No new book freckle, I was just browsing for modern poets (still alive!) whose work I was not familiar with and I found Eavan Boland and Denise Duhamel and the two poems balanced each other out nicely. Boland's 'Anorexic' and Duhamel's 'Kinky' would have made a good pair of posts as well.
I have been enjoying the poems you and Mossy have posted recently so keep them coming![]()
I've been seeing dippers a lot lately and I hadn't realised they were related to the robin but if you listen to their beautiful song you can hear the connection:
The Dipper
It was winter, near freezing,
I'd walked through a forest of firs
when I saw issue out of the waterfall
a solitary bird.
It lit on a damp rock,
and, as water swept stupidly on,
wrung from its own throat
supple, undammable song.
It isn't mine to give.
I can't coax this bird to my hand
that knows the depth of the river
yet sings of it on land.
Kathleen Jamie
The innocence of any flesh sleeping
Sleeping beside you I dreamt
I woke beside you;
Waking beside you
I thought I was dreaming.
Have you ever slept beside an ocean?
Well yes,
It is like this.
The whole motion of landscapes, of oceans
Is within her.
She is
The innocence of any flesh sleeping,
So vulnerable
No protection is needed.
In such times
The heart opens,
Contains all there is,
There being no more than her.
In what country she is
I cannot tell.
But knowing – because there is love
And it blots out all demons –
She is safe,
I can turn,
Sleep well beside her.
Waking beside her I am dreaming.
Dreaming of such wakings
I am all love’s senses woken.
Brian Patten
Night... Night!
Am Yisrael Chai
On my dog walk today I watched some Rooks repairing their nests.
Across a dome of marbled grey
These messengers on high
Philosophise upon the day
And February's sky....
Invariably their time allows
A pause along the route
They gather in the poplar boughs
And look like blackened fruit;
Some may yearn for time and space
With scenes of babbling brooks
But give me dawning solace
With the coming of the rooks!
The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven
(by Guy Wetmore Carryl)
A raven sat upon a tree,
And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie.
Or, maybe it was Roquefort.
We’ll make it any kind you please --
At all events it was a cheese.
Beneath the tree’s umbrageous limb
A hungry fox sat smiling;
He saw the raven watching him,
And spoke in words beguiling:
"J’admire," said he, "ton beau plumage!"
(The which was simply persiflage.)
Two things there are, no doubt you know,
To which a fox is used:
A rooster that is bound to crow,
A crow that’s bound to roost;
And whichsoever he espies
He tells the most unblushing lies.
"Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand
You’re more than merely natty;
I hear you sing to beat the band
And Adelina Patti.
Pray render with your liquid tongue
A bit from Götterdämmerung."
This subtle speech was aimed to please
The crow, and it succeeded;
He thought no bird in all the trees
Could sing as well as he did.
In flattery completely doused,
He gave the "Jewel Song" from Faust.
But gravitation’s law, of course,
As Isaac Newton showed it,
Exerted on the cheese its force,
And elsewhere soon bestowed it.
In fact, there is no need to tell
What happened when to earth it fell.
I blush to add that when the bird
Took in the situation
He said one brief, emphatic word,
Unfit for publication.
The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered, "Tut."
THE MORAL is:
A fox is bound
To be a shameless sinner.
And also: When the cheese comes round
You know it’s after dinner.
But (what is only known to few)
The fox is after dinner, too.