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Red-Winged Blackbird

Saturday was a beautiful 66 or so. So I planted two magnolias and a weeping Japanese cherry tree as well as prepped my hops for the growing season. Our yard is large and runs into the retention pond. Unlike some of my neighbors, I’ve never taken the time (nor have I had the inclination) to clean up the shoreline. I prefer, actually, to let the large leafy shrubs grow there. A consequence is that we have a red-winged blackbird that nests in the shrubs. I assume that it is the same bird that arrives year after year.

I’ve always enjoyed this particular bird, its twirling call, its protection of its territory, and its quick moves from fence post to shrub to post. My hops are on the backside of the fence, toward the pond, so the bird is always acting up greatly every time I wonder to the back to prune or otherwise check on them. This bird is always a sign that spring is here. And I always know that spring is near its end when I stop hearing the red-winged blackbird defend its territory when I go back there. I’m always caught off-guard by its sudden disappearance.

It’s too soon to talk about the end of spring, but I got an ear full from the red-winged blackbird. A couple of years ago I wrote a poem about its disappearance. I’m not sure, in the end, how successful this poem is. I think it communicates what I wanted it to, but I’m not sure how effectively it does so. It is hard to say. Some writer at some time said that writers are not good critics of their own work. Some are better than others, but I go back and forth on how good I am at it. Enough. Here’s the poem and that should truly speak beyond anything else.
The Day the Red-Winged Blackbird Disappeared

1.

Let’s be clear about this:
Today I noticed the red-winged blackbird
Disappeared.

2.

The cattail weaves, top-heavy
Perch where whistle-twirl calls
Twisted godward just yesterday.

3.

I know only now
I noticed days passed
Without its song, it strutting.

4.

From fence post to cattail
Chasing rivals,
Tyranting seed and insect
Before rising upward
Into the sun.

5.

What would the augur say
Of your flight from cattail to post?
Where among the galaxies
And time did you go?

6.

I know you are gone
And you or I may not return
Next to year to repeat,
To live our habit or instinct.

7.

Still the cattail weaves.

Wanderings

The other night, with a pint of mild ale, I sat and picked up one of my favorite anthologies: The Chief Poets of Britain and America, Volume I: Poets of Britain. My copy of this book is quite dated (1972), which means that you do not get Philip Larkin’s “Aubade” and no Seamus Heaney. Nonetheless, I love picking up this book and wandering. I can hit old favorites (in this latest wandering, W.H. Auden’s “September 1, 1939,” and “Musee des Beaux Arts”) or encounter poets I simply have not done any indepth reading of: Louis MacNiece and Hugh MacDiarmard. Those two are generally acknowledged as among the greats of the 20th century, but with this anthology and its datedness, you also get to encounter poets rarely heard in America (I have no idea if they are still discussed in the UK): UK Poet Laureates John Masefield and Cecil Day Lewis or Austin Clarke and James Stephens.

Or this piece by D.H. Lawrence titled “The Gods! The Gods!”

People were bathing and posturing themselves on the beach
and all was dreary, great robot limbs, robot breasts
robot voices, robot even the gay umbrellas.

But a woman, shy and alone, was washing herself under a tap
and the glimmer of the presence of the gods was like lilies,
and like water-lilies.

Aimee Cesaire

Aimee Cesaire passed on April 17th. Here is an obituary. I have only read a few scattered poems of his, but here is one titled “hearth…”:

memory honoring the landscape
an abatement
the hearth nurtures most convincingly the equity of a crater
a recollection of very soft skin is not out of the question
in the palms of an autumn

Astropoetica

In the winter of 2005, I had the good fortune to be published in Astropoetica. My poem, “Conversing with the Stars,” remains one of my personal favorites, despite a couple of rough patches I still cringe at. I like Astropoetica because it’s a wonderful blend of poetry and imagery. And, of course, it is astronomical imagery and poetry the journal ties together. Check it out.

Beginnings

This past weekend I updated my copy of Google Earth (Microsoft will have a free competitor soon) and got my first look really of Google Sky (I played around with it for the first time). Either Google Sky or World Wide Telescope are amazing programs for those of us who love or have loved stargazing. Looking at Google Sky did, in fact, conjure memories from my teenage years in Paris, Illinois, when I had a very low powered telescope and a pair of binoculars. Armed with a skymap, a reference book, and a flashlight wrapped in a red cloth, I spent many nights outside looking at the sky. All the majesty and beauty of it was amazing. I’ve often wondered if my love of epics (movies, books, poems) are because of my love of amateur astronomy.

Many years have passed since I spent such time gazing upwards. Nonetheless, when I take our dogs out for their last visit to the backyard (or for their very early visit to the backyard), I still find myself gazing upwards, looking for familiar constellations (Orion has long been a favorite) or searching for the latest miracle of the sky (the lunar eclipse of late). Thinking about stargazing and my youth has prompted an idea for a poem, which I first started to hammer out this evening, though I’ve been thinking of it pretty constantly for a few days. I am not sure where it will lead, and it is far too early to share any of its breathtakingly awful lines, but “inspiration” often works this way for me. A chance encounter that connects meaningfully with me. To me that is what is important about poetry, its ability to carry forth and communicate meaning. It seems to me that poetry’s place in the modern world is to help create the meaning of a chaotic, fast-paced, material society. Where is there, in that, the seed of humanity, that which makes us what we are? I continue to find that when I gaze beyond into places I shall never visit but with my eye and mind. I hope to communicate that eventually in a poem that captures what stargazing means to me.

Across the Universe and No Country for Old Men

Last weekend I finally got around to watched No Country for Old Men. The Coen brothers have accomplished, in my mind, the most successful adaptation of a book I can think of (Gary Sinise’s Of Mice and Men and Anthony Minghella’s The English Patient are very close runners-up), and they chose a magnificent novel to adapt. I have long enjoyed Cormac McCarthy’s work, which is full of stunningly lyrical passages tempered by melancholic notes or brutal violence. I have also enjoyed other Coen brothers’ work (particularly Raising Arizona, Fargo, and The Big Lebowksi, but all works of theirs have strong merits – at least the ones I have seen).

How to appraise No Country for Old Men? Is it simply a movie focused on the futility of laboring against violent crime? Is it simply a movie about the consequences of the decisions we make? Or is it a movie about modernity’s stripping of normal moral codes that allow an alternate moral code most find abhorrent? The movie is all of this and much more. It captures in its taut story, unforced acting, and striking imagery a modern world gone awry as well as the consequences of our decisions and our nature. Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) is a killer that will not stop killing, but he lives by a perverted moral code (he keeps promises, for example). We do not know how Chigurh comes to be who he is. In fact, a strength of the movie is that we simply see a snippet of time during which we witness a series of action. Llewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin) make a decision with only a partial understanding of the consequences. In fact, Moss’s humanity forces a secondary decision that proves to be more fateful. In other words, by following what is generally viewed as a good moral choice, Moss determines his and others fates. The strength of Moss’s character is that he is not perfect. Decisions he makes throughout are questionable, but he retains a core of humanity that Chigurh has all but lost.

Finally, the sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) we encounter has been battling crime for many years. While not optimistic about the state of the modern world, his hope at being a positive force decline through the movie, ending in his sense of helplessness against what seems a greater force. Clearly, crime has always been and always will be around, but Bell’s character senses a growing senselessness, an increasing barbarity of the crime (Chigurh’s use of the cattle prod as both a tool to break into homes and as a killing weapon if a fitting symbol for this barbarity).

No Country for Old Men is a superb film, and I’ve only just briefly touched on its messages and its methodology for communicating those messages. A friend asked me whether I thought No Country or There Will Be Blood was the better movie of last year. The movies are clearly different and work successfully by alternate methods. That said, I would submit that There Will Be Blood just edges out No Country for the better movie. In the end, I find There Will Be Blood’s epic scope, its corporate/greed social commentary, and the amazing acting of Daniel Day-Lewis just inches out No Country’s superb acting, taut story, and focused timeframe. Either way, either movie is a stunning achievement.

This weekend, we also watched Across the Universe, Julie Taymor’s musical film that uses the music of The Beatles. The film is very, very good. The music is used ingeniously throughout to communicate the story (basically a survey of the volatile 60s and early 70s through the lives of several characters). If you are familiar with Taymor’s Titus, you are already aware of her near perfect grasp of location and her use of contrasting colors to heighten the emotional effect of a scene. She performs similar magic in Across the Universe. The movie is crammed with many references to Beatles’ movies, events, and other facts. If you are looking for a love story with historical overtones but done uniquely and with confidence, check this movie out.

Philip Larkin: Another Quote

Here’s another quote of Larkin’s I came across:

I have never claimed to know fully how or why I write poetry: it seems to me a skill easily damaged by self-consciousness, and poetic theory is not much good if it hinders the poet. If I must account for it, I think it would be best described as the only possible reaction to a particular kind of experience, a feeling that you are the only one to have noticed something, something especially beautiful or sad or significant.

****

Any one know where I can get my hands on a copy of Channel 4’s film based on Tony Harrison’s v.? (And not cost me an arm and a leg?)

My Wife

Today was the last day Gina worked as a managing editor. Sad, for I will miss working with her a great deal. Much more importantly, however, is that it is exciting. She will be devoting part of her time to Pearson, specifically the business publishing group. The rest of her time will be to building up her knitting business: teaching classes, designing patterns, selling knitted items, etc. This is wonderfully exciting, for it is great when people can pursue their passions. Someday, we’ll own a knitting store. She’ll run it. I’ll fix the occasional broken door knob and write poetry in a quiet corner. Today begins that journey, and it will be great fun.

Speaking of fun, Gina has always made me laugh. One expects many things in a partner, but laughter is so important that saying “she makes me laugh” seems cliche. I think it is a cliche because it is so true. So…here’s an image I got a very good laugh at. I love you dear!