Wednesday, April 6, 2016

The Bluebird




The Bluebird



In yesterdays of peppermint 
and temps perdu, you lived with me in
the longhouse, grasshopper thin from fiddling, 
a silversmith of backspin. You carved me
a primitive bluebird

put it rounded in my hand
sitting drawn down
on its toes, fledge-etched in cerulean
soap-smooth, autumn-colored circles
at its too-wise eyes.

You smiled when it stirred,
flipped up
a stopsignal tailfeather,
gaped its open throat
for a worm-friend mother.

I set it among the other birds;
no thing of mine, your gift
but wild its own.
Oracle crows, inquisitor cardinals,
insipid chickens pecked it--

but the bluebird rose in
flutterform arpeggios,
and flew

not to me,
not to you.



~April 2016



posted for      real toads



(I have used some from the lists and made up others.)












temps perdu: Fr. for wasted time, lost time


Image:  L'oiseau bleu, 1968, Marc Chagall, via wikiart.org

25 comments:

  1. Oh wow!!! I love this, Hedge. This is what is missed so often by so many: a thing is its own before it is anything else. What a gorgeous and spot-on job you have done in expressing that poetically. In addition to the ending, I love the other birds and how you describe them. Inquisitor Cardinals! If i ever have my biography published for whatever odd reason, I want this poem on the opening page, as an epigram.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh, my goodness, this is too gorgeous for words. I especially love "no thing of mine....but wild its own" and that it flew "not to me, not to you." A most beautiful read, my friend.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I set it among the other birds;
    no thing of mine, your gift
    but wild its own.

    This is beautifully written :D

    ReplyDelete
  4. I agree with both ladies. This is lovely to read and has a great message.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Flutterform arpeggios! Be still, my fluttering heart.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Gorgeous, Hedge. You have been missed.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Ah, Joy.. You cannot know what this poem means to me at the end of the day I have had, with aching back and tired eyes, I feel the frisson of pure delight and the rare spell of complete submersion into the world of the poem. Thank you so much for this.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Kerry--I was beginning to think I would never write again till your prompt, so I am doubly glad you liked it.

      Delete
  8. This is wonderful.. I can tell you were inspired by the prompt. So many great words, where the compound words have given vibrancy to your words. The symbolism of the bluebird is something so much like loss. Those last two lines make it heartbreaking.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Very beautiful. The bluebird was quite wise to know he belonged to no one else but himself.

    ReplyDelete
  10. An ending with a backbone; makes me sit up straight.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I am deeply enamored of "flutterform" and THIS:
    "grasshopper thin from fiddling,
    a silversmith of backspin."

    I admire that bird, who belongs to no one.

    ReplyDelete
  12. When I read your first two lines, I shrieked a non-ladylike squeal that made my Piano Man run into the room. I love those lines that much. I've always been prone to attaching scents and tastes to memorable events, so from the beginning I felt at home in this poem. The palpable descriptions--with textures and colors that danced images into the mind--brought me even closer. The interaction between the birds, its final flight and its freedom... all of this makes this poem such a gem. Yum!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Magaly! It feels good to write something again--so glad you enjoyed it. And hope your Piano Man has ear protection for those moments. ;_)

      Delete
  13. Hey Joy--so much to love here, and mourn a little too--one would rather like the bluebird to come to one--great words and so many wonderful combination--I am super tired right now, so am going from memory and may have them wrong--the fletch-edged --loved that combined with the bird's toes--and arrow like aspect--the autumn circles round the eyes, the soap smooth, the whole carving coming to life--like Yeats' birds in a way--the wonderful other birds--awful but wonderfully named--anyway, terrific and glad to see you're back here. There's much more - and love the back and forth of the me and you of the poem as well--but on last legs here--k. ---oh yes--love the flutterform arpeggios which is so exactly apt, and the peppermint and temps perdu--great sound and great recherche. k.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks k--get some rest and put your feet up. Thanks for your time and insight, as always. Don't know how long I'll be back, but off the meds for several days now, so so far so good.

      Delete
  14. What a beautiful tale you've created!

    ReplyDelete
  15. I love the way you left this off...with flight...this description is enchanting as well, "fledge-etched in cerulean" enjoyed your poem, Hedge. :)

    ReplyDelete
  16. I think of some phoenix rising... its own spirit answering to no one, not even its creator. Especially loved your own words that slip so easily into the character of this phoenix bluebird.

    ReplyDelete
  17. It is good to see you writing/posting here again. We are who we are no matter how much we are carved. Love this!

    ReplyDelete
  18. I feel fortunate to read this, at the moment; this morning I woke with sharp pain in the lower right abdomen. My doctor cousin thinks not appendicitis - at least, for now - but my back is already jacked up enough that even pulling on socks was a difficult and painful challenge - but now lying down is added to sitting and standing as reasons for that invisible gremlin to hot-poker me here or there around my midsection. Not having insurance is adding to the stress, too...

    And yet your flight of birds is a balm - for all the lines called out, but also because I know your own circumstances, and the creative process of this PAD is reason enough for me to sit and compose, but mostly to be thankful for gems like this. ~

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, M. So sorry to hear this. I know even with insurance stuff like this is hugely anxiety-ridden, but being at the mercy of your health with no recourse to help is awful--been there my friend, and am so grateful now for medicare--if we had single-payer in this country, you would have it too, but no one wants to talk about it except to deny it to people for stupid reasons. Thanks for spending some of your time with my poem--it was a release from my own physical distress to write it. I hope your health problems get sorted out soon. Be careful with your back--i guess you would be able to tell if abdominal pain is a hernia? Very common with those who do a lot of lifting and dragging heavy objects around.

      Delete
  19. I love this, both the idea of a carved bird coming to life, and the masterful way your crafted the tale. And of course, that the bird flies off, independent. I hope this means you're feeling better.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It does. Thank you, Mary. And thanks for all your humor and support on FB--it has helped me during this non-blogging time.

      Delete

'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg