Drawn Near: A Fawn, a Sunset, and a Poem

As a Young Fawn, I

As a young fawn I, with awkward step
found an opening in the wood;
unfolding eyes beheld and touched
what I could little understand —
that though I’d freely come to see,
‘twas his hand that was drawing me.

I wished not that our eyes would meet,
my heart, berserk with wildness, quaked,
but when his eye fell fast upon me
I, too, even dared to gaze
shamelessly,
that eternal moment touching.

Though first my heart had bid me flee
I had to know just why he’d come
to this place, my forest home.
(And it’s funny how he heard my fears
from distant hills re-echo.)

Magnetic sunset pink and gold
was all I meant that hour to view,
yet clearly it seemed meant for us
together on that hill to share
a dramatic fairy tale
that wasn’t bound by miles of string.
                                    New Jersey, 1975

THE REST OF THE STORY
It’s generally considered bad form to explain the meaning of one’s poetry. This does not mean, however, that one should never discuss the experiences that inspired them. Robert Frost often discussed his poetry, sometimes illuminating its meaning and sometimes deliberately preserving its ambiguity.

I myself think there are times when it’s perfectly suitable to share the backstory, to explain the event or events that ignited one to craft a poem or song. I think here of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” as well as numerous Beatles songs. One of my favorite contemporary poets, Billy Collins, has frequently discussed the experiences and observations behind his poems, often with humor.

With that being said, As a Young Fawn, I was an attempt to capture an experience I had in 1973. One evening I had taken a walk at dusk with my sketchbook. I seated myself on a path at the top of a hillside overlooking a sunset. I was absorbing the peacefulness there, sitting still, taking it in, when very softly a young fawn came walking along a path that intersected with where I was seated. She was quite tentative, but curious.

I’d been contemplating what to draw and as the fawn and I made eye contact I began drawing her. As I did, she drew nearer, was breathtakingly near.

It was autumn and may even have been hunting season. Two rifle shots echoed from the distance and my new acquaintance suddenly took flight.

I wrote the poem two years later while reflecting on this unexpected, seemingly chance encounter which I saw as a vivid metaphor for my own life's spiritual journey.