Search This Blog

Sunday, April 21, 2013


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=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.

 

 

No comments: