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Ode to a Catbird: A Playful Dialectic Between Poet and Bird
Gunnen: Dutch: Finding happiness in someone’s happiness because you love them so much. First published on Paper Poetry.
"To awake before the dawn seems foolish —
But it’s the early nurseryman who wins
While the shadows on the vines seem ghoulish;
The vines this morning seem like twisted strings —
And the red berries hide in the moonlight,
Shielded beneath the enclosures of green;
But bashful, not, is the color scarlet;
I seek my breakfast before your dawn’s flight
Like prowlers upon the scene, routine,
Like a game, we aim for the same target."
"O, for that flavor tart we both adore —
The night cools the raspberries with blessings;
At least within my shelter I can store —
But that nectar serves as your dressings —
As I would address a bowl of salad.
But I’ve grown tired of this morning game —
The seeds don’t settle well in my belly!
The sun conducts a vivace ballad —
A thrilling trill of vines we each can claim;
Can I, at least, harvest some for jelly?"
Unlike the finches, I am not afraid
Of you as you sit on the patio
You made to mind; you harbored in the shade;
For this feast, you know, you’re fine, Daddy-O!
Don’t you relish how I hang upside down?
And I’m in heaven, already, today!
No technology makes me a machine!
And need I gas to fly around town?
Do I owe any dude a debt to pay?
“I’m a catbird. But please call me Eugene!”
You know, these slender barbed stalks don’t sting me
Like they nettle you. Is that why you ceased?
I know you have a wife, man, where is she?
During my feast, I delight you, at least.
For why would you ponder there all alone
With never any artificial sound
To cover my musings to you, my friend?
We each, right, seem to know something unknown?
Something profound planted here in the ground?
Dangling on the vine where we both depend?
How you warble, Gene, for moving water!
O! how you squawk for the bird bath refilled!
O! how like that of, then, my young daughter!
Both! O! how they thrilled! How they chilled, spilled!
You love the natural water from the drum,
Sans chlorine from the plastic garden hose.
Yes, and then you frolic and roll and shake —
My daughters would water dance until numb!
Glowing blue with rapturous joy to their toes!
The cold lake would snap anything awake.
You’re awake, of course, now while I’m asleep.
I have trouble drowsing due to unease.
At times, at night, I wander in too deep.
My bed takes on water from inner seas;
But then I think of you — your happiness —
And I recall jumping from the Crow’s Nest —
Leaping from Dad’s boat on the Chesapeake —
That boy again in all his flashiness!
And the decades seem they have never left.
With such faith, I could fly to any peak!
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By Walter T Bowne
5
33 ratings
Gunnen: Dutch: Finding happiness in someone’s happiness because you love them so much. First published on Paper Poetry.
"To awake before the dawn seems foolish —
But it’s the early nurseryman who wins
While the shadows on the vines seem ghoulish;
The vines this morning seem like twisted strings —
And the red berries hide in the moonlight,
Shielded beneath the enclosures of green;
But bashful, not, is the color scarlet;
I seek my breakfast before your dawn’s flight
Like prowlers upon the scene, routine,
Like a game, we aim for the same target."
"O, for that flavor tart we both adore —
The night cools the raspberries with blessings;
At least within my shelter I can store —
But that nectar serves as your dressings —
As I would address a bowl of salad.
But I’ve grown tired of this morning game —
The seeds don’t settle well in my belly!
The sun conducts a vivace ballad —
A thrilling trill of vines we each can claim;
Can I, at least, harvest some for jelly?"
Unlike the finches, I am not afraid
Of you as you sit on the patio
You made to mind; you harbored in the shade;
For this feast, you know, you’re fine, Daddy-O!
Don’t you relish how I hang upside down?
And I’m in heaven, already, today!
No technology makes me a machine!
And need I gas to fly around town?
Do I owe any dude a debt to pay?
“I’m a catbird. But please call me Eugene!”
You know, these slender barbed stalks don’t sting me
Like they nettle you. Is that why you ceased?
I know you have a wife, man, where is she?
During my feast, I delight you, at least.
For why would you ponder there all alone
With never any artificial sound
To cover my musings to you, my friend?
We each, right, seem to know something unknown?
Something profound planted here in the ground?
Dangling on the vine where we both depend?
How you warble, Gene, for moving water!
O! how you squawk for the bird bath refilled!
O! how like that of, then, my young daughter!
Both! O! how they thrilled! How they chilled, spilled!
You love the natural water from the drum,
Sans chlorine from the plastic garden hose.
Yes, and then you frolic and roll and shake —
My daughters would water dance until numb!
Glowing blue with rapturous joy to their toes!
The cold lake would snap anything awake.
You’re awake, of course, now while I’m asleep.
I have trouble drowsing due to unease.
At times, at night, I wander in too deep.
My bed takes on water from inner seas;
But then I think of you — your happiness —
And I recall jumping from the Crow’s Nest —
Leaping from Dad’s boat on the Chesapeake —
That boy again in all his flashiness!
And the decades seem they have never left.
With such faith, I could fly to any peak!