Spectator competitions: poems about the Sycamore Gap tree

In Competition No. 3322 you were invited to submit a poem reflecting on the fate of the Sycamore Gap tree, planted in the late 19th century by Newcastle lawyer John Clayton.

Antony Gormley, who has a studio in Hexham near the site of the felled tree, has described it as ‘a marker in the lie of the land’. Talk of replacing it with a sculpture is wrongheaded, he said, quoting fellow artist Mark Wallinger: ‘A sculpture and a tree are very different, and in most cases a tree is always preferable.’

Several competitors drew to great effect on Manley Hopkins’s 1879 ‘Binsey Poplars’, inspired by the felling of a row of poplar trees on the bank of the River Thames. David Shields earns a commendation.

The winners below scoop £25.

If you’re a photogenic, striking tree,

rejoice! We have in Hexham, by a wall,

a full-time role for you, a vacancy,

you must be landmark-worthy, ancient, tall,

adept at being honoured, hugged, admired,

a sentinel and shelter, resting-place.

Stargazers will enthuse, their nights inspired,

you’ll symbolise resistance, nature’s grace.

For generations you will proudly stand,

beloved, famous; hikers by the score

will trek to you across the wild northland

to view one leafy, lush, lone sycamore.

Branch out in your career, put roots down, grow,

be vandal-proof until your late retirement –

a vital skill, for since a recent blow,

it is, in fact, our number one requirement.

Janine Beacham

Sycamore, sycamore, beautiful sycamore,

How can it be that you’re felled in your prime,

Target of evil or psychopathology,

Prey to an odious, hideous crime?

Towering, flowering pride of Northumberland

Loved by romantics and dreamers galore,

Ally of artists and astrophotographers,

What in the world were you sacrificed for?

Prominent, eminent, elegant sentinel

Guarding the wall as the centuries passed,

How could the teeth of a 21st-century

Chainsaw have torn through your heartwood at last?

Sycamore, sycamore, beautiful sycamore,

Why are you pallid and drained of your sap,

Leaving behind you an incomprehensible

Wound, and a heartrending sycamore gap?

Alex Steelsmith