About the Birds: Poetry Month and Earth Day

 

Since I seem to be derelict (or busy) regarding this blog, and considering that April is National Poetry Month here in the USA, perhaps it is time to share a few of my poems. And since it is also Earth Day, poems about wild birds seems appropriate.  

Please note that these poems are all copyright in my name.

 

My young neighbor, years ago, was passionate about raptors and had permissions from National authorities to hold and treat wild species. At any given time you might find Golden Eagles, Bald Eagles, Red-tailed Hawks, and other birds of prey in his aviaries. Cornell flew experts out to perform surgeries in extreme cases. And sometimes he worked with local wildlife vets to rehabilitate some wild birds. He once stopped by my place to show me a pygmy owl that had bumped into a car windshield that he was asked to treat and was transporting to his home up the hill. It recovered quickly, mostly from shock. The heron he tried to save didn’t make it, but I watched while he made the attempt to force-feed it. (He has since become a nationally recognized wild bird specialist with “Dr.” in front of his name.)

 

Feeding the Heron

I remember how my neighbor’s boy

tried to save the blue heron --   

damaged, starving – entrusted

to his care; how he trussed its wings

against the bulky body, then forced

that long sharp bill apart

to dribble in warm brandy

while his dark and gentle hand

stroked the slender throat

from pharynx to crop. “You don’t

dare move your eyes,” he said,

then told how the stiletto beak

would strike in an instant

at a moist eye’s flash

as though it were a minnow under water.

Watching a documentary on Bald Eagles, the first flight of a fledgling captured my heart.

 

                                                        She Soars 

                                                  the eaglet

                                                  born

                                                  to fly

                                                  has never

                                                  flown before         

                                                  her knotty

                                                  feet

                                                  cling

                                                  to the aerie

                                                  the first

                                                  time

                                                  she must

                                                  get it

                                                  right

                                                   a half-

                                                  mile down

                                                  the earth

                                                  is bright

                                                  in her

                                                  youthful eye

                                                  she lifts

                                                  her wings

                                                  feels

                                                  insistent wind

                                                  suck

                                                  seductive 

                                                  she shifts

                                                  her feet

                                                  the untried

                                                  wings

                                                  vibrate

                                                  hesitate

                                                  paper kites

                                                  updrafts surge

                                                  she cups

                                                  the wind

                                                  presses it

                                                  against her body

                                                  feels

                                                  it squirt

                                                  away

                                                  she captures

                                                  air    

                                                  masters

                                                  flight

                                                  that suddenly         

                                                  released

                                                  from earth

                                                  she soars

                                                  brilliant

                                                  light

                                                  limns

                                                  her head

                                                  her back

                                                  strikes

                                                  fire in her

                                                  golden eye 

                                                  she soars

                                                  she soars

                                                  oh for

                                                  those wings

                                                  those wings

                                                  that air

                                                  that light                                             

 

A Few Words and a Poem About Starlings 

Starlings are not native to North America. They were introduced in 1890-91 by the American Acclimatization Society (for questionable reasons). The chairman at the time, Eugene Shieffelin, supposedly decided that all birds mentioned by Shakespeare should be included. 100 starlings were released in Central Park, Manhattan. Since then they have multiplied and spread across the country from coast to coast. Social birds, they frequently roost in the tens of thousands, creating noise and coating everything below with droppings. They also destroy the eggs or consume the resources of native birds, contributing to the decline of native species.  

Related to the Mynah birds of Asia, they are terrific mimics and are even being studied in attempts to discover the evolution of language.  

No matter how people feel about them, few fail to respond with awe to a flocking phenomenon known as murmuration. There are a number of videos on UTube showing these awesome group flights. One observer claims that after watching dozens of these performances, he has yet to see a collision.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XH-groCeKbE&list=PLC9515F6BCD6347D1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eakKfY5aHmY&list=PLC9515F6BCD6347D1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJtgE9FhRQ

Murmurations occur mostly in winter, before pairing off begins. As mating season approaches, the beaks turn bright yellow.

 

                                                     STARLING PERSPECTIVES 

Starlings are mathematicians

of a different dimension.

They accept no straight lines:

all things are approached obliquely.

What appears from here

to be a crust of bread

may be, from a different angle,

a stone, a cat, an old shoe

filled to its rim by a foot. 

You can't take anything for granted

(if you're a starling.)  Given

the gift of song, there is still need

to experiment with whistles, beeps,

the cheeping of a chick,

                                    screech of rusty door hinge,

a cat's betrayed meow. 

Flight is a matter of angles,

of reversed decisions

made in attitudes of air.

For one bird to falter

in this erratic rhythm

would spell disaster for the flock.

Imagine the collision:

yellow-beaked birds

falling for weeks like rain.

 

 

I Could Pee on This

Don’t shout at me: it’s the title of a book! More specifically, I Could Pee on This and Other Poems by Cats, by Franceso Marciuliano. Make a note: you may want to give copies to cat-loving friends as gifts!  

While it’s not great literature, this little book is full of charm, from Marciuliano’s humor to some great cat photos to the poems themselves. Of the poems the author says in his introduction, “…by the time you ‘ve finished reading this poetry anthology, you’ll not only completely understand everything your cat thinks and does but even applaud him for it. Maybe give him a medal. Or throw him a parade in your hallway, making sure to avoid staircases so all the tiny floats don’t tumble down. Or you can just sit your cat down, look him straight in the eyes and say, “I get it. I really do get it…..furry face.” 

You see, it’s all about catitude. The title poem says it all: 

                                             I COULD PEE ON THIS

                              Her new sweater doesn’t smell of me

                              I could pee on that

                              She’s gone out for the day and

                                    left her laptop on the counter

                              I could pee on that

                              Her new boyfriend just pushed

                                    my head away

                              I could pee on him

                              She’s ignoring me ignoring her

                              I could pee everywhere

                              She’s making up for it

                                   by putting me on her lap

                              I could pee on this

                              I could pee on this 

Notice that the cat only contemplates the threat, but that the threat is preeminent cat philosophy.  

Our cat, Fiona, approves this message. You can see her fur alongside the book photo, where she insisted on pressing herself against the scanner to watch the light move (next best thing to watching the printer, which is second only to watching the DVD changer slide in and out on the TV – her favorite pastime). 

I mention all this because I recently bought a new computer. (Well, had one built from the ground up – about the same price as a good off-the-shelf, but with far better components.) I also finally overcame my inertia and installed Windows 7, warned that it would take time to get used to. (!!) The installation of other programs and peripherals required obtaining new drivers, and in some cases new versions of programs that I have used for years. I had to remove and reload several applications. I was “not recognized” by many secure sites that I use and had to prove my identity. I could pee on all that.  

Well then, of course not only Windows 7 was different but everything that came with it is different. In the long run I like it a lot, but it was work figuring things out and looking up help files. I could pee on that, too. 

And then, new programs had moved old tools to different places and changed  their names. Or changed what they did and assigned old functions to something else.  I could pee on that for a long, long time. 

There were, in fact, curses aplenty. Tears. Wails, growls, moans and naps to recover. I could pee a whole bunch of times. 

It’s all about attitude, or cattiude. Don’t mess with me. I drink a lot of coffee.

 

Collecting Interests Change With the Times

Recently I have had several discussions with various antiques, ephemera, and book dealers about changes in collecting interests. Antiques dealers cite the loss of interest in Victoriana, carnival glass, pressed glass, china, and many of the 1970s-80s “collectibles” that were issued for “collectors.” Booksellers note flagging interest in Western Americana, reference books that have been digitized online, and a slump in the collectible children’s books market. The last generation’s nostalgia moves along with the generations. It’s a constant trend, and a sharp seller will not only note what is coming on, but will try to see what will be sought after in future. 

As a dealer in ephemera – including  postcards  -- I have, over the years, seen many changes in collecting interests involving  these little pasteboard artifacts. 40 years ago there was an earnest group of collectors seeking Pioneers (the earliest postal cards), “Gruss  Aus” (greetings from) as well as late 19^th and early 20^th Century artist-signed illustrated cards and cards on specific topics and holidays. Christmas, New Year, and scarcer holiday cards such as July 4^th, President birthdays, Labor Day,  Groundhog Day, and Halloween were popular. In the 1940s, linen cards appeared and until the 1980s or so these were pretty much despised. The 1950s saw chrome (color cards with shiny surfaces) replace linen, and these are still mostly shunned.

There was little interest, coming into the 1970s era, in Easter or Thanksgiving cards although some of the best-collected illustrators designed many of them.  I had a personal interest in cards depicting poultry, and I bought a considerable number of Easter and Thanksgiving cards during the time when they were sold for 25 cents, or five for a dollar, or some few special ones were even a dollar or so. I favored cards with chickens and other barnyard fowl, which led to rabbits and hares and other offshoots, such as anthropomorphic versions of the same subjects – animals dressed in human clothing, playing human games, driving vehicles such as autos and trains. Another sidebar was animals pulling carts. (These were for my personal collection, which I still retain.) Beware that collecting postcards can lead to expanded interests! 

These days, some of  these cards are priced at shows for up to $35, even in these recessionary times, while Santa cards and Halloween, once the hottest of illustrated cards, now sell for half what they did a few years ago.

 

I also purchased the despised linen cards by the boxful. They are colorful, they reflect a post-war era in which Americans began to travel freely and frequently, and while many modern conveniences were in various increments of development. Social and gender attitudes were shifting. Many cards sported Art Deco and Streamline Art Moderne  graphic  styles, such as the World Fairs cards from 1933 Century of Progress, and the 1939-40 fairs in New York and San Francisco. Mid-Century autos, buses, trains, furniture, architecture, airlines, and recreational activities were depicted. Well lo! – those cards are now also desirable.

Moving into the early chrome era, there is a strong market developing, especially for Roadside America, motels, transportation, and other topics of a society on the go.  Images of movie stars, celebrities, and other personalities are sought.

Be assured that post-1970 cards will be moving up in the collecting market. There are already some collecting clubs and websites specializing in modern cards. Some are there to spoof the extremes of advertising and imagery, such as Bad Postcards:   http://bad-postcards.tumblr.com/

A new eBay store (GoCatchEmCards)  features similar material: http://tinyurl.com/929xqda 

Interior with piano and sheet music, decorated
for Valentine's Day

Another category that was largely ignored until the past few decades is Real Photo cards. There was a time when these (often sepia-toned) cards were considered to be boring. Small town street scenes held little interest.

Portland Oregon Rose Festival, 1905 (real photo)

Real photos of events, vehicles, occupations, architecture, disasters, and other subjects of historical interest did not catch on until people began to realize that these were often one of a kind, or that they depicted places and lifestyles and so forth as little time capsules of the past. They are about the hottest collecting area right now. 
 

Poster cards like these for the
New Orleans Jazz Festival will
be collected for their graphics, as well
as for their association with music,
jazz, and New Orleans

This barely touches the subject, of course. But bear in mind that what is disregarded by one generation becomes interesting to the next. Look around for some “minor” or overlooked collecting areas for hidden gems or merchandise that could appreciate. Look at other collecting genres for ideas. 1970s fashions, changes in gender perception, automobile images, environmental and social movements, “hippies” and flower children, rock star icons and concerts, racial issues, even riots and recent wars could yield some compelling collecting areas. There are collectors of cards depicting sports (golf, baseball teams, and bullfighting are popular topics), fishing, humor (of many shades). Interiors of hotels, restaurants, diners, groceries and other establishments are of increasing interest. 

The point is, desirability (of anything collectible) changes with the times, frequently moving forward as nostalgia inspires newer collectors. Hence “Mid-Century Modern,” a style that was of little interest 20 years ago except perhaps for some high-end furniture by regarded designers, or some Swedish Modern styles in glassware, furniture, etc., is now a hot collecting area. Postcards that depict this visual vocabulary will not be far behind.

How Many Fish in the Ocean?

40 years ago I was deeply involved in environmental action programs. In fact, my then-spouse was a student at the University or Oregon in the Honors program, part of which included an optional program called “Search.” Each student in Search prepared his or her own topic and, with the supervision of a faculty advisor, outlined a curriculum or project to satisfy academic requirements.

So was born a class titled “Can Man Survive?” Since the catalog for the term had already been issued, my husband (Zed) and his advisor (John) and I sat around our dining room table and made paper signs by hand. We hung these all over campus (an environmental irony I suppose) and planned for 30 students.

We were not far into registration day when one of the registrars called and said that the class had been filled – could it be enlarged? I checked and the answer was, “sure.” So larger room was assigned (150 capacity) but in a couple of hours there was another call. At that point the decision was, “leave it open.” Larger and larger rooms were assigned, until finally the only option was the basketball court. 4200 students signed up, and since the townfolk were also invited, 6300 people attended the first class. It made the Wall Street journal and CBS news.

For some people, it was the first time the word “ecology” entered their vocabulary. The idea of the class was for people to form “action groups” on a matter they felt strongly about, and to devise some methods for dealing with problems. Some opted merely to do research and write reports. Others dove into projects such as cleaning up our local rivers, saving a piece of virgin old growth forest from logging, creating a food co-op and a low-income medical clinic, and many others. Leading experts in various fields from education to environmental issues came to speak. A great deal more happened but my purpose in relating all this is that when we spoke of the loss of family farms, the environmental impact on food supplies from changing climate, drugs in feed, pesticides in produce, and the need to take action - many people blithely replied, “oh, whatever happens the scientists will fix it,” and “there will always be fish in the ocean.” As you know, neither has come to pass. Only now – 40 years later – are some of these issues being taken seriously. And clearly the fish have declined disastrously. When I was a child halibut was one of the cheapest foods you could buy. The last time I looked at it in the market, it was $22.99 a pound.

So it’s interesting that I have in hand a book that was withdrawn from the Smithsonian library, titled “Report on the Construction and Outfit of the United States Fish Commission Steamer Albatross. The first sentence of this book reads, “The alleged decrease of the food-fishes along the sea-coasts and in the lakes of the United States induced the passage by Congress, in 1871, an act authorizing the appointment ….”

 I didn’t make a typo there. That date really is 1871. The book was published c. 1885. (The book appears to be missing a title page, and the few online listings indicate 1884 and 1885, while the only WorldCat listings are for 1885.) It deals with the construction, outfitting, and voyage of a specially-built steamship for the purpose of studying the fish populations, with many wonderful fold-out plates.

But the book itself raises some questions... It has been recased in a library binding with Smithsonian endpapers and paste-downs, so at least they did this part of the repairs. My curiosity resides with some additional repairs, which seem very amateurish. So I’m wondering whether the Smithsonian could have been so fumble-handed as to perpetrate these atrocities and what the materials used might be. I know for a fact that this book was purchased directly from the Smithsonian when they were deacquisitioning, so perhaps they acquired the book already well used (which seems rather strange) and these repairs were done prior to their ownership.

The folding frontis is reinforced on the back with some kind of laminated or glued plasticky stuff (like cellophane tape, only it apparently came in a sheet.) There is strip of similar material down the front of the fold. Some of that has come loose and it obviously has discolored the paper badly. (The “half-title,” page, which is more like a subtitle or section title, has a reinforcing tape strip on the fore edge, but it appears to be more recent, and different. More like Magic Mending tape, and although yellowed, it seems not to have discolored the paper in the same way as the other stuff.) Man, somebody has really gummed up this rather valuable book!

However, the real question is: does anyone recognize this laminate type material? It doesn’t seem possible that it could be removed without further damage to the already fragile paper, nor could the effects of the adhesive stain be reversed. So I guess I’m just curious as to whether this is something that the Smithsonian would have done, and what this odd material might be.

(Inquiries welcome about purchase of this volume, if anyone is interested.)

More on The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

I have just finished reading another of Alexander McCall Smith’s charming novels about Mma Ramotswe and her detective agency, the one and only in Gaborone, Botswana. I keep wondering why I continue to feel refreshed after reading one of them. The stories are sweet and compelling, although not riveting. The characters have grown through the course of the novels, each with his or her quirks and motivations, until I feel as though I know them fairly well. (Actually, McCall does little in the way of description – a few character tags, and you fill in the rest for yourself.)

Precious Ramotswe has some weight, a condition she refers to as “traditionally built.” In fact, the title of this recently-read book is “Tea Time for the Traditionally Built.” (I am not reading these in sequence, but as they come along.)

But I come away from one of them feeling warm, relaxed, happy, and somehow elevated in my perceptions of human behavior. More forgiving, perhaps. More capable of allowing for human differences. And just as I was trying to figure out the exact reasons for this, I came across this passage, in which Mma Ramotswe’s recently-wed husband, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni (the is how they address each other, in fact) reflects on his feeling for his wife:

“He looked away. He was not one for displays of emotion; he never had been, but it made his heart swell to be thanked by this woman who stood for so much in his eyes; who stood for kindness and generosity and understanding; for a country of which he was so proud; who stood for Africa and all the love that Africa contained.”

And that about says it. Precious worries at the loss of old traditions of respect, kindness, generosity, etc. as the newer generation adopts more selfish and unthinking ways, even as she upholds those traditions herself. She loves Africa in a way that I can understand in my heart, as common to those of us who feel our roots in a place run deep.

It is not a love that blinds: she knows the failings and failures of her beloved country. “”We were tiny creatures, really;” she thinks, “tiny and afraid, trying to hold our place on the little platform that was our earth. So while the world about us might seem so solid, so permanent, it was not really. We were all at the mercy of chance, no matter how confident we felt, hostages to our own human frailty. And that applied not only to people, but to countries too. Things could go wrong and entire nations could be led into a world of living nightmare; it had happened, and was happening still. Poor Africa, which could stand for love and happiness and joy, could also be a place of suffering and shame. But that suffering was not the only story, thought Mma Ramotswe. There was a story of courage and determination and goodness that could be told as well, and she was proud that her country, her Botswana, had been part of that.”

(Smith may, incidentally, be single-handedly responsible for reviving the semi-colon in literature.)

So in those quotations lie the answer to my questions. Deeply probing philosophy gently robed in kindness.

Did I Love It? Did I Hate it? I haven’t decided….

John Lanchester’s The Debt to Pleasure sports a subtle cover, a picture of peaches and grapes on a while tablecloth, with a very small script “A Novel” located at the base of a peach. In other words, if you don’t pay attention, you might miss the fact that it’s fiction.

While you would no doubt realize that it’s fiction before reading too far, the beginning is deceptive enough that you might feel that you are reading a food commentary akin to the writings of Brillat-Savarin, potentially because the author compares his book to that gourmand reporter. There is a lot about food and food history, and even some recipes, but all of the food related material is rather incidental and misleading except as it reveals a good deal about the narrator, and is used to introduce some of the characters.

You have to watch for clues in the text to discover what you are really reading, which is something of a murder mystery. I don’t think I have ever read a sneakier book in terms of not announcing its genre. There are some other unusual twists, which I dare not describe for fear of being a “spoiler.”

Aside from a devious plot and a lot of foodie stuff, this book contains a good deal of wit, sarcasm, hauteur, snideness and humor. Most remarkable is the author’s construction of sentences and paragraphs. The latter can run to two or more pages, the former – well, these are some of the longest and most compound-complex constructions I have seen since I was married to a man who couldn’t be bothered with punctuation. However, Lanchester produces sentences that a true masterpieces: they amble along through myriad subjects, related but often not in obvious ways, full of allusions, similes, and metaphors, with often something wrenchingly funny in their midst. Quoting one would be appropriate here, but frankly my patience and fingers are just not up to it.

I admit that I found the author exhibiting a high degree of intelligence, no small amount of gustatorial expertise, a wry and sometimes almost cruel sense of humor, and confident in his deceptiveness. As you read, you think you know what the subject is, but find that you have been tricked. You believe that you have built an accurate picture of characters and motivations, only to have that image fracture into shards. Your own expectations about the characters will lead to disappointment. Any attempt to guess at the ending is doomed to failure. Any expectation of a typical resolution or climax will be disappointed. You may feel guilty if you experience delight or pleasure in this book by the time you reach the end.

Or you may just wind up wondering if you loved it, or hated it.

Another Wonderful Book Fair

Once again, I rushed to prepare for the Rose City Book Fair in Portland (OR) May 18-19. I didn’t mean to rush – I had planned to have plenty of time. But then we had unexpected visitors, more visitors, and some more visitors. Which was lovely, since some were family and some were colleagues who bought some inventory. None-the-less, the preparation time evaporated. Fortunately, I have a lot of inventory permanently set up and ready to go – postcards, photos, maps, and ephemera. Although I had planned to sort, repackage, and index the ephemera before the show, that just didn’t get done. In time it will be.

My booth before the show opened.












In any case, the show – as usual – was well organized and very accommodating and friendly. None better. It is put on by the Portland Area Used Book Sellers Assn. and was started to give area booksellers a venue some years after the old Oregon Antiquarian Book Fair died. This year the Rose City show moved to a new venue – pleasingly, the site used for the old Antiquarian book fair. (The Doubletree Hotel, Lloyd Center, Portland Oregon.) Shades of the past, good memories of bygone days (and of some of the book dealers who have gone on to the Great Library in the sky). There is plenty of room for this show to grow, if only enough dealers remain enthusiastic about supporting it.

Portland as viewed from the hotel roof.

This year there were dealers from four states, and some very interesting material on display. Not to mention many with bargain books. Robert Gavorra was right inside the front door with a table proclaiming “no book over $10” and he meant it. Which actually reassured newcomers and walk-ins that this was not a stuffy environment where they couldn’t afford to enter. The show’s motto is “An unpretentious book fair.” The whole idea is to make the show affordable for dealers. There are tables for rent but dealers provide their own table covers, lights if they want them, and so forth. There are no curtains around the booths, which leaves the area light, uncluttered, and with good line of sight. (I much prefer this to all of those tedious little cloth caves that some shows provide.) On the other hand, for dealers the club provides bagels, donuts, and the like in the mornings, and sandwiches, chips, and beverages mid-day on Saturday, when some may not be able to get away from their booths to eat lunch.

Entry fees are also reasonable. $2, or a can of food and $1. The food, and half the gate receipts, go to the Oregon Food Bank. The club also left free passes on the hotel check-in counter and provides them to dealers ahead of time for distribution.

We threw the stuff into the van on Thursday morning –the sun shining agreeably (not a big deal for some, but this is Oregon). Unloaded and set up Thursday evening. Had a convivial “happy hour” in the hotel lounge with some colleagues. The show didn’t open to the public until 2 p.m. Friday (and ran until 8 p.m.) but the doors opened for dealers at 9 a.m., giving us a chance to scope (and scoop) each others’ goods. And the sun was shining. The 8 pm closing sent us to the lounge again, where the supper fare was just excellent. (The hotel restaurant was open only for breakfast and lunch, also excellent and our waiter “Ming” was delightful, funny, attentive, and still highly professional. Ask for him if you are ever there.)

Some hotel guests who wandered in seemed surprised to find themselves at a book fair. One gentleman stopped at my booth to admire a book. Said that he had just arrived and would look around. Unlike most “be backs” he did return to my booth to purchase the book ($85) and while there, had a phone call. I heard him explaining that he was at a book fair, obviously a bit stunned to discover himself there.

My booth during the show. That's me in the blue jacket on the aisle. The activity at the near end is at the postcard tables - I'll invent some kind of sign to go over it, since it's popular but kind of hidden there at the end.


Saturday morning we opened at 10 and ran until 5 pm, when everyone broke down quickly and hit the road. And the sun was shining. By Monday it was raining and has done so steadily since with temperatures mid-50s to mid-60s, but who cares? It was a bright and shiny show with reasonably good attendance. There was also good walk-in from hotel guests. I did about 2/3 of my normal “take” at the show, but given the current economy and the change of venue, it was not unexpected and still represented a reasonable profit, and some new customers to follow up with. Of course I spent more than I took in, but that will flip into greater profit.

There are no words to express my admiration for the volunteers who produce and run this show. The enthusiasm and thought going into it are incredible, and the results are always pleasing.