"The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.

They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise."

                                         Monday

                                            Billy Collins

A fellow blogger and poetry lover

from the lovely blog

"Beyond the Fields We Know" .

( see my favorite blogs for a link)

Suggested after my last post that the

Norwegian poet Olav H. Hauge should

be more widely read. I have to agree.

Conch

You build a house for your soul,
and wander proudly
in starlight
with the house on your back,
like a snail.

When danger in near,

you crawl inside

and are safe

behind your hard

shell.

And when you are no more,

the house will

live on,

a testament

to your soul's beauty.

And the sea of your loneliness

will sing deep

inside.

Olav H. Hauge

"Now I build in the nearest pine

and each morning when I wake

it threads its needles with gold."

                            And I Was Sorrow

                                   Olav H. Hauge

Saturday it was fairly cold but I trundled down to the

library to pick up some books by A. R. Ammons.

First I passed  the front door rabbit who often sits bum

against the spruce at the foot of our front stairs.

Then I looked to see how my neigbours gardens

had fared in the new snow. It was one of those

days when I had a long to do list and no ambition. 

I still have a long to do list.

" The burdens of the world
on my back
lighten the world
not a whit while
removing them greatly
decreases my specific
gravity"

                        Correction

                         A.R. Ammons

A grey day -20C -4F with steamed up windows

dripping condensation. I am glad they replaced

our exterior doors last week and not today. But

continuing with my plan I am posting another

photo from last week.

"One day something came to the window.

Work was dropped , I looked up.

The colours fared. Everything turned around.

The earth and I sprang toward each other."

                                            Face to Face

                                                   Tomas Transtromer

 

" If only we could speak to one another then

when our hearts are half-open flowers.

Words like golden bees

would drift in.

- God, teach me the language of sleep."

                         - When They Sleep

                                    Rolf Jacobsen

This week we are only flirting with the idea of

winter, little skiffs of snow, darkness in the morning

and again in the early evening, warm to cold and back.

Last week it was more autumnal. So my next few

posts will be photos from last week with some

favorite Scandinavian poets.

"Houses, roads, skies,

blue inlets mountains

opened their windows."

           The Journey

                  Tomas Transtromer

I have seen sparrows and the occasional Magpie

at my suet, but I was not expecting such an elegant

visitor when I looked out today.

"There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere."

                                      A Dream of Trees

                                                    Mary Oliver

Science Books

As a child I loved science books especially anything dealing with nature.

Two of my favourites were the The How and Why Wonder Books, and

A Golden Science Guide series from Golden Press I still pick them

up whenever I see them and one day I will have to sit down order

a few more. I still like to flip through them. I understand that the

information is out of date and that the internet has lots of sources.

But for me books will always be key and I still have many books I

pored through as a child. Also the internet has perhaps too much

information. Talking to a friend the other day we reminisced

about the eye popping pictures that could be provided by a

National Geographic article on New Guinea. For children with

no internet and 2  or 3 TV channels showing westerns, musical

variety shows and hockey this was a real revelation.

Remembering my love of these books and some of my other

much loved toys (a favourite memory is a birthday cake covered

with plastic dinosaurs) I now give family children Papo Dinosaurs

( these are great, really detailed ) and the book Dinosaurs by John Long.

My old friend the White-Tailed Jack Rabbit.

When the information is out dated because of recent discoveries

I can take it in stride. When the changes are the results of our

own diminishing of the world we live in I have more trouble

accepting it. I think, in my childhood I perceived may things as eternal

at least for my life time. It appears that will not be the case.

"Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?"

                                                  Picture-books in Winter

                                                                    Robert Louis Stevenson

I was off work today for Remembrance Day and I was glad

to be home when it was light outside. I went out first thing to fill the 

heated birdbath and the feeders. Soon we had  some action.

I managed to get pictures of most of the guests. A Robin forlornly skulked

around by the frozen pond but did not come close enough for a good photo.

I am not sure why it did not visit the birdbath. A Magpie cast a disdainful

eye on the assembly but found nothing to it's liking and quickly left,

if I had put out cheezies it would stay ( I have done that  in the past so
visitors can see one close up )  but I don't like feeding junk food.

Otherwise we had the usual suspects.

 

My Blue Jay experiment is working well. I mentioned earlier

I never had them in the yard so I put out peanuts. I was

excited when I got one, then a few weeks later I had two,

today I had three at one time!!!

Someone else likes peanuts.

Someone was a little piggy.

Click to enlarge "please"

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them. "

         Laurence Binyon

                           For the Fallen

"Remembrance Day is a memorial day observed in Commonwealth

countries since the end of World War I to remember the members

of their armed forces who have died in the line of duty. Remembrance Day

is observed on 11 November to recall the official end of World War I

on that date in 1918; hostilities formally ended "at the 11th hour of the

11th day of the 11th month" of 1918 with the German signing of the Armistice

("at the 11th hour" refers to the passing of the 11th hour, or 11:00 a.m.)"

                                                 from Wikipedia

Friday we had our first snow. It did not amount to much.

Nothing like the snowstorms down East. When I

crossed the parking lot for coffee the usual gang

was there.

It might be my recent exposure to all the paintings in DC

but I saw our White-tailed Jackrabbits as characters in

paintings. These two shots made me think of Japanese

nature paintings of the EDO period.

I am sure this one knew Albrecht Dürer.

Our Mountain Ash are stubbornly holding on to their leaves.

They provide a really beautiful shot of colour for the city.

The snow has stopped and the sky is blue.

" God how we doubt the flames of our beauty!

now grow in the burning and demanding city

seeds of our excellence, reasons for phoenixes,

rake ash from our bodies for a new anatomy!"

                                           Magic Animals

                                                 Gwendolyn MacEwen

                                              

In a previous post I wondered whether reading my

favorite poets leads me to observe and appreciate nature

more or whether nature comes first and I turn to poets to share

their enjoyment and reactions as I watch the nature unfold

around me. I have decided a simple answer is best.

The answer that came to me is the obvious one that

nature comes first to all of us and we respond in many

ways indifference, violence, affection. Having experienced

something of the wonder, mystery and horror that

nature can display I have chosen to respond to it

through science, art and poetry. The most important thing

is to live in the moment enough to appreciate the enjoyment

nature brings.

"Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.
This is what the whole thing is about. "

Just Thinking

                        William Stafford

        

I mentioned in my last post that I was pondering

which was the chicken and which the egg, whether

I look at nature differently because I am reading

my favorite poets or whether I read them because

they help me place what I have seen it some

kind of context. I know they are an important

refuge for me.

"Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things."

                  Wild Geese

                                       Mary Oliver

I have been thinking about my/our relationship with

nature and reading what some of my favorite poets

have to say about it. I am not sure whether I am talking

cause or effect here, whether reading them makes me

think about nature or I turn to them as I watch the

seasons change and the animals move through them.

"Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name."

                                  from The Silence
                                              Wendell Berry