The thing about birds
Freedom, migration and why it's easier to speak of birds
What is it about the end of Passover and a day like Easter that makes me think about birds? Maybe it’s because I come from a family that loves to talk about birds and I have just returned from Pennsylvania and visiting them. There, we talked about the giant eagles’ nest that rests in a sycamore above the Susquehanna River on our way from the airport. My sister and I sitting on her porch spotted a bluebird on a shepherd’s hook. I noticed the glint of a flock of yellow goldfinches covering the lawn under the last filling of bird feeders before they were taken down.
Later in the day, turkey vultures circled the pond and swamp at my dad’s and stepmom’s. They spoke of news of a rose breasted grosbeak spotted earlier in the week. We heard a strange bird cry over the swamp that we did not recognize. A tiny lump of hummingbird nest from last year swung high in the limbs of a nearby unleafed out tree. Reports that the tiny bird’s migration has reached the southern part of the state.
Four Canadian geese eyed the dog at the swamp’s edge, their graceful sweep through cold spring water. Their bob and submarine approach to scare each other off. The first sighting of the purple martins in their “condo” birdhouses over near the tractor path to the cornfield. The joy in my dad’s voice when he sees them.
We talked of cleaning the bird houses and feeders. How soon to set out the grape jelly and oranges for the orioles. We watched the buzzards swoop and glide, and wondered if some animal had died, or if they just enjoy the feeling of air and how it holds them.
We discussed the geese and whether they are the same ones come back from last year—and laugh at one who has been named, “Uncle Jake. There always seem to be rapscallions among geese! My sister and I remember farm geese hissing at us when we were young going down the barn to collect eggs. But mostly, we sit in the spring sun and feel calm and centered talking about birds, their comings and goings.
I thought of birds again when I flew home. I have begun to instinctively envision large birds of prey when my airplane takes off and lands, a small prayer to creatures who forever rise above earth and effortlessly return. Unlike us, and our mechanized rise into air, our metal and plastic tubes we hope take us where we need to go. I never like thinking about it too much on a plane, how we are not creatures meant to fly. Of course, I was reading the incredible novel, Circe by Madeline Miller which reacquainted me with the story of Daedalus and Icarus. Maybe humans have always wished to be birds. Then I found this Willam Carlos Williams poem about birds:
Gulls My townspeople, beyond in the great world, are many with whom it were far more profitable for me to live than here with you. These whirr about me calling, calling! and for my own part I answer them, loud as I can, but they, being free, pass! I remain! Therefore, listen! For you will not soon have another singer. First I say this: you have seen the strange birds, have you not, that sometimes rest upon our river in winter? Let them cause you to think well then of the storms that drive many to shelter. These things do not happen without reason. And the next thing I say is this: I saw an eagle once circling against the clouds over one of our principal churches— Easter, it was—a beautiful day! three gulls came from above the river and crossed slowly seaward! Oh, I know you have your own hymns, I have heard them— and because I knew they invoked some great protector I could not be angry with you, no matter how much they outraged true music— You see, it is not necessary for us to leap at each other, and, as I told you, in the end the gulls moved seaward very quietly. William Carlos Williams Public domain (poets.org)
It seems as if Williams asks us to watch the birds, too, for what they would tell us about ourselves, what storms we must weather, and what our “true music” might be. I wonder if the voice of the poet is Williams, or another spiritual being.
Finally, I read today about the Pope admonishing our government for deporting people to foreign prison without due process. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a number of years ago about immigration and birds:
Birds of America Deep in the bright red country of the sun, the birds of America raucous, wild, immigrant gather, having flocked in bands surged over borders as snow melts. By July, they rise early to the party in full bloom – voices piercing our cottony night dreams – having taken temporary residence in tiny wooden boxes, old barns or the cool, damp woods – for now – for this uncertain summer where they can dip & soar & glide like the purest bit of floating fluff off the cottonwood down by the river or the drooping milkweed in the garden. How odd, really, that we welcome them with open arms -- so unabashedly, like tourists in our own hometown, peering through binoculars. Build them sturdy homes, feed them tasty morsels through all seasons, celebrate their foreign dress, strange plumage. Mating habits so unlike our own. Lament a young one fallen from the nest. We are such humanitarians to birds. It’s sad they cannot talk to us, thank us for our gracious hospitality. Here, in America, all traveling birds are welcome – the more garish, bright & tropical, the better. Writers Resist, March 2019
I hope we can all think of spring and freedom, love, bird migration and gathering without fear today. And tomorrow, may we work—and fight toward whatever future and freedom we want for ourselves and our families in this world. And may we always think of birds and care for them, as well.
You can buy my new book of poems, Everybody Wants to Keep the Moon Inside Them from Mayapple Press, or from your local bookstore. You can also buy books at one of my events. I will be reading in Traverse City, Michigan at The Grand Traverse Circuit at 6:30 on Friday, April 25; and at Temple Beth Emeth’s Celebration of Jewish Poetry in Ann Arbor on Saturday afternoon, April 26. It would be wonderful to see you at one of these events!