Birds and poetry (1 Viewer)

tracker · Feb 19, 2004

A Summers Moment

For 'tis the night of sweet sensuous loves,
Of evening suns, ambient sounds of lark and stream,
Oh how the air does hold our breath, as silently we stroll,
Bathing, feeling, dining on the path ahead, punctuated with the kiss of a butterfly.
What captures your mind, my love
Is it the caress of summers breeze,
Or the melodic chatter of the Sedge?
From the cup of your joy and excitement, may i sip and be intoxicated forever?
For A sky without birds, my sweet, is my life without you!

tracker

AnnieW · Feb 19, 2004

gordon hamlett said:
There is an interesting link to a thesis which analyses the number of bird appearances in Wordsworth's poems.

Gordon

Speaking of Wordsworth - I don't think this one has been mentioned so far :

The Green Linnet

BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of Spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequester'd nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat,
And flowers and birds once more to greet,
My last year's friends together!

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:—
Hail to thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array
Presiding spirit here to-day
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment;
A life, a presence like the air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too blest with any one to pair,
Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies
Yet seeming still to hover;—
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives—
A brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain
He mock'd and treated with disdain
The voiceless form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes

AnnieW · Feb 19, 2004

And I don't think we've had any Shakespeare yet either ... so here's one with a birdy reference :

Winter

WHEN icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whoo!
Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl—
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whoo!
Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Based on the weather reports -- I suspect some of you from over the pond might relate to the sentiments expressed above !!!

scampo · Feb 20, 2004

Nerine said:
"I like Jonathan Livingston Seagull and The Snow Goose myself, not poems but little books, both made me cry. (really)"

Two brilliant books that made me cry too, especially The Snow Goose. Both short books but full of depth and those that can be read over and over again. Thanks for mentioning those, Darren.

Nerine

I haven't read the first, but the second is quite an amazing short story. As you say, easy on one level, but full of deeper meanings if you are an older reader.

scampo · Feb 20, 2004

One of the most interesting modern poets has been Ted Hughes - he didn't especially like the title "nature poet" because he said that his poems were only about "nature" on the surface. He once said that he was possessed by the fear of us all being reduced from the active and energetic individuals we should be to passive onlookers of life via the TV set. His poems often concern what he saw as this increasing loss of energy - he saw it as a "primal" energy. Here is his poem about a hawk - told exclusivley from the viewpoint of the bird:

HAWK ROOSTING

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it slowly—
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads—

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

Ted Hughes

Darren Oakley-Martin · Feb 20, 2004

scampo said:
One of the most interesting modern poets has been Ted Hughes - he didn't especially like the title "nature poet" because he said that his poems were only about "nature" on the surface. He once said that he was possessed by the fear of us all being reduced from the active and energetic individuals we should be to passive onlookers of life via the TV set. His poems often concern what he saw as this increasing loss of energy - he saw it as a "primal" energy. Here is his poem about a hawk - told exclusivley from the viewpoint of the bird:

HAWK ROOSTING

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it slowly—
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads—

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

Ted Hughes

Forgot about that one Steve, a truly brilliant poem. don't know about anyone else but i don't think Ted would have been Ted without Sylvia, (and certainly vice versa, alas).

scampo · Feb 20, 2004

I'm not sure I think Ted's poetry arose out of their relationship, but you might be right - lots of tensions and friction there, for sure. Here's Plath's "Blackberrying":

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.

Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks —
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.

The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills' northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

Darren Oakley-Martin · Feb 20, 2004

scampo said:
I'm not sure I think Ted's poetry arose out of their relationship, but you might be right - lots of tensions and friction there, for sure. Here's Plath's "Blackberrying":

Agreed, not arisen from, more influenced by. Especially his later work. Anyway, a little of thread, but I urge you Steve, read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, it is a BRILLIANT way to spend 2 hours.

Charles Harper · Feb 20, 2004

... it took you two hours?...

AnnieW · Feb 20, 2004

scampo said:
I'm not sure I think Ted's poetry arose out of their relationship, but you might be right - lots of tensions and friction there, for sure. Here's Plath's "Blackberrying":

I seem to remember reading somewhere that it was Sylvia who helped Ted to compile his first manuscript "the Hawk in the Rain" and then encouraged him to submit into a Publishers poetry competition (can't remember the details). The collection won first prize which subsequently lead to it being published in both the US and UK.

I came across a quote from him about his early days with Sylvia : "We would write poetry every day. It was all we were interested in, all we ever did"

scampo · Feb 20, 2004

He didn't seem the sort to need much encouragement to me, but I think you're right, Annie. Gosh - can you imagine their evenings in? Him knowing what he wants and wanting it now, she wondering if daddy would approve.

Anyway, although he was put in the shade by the outright intelligence of Larkin, Hughes did write some good poetry and as we're supposed to be on the theme of avifauna - do you know the "Crow" series? Marvellous shocking stuff if you're at all conservative minded (small "c"). Here's a snippet:

from 'A CHILDISH PRANK'

. . .Crow laughed.
He bit the Worm, God’s only son,
Into two writhing halves.

He stuffed into man the tail half
With the wounded end hanging out.

He stuffed the head half headfirst into woman
And it crept deeper and up
To peer out through her eyes
Calling its tail-half to join up quickly
Because O it was painful. . .

He tried - but Larkin puts him in the shade.

Adey Baker · Feb 20, 2004

Now the seagull spreads his wing,
And the puffin seeks the shore,
Home flies every living thing,
Yo, ho! the breakers roar!
Only the cormorant, dark and sly,
Watches the waves with a sea-green eye

Emily Lawless

There were rare birds I never saw before,
The like of them I think to see more:
Th'are called wheat-ears, less than lark or sparrow,
Well roasted, in the mouth they taste like marrow.
When once 'tis in the teeth it is involv'd,
Bones, flesh, and all is lusciously dissolv'd.
The name of wheat-ears, on them is ycleped
Because they come when wheat is yearly reaped,
Six weeks, or thereabouts, they are catch'd there.
And are well nigh eleven months, God knows where.

John Taylor (1580-1653)

AnnieW · Feb 20, 2004

scampo said:
Anyway, although he was put in the shade by the outright intelligence of Larkin, Hughes did write some good poetry and as we're supposed to be on the theme of avifauna - do you know the "Crow" series? Marvellous shocking stuff if you're at all conservative minded (small "c"). Here's a snippet:

We've got a copy of "Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow" - but I have to confess, it's not something I've ever managed to plough my way through. In an attempt to understand better I did manage to find this essay a little while back : http://www.zeta.org.au/~annskea/Trickstr.htm although I don't t hink it helped me much. I just don't think I get him. Sylvia Plath on the otherhand, I find more accsesible - so here's another of her's on an avian theme :

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there

Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain-
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical
Yet politic, ignorant

Of whatever angel any choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur.
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance
Miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,

For that rare, random descent.

Sylvia Plath

Nerine · Feb 20, 2004

Just a few thoughtful lines:

"The law doth punish man or woman
That steals the goose from off the Common
But lets the greater felon loose
That steals the Common from the goose"

anon

Nerine

Nerine · Feb 20, 2004

Adey Baker said:

Now the seagull spreads his wing,
And the puffin seeks the shore,
Home flies every living thing,
Yo, ho! the breakers roar!
Only the cormorant, dark and sly,
Watches the waves with a sea-green eye

Emily Lawless

Click to expand...

Adey Baker said:
Like that one, Adey, not come across it before.

Not so keen on the John Taylor poem!!

Nerine

Adey Baker · Feb 20, 2004

Hi Nerine

The Lawless one is a quote in a book of 'Country Talk' by J.H.B. Peel that I've had for years - he had a very extensive knowledge of poetry as each one of his articles (originally a fortnightly column in the Daily Telegraph) is peppered with suitable extracts from a wide range of poets.

The Taylor one is from the 'Shell Bird Book'

Adey

scampo · Feb 21, 2004

tracker said:
For 'tis the night of sweet sensuous loves,
Of evening suns, ambient sounds of lark and stream,
Oh how the air does hold our breath, as silently we stroll,
Bathing, feeling, dining on the path ahead, punctuated with the kiss of a butterfly.
What captures your mind, my love
Is it the caress of summers breeze,
Or the melodic chatter of the Sedge?
From the cup of your joy and excitement, may i sip and be intoxicated forever?
For A sky without birds, my sweet, is my life without you!

tracker

Hey - you're a romantic, that's for sure! A fine poem.

scampo · Feb 21, 2004

Whilst we are on Auden, can I be forgiven for posting a rather long poem with but a fleeting reference to birds? It's deceptively simple, but look at these wonderful lines:

"‘O look, look in the mirror?

O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless..."

Here is the whole poem. It's worth a close reading despite its length, I hope you'll agree:

As I Walked Out One Evening
W H Auden

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

‘I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

‘The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.’

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

‘In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

‘Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

‘O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

‘Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

‘O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

‘O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.’

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

scampo · Feb 21, 2004

Darrenom said:
scampo said:

I'm not sure I think Ted's poetry arose out of their relationship, but you might be right - lots of tensions and friction there, for sure. Here's Plath's "Blackberrying":

Agreed, not arisen from, more influenced by. Especially his later work. Anyway, a little of thread, but I urge you Steve, read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, it is a BRILLIANT way to spend 2 hours.

Click to expand...

Thanks Darren - I'll look into it. I admit I haven't come across it before.

tracker · Feb 21, 2004

scampo said:
Hey - you're a romantic, that's for sure! A fine poem.

Thanks Steve,
I just got the idea, whilst reading the other threads here. I got a 'feeling' that reminded me of a walk in the country in the summertime.

I hope its not a cheat on the thread?............. :eek!:

Maybe we could do a 'BF Poets Corner', whereby members could attempt to write a piece of poetry, relating to birding or other wildlife?

tracker

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