Birds and poetry (1 Viewer)

christineredgate · Feb 14, 2004

How many poems can you think of where birds are either the main topic of the poem or they are given a mention.

Here is on example.This poem entitled "The Black Guillemot" was written by a local poet,Norman Nicholson OBE(1914-1987).His poetry is very stark and raw.Most of his poems are written about the hardship of the iron ore miners in the area and the local countryside,of both the lakes and the South Cumbrian coast.Here are two short extracts in which he mentions the nesting Guillemots at St Bees North Head Quote:
And down on one shelf,
Dozen on dozen pressed side by side together,
White breast by breast,
Beaks to the rock and tails to the fish stocked sea,
The Guillemots rest

I swing my binoculars into the veer of the wind,
Sight, now,fifty yards from shore,
That rarer Auk:all black,
But for two white patches where the wings join the back.
UnQuote.
Also two other well known poems,The Owl and the Pussycat,and of course The Lark.( cannot remember who wrote the latter.)

Elizabeth Bigg · Feb 14, 2004

My sons loved this one when they were small - we have a recording of one of them reading this - it was Twotty Wagtail then!

Little Trotty Wagtail

Little Trotty Wagtail he went in the rain
And twittering, tottering sideways he ne'er got straight again,
He stooped to get a worm and looked up to get a fly,
And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry.

Little Trotty Wagtail he waddled in the mud,
And left his little footmarks, trample where he would.
He waddled in the water pudge and waggle went his tail,
And chirrupt up his wings to dry upon the garden rail.

Little Trotty Wagtail, you nimble all about,
And in the dimpling waterpudge you waddle in and out;
Your home is nigh at hand and in the warm pig stye,
So, little Master Wagtail, I'll bid you a goodbye.

John Clare (1793-1864

christineredgate · Feb 14, 2004

Thanks,Elizabeth,what a delightful little verse.It is so typical of the Wagtails habits.
Thanks again,it is lovely

birdman · Feb 14, 2004

My father used to recite this to me, although I had to Google it, and there are a lot more verses than I remember!

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.

Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,with my little eye,
I saw him die.

Who caught his blood?
I, said the Fish,with my little dish,
I caught his blood.

Who'll make the shroud?
I, said the Beetle,with my thread and needle,
I'll make the shroud.

Who'll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,with my pick and shovel,
I'll dig his grave.

Who'll be the parson?
I, said the Rook,with my little book,
I'll be the parson.

Who'll be the clerk?
I, said the Lark,if it's not in the dark,
I'll be the clerk.

Who'll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,I'll fetch it in a minute,
I'll carry the link.

Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,I mourn for my love,
I'll be chief mourner.

Who'll carry the coffin?
I, said the Kite,if it's not through the night,
I'll carry the coffin.

Who'll bear the pall?
We, said the Wren,both the cock and the hen,
We'll bear the pall.

Who'll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,as she sat on a bush,
I'll sing a psalm.

Who'll toll the bell?
I said the bull,because I can pull,
I'll toll the bell.

All the birds of the air
fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
when they heard the bell toll
for poor Cock Robin.

I seem to recall being told the first, second, fifth, sixth and last two verses - although "my" Owl had a trowel, and the birds "heard of the death of poor cock robin"

scampo · Feb 14, 2004

Christine - what a wonderful thread. I could run it for a good time with all the poems I have about birds but I'd better not. I do hope it brings delight, thought and reflection to those who stop by to read it. Thanks for starting it with that lovely poem - what a marvellous use of sound, fast then s-l-o-w.

I wonder, about the Lark poem you mentioned, are you thinking of Shelley's "To a Skylark"? Here are a few lines:

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! ...
... ...

...Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Here's a famous poem about a bird that I teach to Year 10s. It's by the American poet, Maya Angelou, whose autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, contains the poem. The book's a fine read - especially if you read it alongside one written more specifically for an adult audience such as, say, The Colour Purple as a kind of contrast.

Caged Bird
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

scampo · Feb 14, 2004

Elizabeth Bigg said:
My sons loved this one when they were small - we have a recording of one of them reading this - it was Twotty Wagtail then!

Little Trotty Wagtail

John Clare (1793-1864

Marvellous, Elizabeth, thanks for that. Oh, John Clare, what memories - I wrote my dissertation on him. Poor fellow to have loved someone "above his station" who wouldn't return his love. He never recovered and his attempts to dispalce his love by a love of Nature eventually failed to help him and he ended up in a Victorian asylum.

Here's his most famous poem - very different from Little Trotty Wagtail! This was written at a very melancholy moment in Northampton County Asylum - it is often referred to as his "last lines":

I am!

I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest—that I loved the best—
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

robinm · Feb 14, 2004

The lark also appears in a poem by the English poet George Meredith (1828-1909). It inspired the composition "The Lark Ascending" by Vaughan Williams (a wonderful piece of music if you get the chance to hear it). Vaughan Williams included this portion of Meredith's poem on the flyleaf of the published work:

He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.

christineredgate · Feb 14, 2004

Thankyou all for the poems above,even if anyone can just think of poem titles with bird names or poems which include birds,doesn,t have to be the whole poem.
Just thought of another one"The Ancient Mariner",which contains the Albatross,I had to learn large portions of it for exams!!,but it always fascinates me.

rogerk · Feb 14, 2004

Morning has broken.
.....blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.

Beverlybaynes · Feb 15, 2004

I'm so awful about poetry, I know so little about it -- but I'm so glad I've read this thread!

Poets seems to have the ability to voice what we so often feel when watching birds, don't you think? To give voice to the feelings of joy that accompany watching those beautiful feathered creations is a real gift, one I wish I had, but don't.

My feeble contribution would be from the Beatles:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night . . . .

Rosah · Feb 15, 2004

Edgar Allen Poe: Quoth the Raven "Nevermore".

Charles Harper · Feb 15, 2004

The Dodo

There is a Boid I would avoid,
He dwelleth in access'--
Not on a Pole or in a Hole
He buildeth hem his Nest.

Oh, reckless Wight, he lays on land,
& waddles close beside;
He pays no mind to other kind,
Nor runs, nor stoops to hide.

The Dodo is a deadly Boid,
He sits on deadly Nests;
He lives alone on cold Sandstone
& entertains no Guests.

The Dodo, he has no éclat,
He doesn't hesitate
To give the Dogs & English Hogs
A crack at Dodo fate.

The Dodo is a stupid Boid,
Without the sense to fly.
He's dead & gone, with just this Song,
A cautionary Sigh:

So if you would a Dodo be,
Replete & Solitaire,
Consider well that time will swell
That fine Réunion Air,

That time will boil this mortal Coil.
None but the Dodo know,
So put it to him, Rat & Stoat,
Lest this his Rumour grow;

For if his Humour grow too large,
His Dodo Song too sad,
His morbid Masc'rene Melody
Shall then no more be had.

'Shall then no more be had'-- 'tis sad.
& yet, 'tis true, 'tis true:
He shan't be back till Hell's doors crack,
& now, Sir, how's't by you?

Elizabeth Bigg · Feb 15, 2004

This sums up the feelings of Forum members:

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.

From Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake

Charles Harper · Feb 15, 2004

Not me. We don't discuss 'em, but cagebirds have their place.

AnnieW · Feb 15, 2004

Wonderful thread, Christine - birds and poems !!!

The very first poem I ever remember reading, at about age 4, was from an illustrated `A Child's Garden of Verses' by R.L. Stevenson. The book was a Christmas present from my gran. I still remember proudly reciting it at the front of the class when the teacher asked does anyone know a poem !! It's very short ......

A birdy with a yellow bill
Hopped upon the window sill.
Cocked his shining eye and said:
"Ain't you shamed, you sleepy head?"

I still think of this poem when the robin hops on the kitchen window sill looking for breakfast.

One of my other favourites from childhood, I've already posted on the "favourite bird behaviour" thread - A Duck's Ditty from Wind in the Willows.

I'll pass on to someone else now, while I ponder on some others over a cup of coffee and Vaughn Williams `Lark Ascending' (thanks Robin for bringing this to mind - I haven't listened to it for ages !!)

Annie

AnnieW · Feb 15, 2004

Steve - I missed your post on John Clare. I remember studying John Clare for `O' Lecel English many years ago. I seem to remember having to compare the difference between the way Keats wrote about nature compared to Clare.

What always struck me, even way back then, was that Clare always sounded as though he had seen what he was writing about, whereas Keats sounded as though he was writing about what he thought these experiences should feel like (I'm sure there is a far more elegant way of putting it !!). Anyway I just went and found the old school poetry book and reminded myself of another 2 of Clare's bird poems ... the first's a bit long to reproduce, so I've just put in the first verse :

The Landrail

How sweet and pleasant grows the way
Through summer time again
While Landrails call from day to day
Amid the grass and grain

I think Landrail is another name for Corncrake.

The other is `The Early Nightingale'

When first we hear the shy-come nightingales,
They seem to mutter o’er their songs in fear,
And, climb we e’er so soft the spinney rails,
All stops as if no bird was anywhere.
The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin
Let curious eyes to search a long way in,
Until impatience cannot see or hear
The hidden music; gets but little way
Upon the path - when up the songs begin,
Full loud a moment and then low again.
But when a day or two confirms her stay
Boldly she sings and loud for half the day;
And soon the village brings the woodman’s tale
Of having heard the new-come nightingale

scampo · Feb 15, 2004

Charles Harper said:
The Dodo... ...

Very good, Charles... Yours???

scampo · Feb 15, 2004

AnnieW said:
Steve - I missed your post on John Clare. I remember studying John Clare for 'O' Level English many years ago. I seem to remember having to compare the difference between the way Keats wrote about nature compared to Clare...

Thanks, Annie. I'd struggle teaching Clare and Keats to a mixed-ability GCSE group today; they'd cope with Clare's language, of course, and his mainly literal meanings but would want more to be "happening"!

As for Keats, well, he was so enamoured of the Golden Age of Greek and Roman myth that a modern student would have difficulty getting to get to grips with his allusions and symbolism. He was self-taught, by the way - as was Clare - and he spoke with an East-End accent! They're great to teach for thir sound and imagery, though.

Here is a fine Keats' poem - not so classical - that contains one of his most famous lines, "And no birds sing":

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats

O what can ail thee, Knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, Knight-at -arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a Lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child; –
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sidelong would she bend and sing,
A faery’s song.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone,
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said –
‘I love thee true.’

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sigh’d full sore,
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep
And there I dream’d – Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill-side.

I saw pale Kings, and Princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried – ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gapèd wide
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill-side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered on the lake,
And no birds sing.

scampo · Feb 15, 2004

Beverlybaynes said:
I'm so awful about poetry, I know so little about it -- but I'm so glad I've read this thread!

Poets seems to have the ability to voice what we so often feel when watching birds, don't you think? To give voice to the feelings of joy that accompany watching those beautiful feathered creations is a real gift, one I wish I had, but don't.

My feeble contribution would be from the Beatles:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night . . . .

But what a fine and memorable line that is! Thanks Beverly - I think you know more about this subject than you realise.

AnnieW · Feb 15, 2004

scampo said:
Thanks, Annie. I'd struggle teaching Clare and Keats to a mixed-ability GCSE group today; they'd cope with Clare's language, of course, and his mainly literal meanings but would want more to be "happening"!

As for Keats, well, he was so enamoured of the Golden Age of Greek and Roman myth that a modern student would have difficulty getting to get to grips with his allusions and symbolism. He was self-taught, by the way - as was Clare - and he spoke with an East-End accent! They're great to teach for thir sound and imagery, though.

Steve - Hijacking this thread slightly ... interested in your comment about teaching GCSE today. This struck a real chord with me and my partner, who have a 16 year old going through GCSE's currently. I get SO frustrated at how they seem to be taught these days (not a dig at the teachers by the way !!) ... and the emphasis on the happening not the meaning. For example, he's been studying the war poets this year, and all his course work has been based around writing up their experiences as if he was a war columnist - using the PC to lay things out in a particular style. Having looked through some of his stuff the other day, there was no doubting that the presentation was excellent - but he seemed to have completely missed the point of some of the imagery and true meaning. I tried pointing this out - but he, being a stubborn teenager, was not going to change anything .... and then he got a B+ for the work.

I didn't go through any sort of (and I hate using the worg) elitist eductaion - large inner city comprehensive - but we did seem to be taught at a `higher level' than today's GCSEs .... and this just doesn't go for English, it appears to be true right across the curricullum. It seems that all across the board the empasis is on it being fun - at the expense of content. So am I being unduly critical on the overworked staff - are courses really being dumbed down ???

And ... having rambled on for a bit about my perception of the state of UK education ... I'll try and bring it back on thread by thanking you for `La Belle Dame Sans Merci' another from my school days !!

Though the sedge is withered on the lake,
And no birds sing

Always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up !!

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