We are driving down
David St O’Connor when we see a knot of mynah ‛pest’ birds in our path.
I beep the horn and
they fly into the air briefly to let us through.
Then we realise they have been clustered about an inert mynah face-up in the middle of the road.
Has there been a fight? Were they about to dine?
Or
like elephants and
ourselves, do they recognise the dead?
*
Twa
Corbies (trad.)
AS
I was walking all alane
I
heard twa corbies makin' a mane:
The
tane unto the tither did say,
‛Whar
sall we gang and dine the day?
‛— In
behint yon auld fail dyke
I
wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And
naebody kens that he lies there
But
his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
‛His
hound is to the hunting gane,
His
hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His
lady’s ta’en anither mate,
So
we may mak our dinner sweet.
‛Ye’ll
sit on his white hause-bane,
And
I’ll pike out his bonny blue e’en:
And wi’
ae lock o’ his gowden hair
We’ll
theek our nest when it grows bare.
‛Mony
a one for him maks mane,
But
nane sall ken whar he is gane:
O’er
his white banes, when they are bare
The
wind sall blaw for evermair.
I like this Robbie. If you'll forgive me I will post a poem on the same topic I wrote last year.
ReplyDeleteTwo Killed Birds
Two killed birds
and neither with a stone
The first a half grown dove
flings itself with such force
at the patch of glassy blue beyond the window
that with the rebound
after the shock of impact and the cascading break of tiny bones
the reflection on the other side seems for a moment
to hover successful in its escape
until it falls
and the bird with it on to the verandah boards
and twitches and is still
The butcher bird arrives within seconds
to sit innocent upon the rail
marvelling perhaps at such an easy self inflicted kill
then goes about his work
The second is a crow
on a square of concrete
in the hotel car park
under the bright of the afternoon sun
a crow lies on its back
motionless and open eyed
in a spreading pool of blood
Above two more caw
in the palm tree and one on the light pole
despite the fashionable slimming black
it is shocking how big it is up close
as big as a baby
The five on the tree and street light
at a distance of several metres
look small in comparison
though their calling is as loud as a siren
The witness who saw it fall
swears it was pushed
and perhaps the noise of the eight above
is a trial or a hasty making up of alibis
but it seems unlikely
it was a grown and handsome bird
full of gloss and besides
the complex fugue of the ten crows
cawing from the tree and the light pole
is much more like a lament
a plausible scenario of a car clip
during a swooping cross of the busy road
and a momentary landing
in the palm tree before the fall
might explain the blood and the twenty now
mourners
in the tree and on the bar of the light pole
filling the rising air with sound
and then feathers
on a square of concrete
in the hotel car park
under the bright of the afternoon sun
a crow lies on its back
motionless and open eyed
in a spreading pool of blood
and all around
silence now rings its bell
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete3 fine meditations!
ReplyDeleteThanks Mikaela,Rob. Your poem is wonderful, Mikaela. I always think animals (including birds) are much more intelligent than most of us believe.
ReplyDelete