Wagtail and Baby
A baby watched a for, whereto
A wagtail came for drinking;
A blaring bull went wading through,
The wagtail showed no shrinking.
A stallion splashed his way across,
The birdie nearly sinking;
He gave his plumes a twitch and toss,
And held his own unblinking.
Next saw the baby round the spot
A mongrel slowly slinking:
The wagtail gazed, but faltered not
In dip and sip and prinking.
A perfect gentleman then neared;
The wagtail, in a winking,
With terror rose and disappeared;
The baby fell a-thinking.
Thomas Hardy breeds a tale of innocents in “Wagtail and
Baby,” a 4-stanza quatrain. The
alternating iambic octameter and heptameter lines offer a speedy grace, but
provide room enough for detail that issues an illustration and a sense of
strength. This sequence
accentuates the resolve of the wagtail in the face of forces greater than
itself. The halt brought by a
single word in the last stanza (“gentleman”) is poised to provide a clear shift
in energy as the wagtail finally fleas in the face of threat.
JANE STUART
Song of Blackbirds
I know a song
The blackbirds sing
when perched upon
a blue-tipped wing.
They peck at grains
of Indian corn
early on
an autumn morn
beneath a sleezy
sleepy sun
before cross scarecrows
have begun
to wave their
tattered, blue-stuffed sleeves
at shattered cornstalks,
falling leaves.
They sing of
their prosperity,
their fortune,
their longevity,
and of the good grain
they have found
thriving in
my river ground.
The "Song of Blackbirds" offers a friendly and zippy style
that is much like Wagtail and Baby.
Although the rhyme sequence and meter, is not initially apparent at
first glance in The Song of Blackbirds, it propels the story in a similar way
as does Wagtail and Baby. One can
fairly easily switch between the two poem’s lines while maintaining the same
sing-songy beat. The fact that
each of these poems feature to movement and thought of small birds (as opposed
to the larger heron in Mary Oliver’s spacious poem) provides a sweet
corroboration of the way these creatures are experienced in nature.
The discussion of the content of the blackbirds’ songs, as
well as the place or lack thereof for humans in the bird’s world in Wagtail and
Baby helped to inspire the free verse poem that I wrote with my friend Per one
morning during our EarthWalk camping experience.
Birds and
Berries
We pause in a coffee shop
but there is no tea and no crumpets,
no comfy chairs to sit on.
As visitors, it takes a moment
to recognize the regulars' routine.
We don't catch the conversation.
We don't speak the local language,
but the consistency of chatter
Invites the mind to speculate.
"Welcome to the Hawthorn Meadow Highlights!"
Squaks the raven.
"Traffic is awful today, too many people."
"The Montpellier Pilliateds hammered the
Plainfield Crows in the game last night.
What a disappointment!" He announces.
Hidden in the corner the
hermit thrushes harmonize,
practicing for their evening cabaret.
Squirrels scold, "What are you doing here?
Get to work! If you're going to be
in the coffee shop you'd better buy a drink,
and don't forget the tip jar."
"Hey, that's my coffee!"
A bunch of mother birds
sit around a table
comparing their children's flight.
The little brown birds whisper,
"Did you see who was with
who down at the river last night?"
Sometimes, it's hard to tell if we belong.
Maybe someday we'll know everyone
listed in the local paper.
Finding a familiar fragrance
allows us to linger after
harvesting black caps berries.
We have reason to rest a moment longer
and continue to contemplate our connection
to the cafe.
-Ashley Boone & Per Eisenman
___
We pause in a coffee shop
but there is no tea and no crumpets,
no comfy chairs to sit on.
As visitors, it takes a moment
to recognize the regulars' routine.
We don't catch the conversation.
We don't speak the local language,
but the consistency of chatter
Invites the mind to speculate.
"Welcome to the Hawthorn Meadow Highlights!"
Squaks the raven.
"Traffic is awful today, too many people."
"The Montpellier Pilliateds hammered the
Plainfield Crows in the game last night.
What a disappointment!" He announces.
Hidden in the corner the
hermit thrushes harmonize,
practicing for their evening cabaret.
Squirrels scold, "What are you doing here?
Get to work! If you're going to be
in the coffee shop you'd better buy a drink,
and don't forget the tip jar."
"Hey, that's my coffee!"
A bunch of mother birds
sit around a table
comparing their children's flight.
The little brown birds whisper,
"Did you see who was with
who down at the river last night?"
Sometimes, it's hard to tell if we belong.
Maybe someday we'll know everyone
listed in the local paper.
Finding a familiar fragrance
allows us to linger after
harvesting black caps berries.
We have reason to rest a moment longer
and continue to contemplate our connection
to the cafe.
-Ashley Boone & Per Eisenman
___
Hardy, Thomas. “Wagtail and Baby.”
Wild Reckoning: An Anthology Provoked by Rachel Carson's Silent Spring.
Ed. Burnside, John, Maurice Riordan. London:
Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2004. 76. Print.
Stuart, Jane. “Song of Blackbirds.”
Voices from the Hills: Selected Readings of Southern Appalachia. Ed. Higgs,
Robert J, and Ambrose N. Manning. New York:
F. Ungar Pub. Co, 1975. 337. Print.
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