Originally Posted by
Alf
Can't put down my book of Norman MacCaig poems at the moment. He has been described as the opposite of Ted Hughes in the ways he describes animals and birds but I like both their approaches to the subject.
Greenshank
His single note - one can't help calling it
piping, one can't help
calling it plaintive - slides droopingly down
no more than a semitone, but is filled
with an octave of loneliness, with the whole sad scale
of desolation.
He won't leave us. He keeps flying
fifty yards and perching
on a rock or a small hummock,
drawing attention to himself.
Then he calls and calls
and flies on again
in a flight
roundshouldered but dashing,
skulking yet bold.
Cuckoo, phoenix, nightingale,
you are no truer emblems
than this bird is.
He is the melancholy that flies
in the weathers of my mind,
He is the loneliness that calls to me there
in a semitone
of desolate octaves.
Norman MacCaig