY- Pictorial Presentation
2.4 UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE- Pictorial Presentation