James, this is beautiful. I have had the same experience of a bird flying into my window. The connection in your mind of yesterday's experience was lovely (That's not the right word, but I can't find another)

though I had slept on it, came back, and would not leave:

is so perceptive! I love it!

The way you combine a simple occurence of nature with a serious event of world-wide significance is just wonderful. I feel that I know the thought processes which brought you to this point.

I really like the repetition of 'very still'.

Mind-blowing work.

joanie







<Added>

I'm re-reading my response, written very late, and I realise that actually it wasn't a serious event of world-wide significance' - just the opposite in fact, which makes it very poignant. Very clever.

Thank you, Joanie. When I looked out of the window later, the bird was gone. These crashes against windows are usually fatal, especially to small birds, but this was a big fella. I hope he survived.

James.

I love the comparison here - think you could make even more of it.


I thought:

upright, beak gaping, very still.

might work better on separate lines. Same with

came back, and would not leave:

Perhaps:

he sat upright very still.

?

Really poignant.

This morning a starling
thumped against my window.
There he was, on the paving,

upright, beak gaping, very still.

All I had wanted
was breakfast and
to read a little.

But a piece of yesterday’s pain,
though I had slept on it,

came back, and would not leave:

the boy I saw on the screen last night,
a Russian boy in tears in a filthy orphanage,
telling about his mother who is dead
and his father who abandoned him.
When he finished speaking,

he sat upright,
very still.

How about this? I didn't put the first 'very still' in a line by itself, as I often feel a little asymmetry rather than a strict pattern seems more subtle.

The boy did sit upright - that was something that struck me. He didn't hang his head. I was very moved by his bearing as well as by what he was saying.

James.




<Added>

Or is it separate lines like this?

This morning a starling thumped against my window. There he was, on the paving, upright, beak gaping, very still.

and

But a piece of yesterday’s pain, though I had slept on it,came back and would not leave:

I'll ponder these variations, maybe do a few more. Think of the hassle poets had when they had only pen and paper...

Hi James,

Lovely piece of work.
I think for me it's so ''gentle'', and if I dare say it, revealing about you - that you were touched by the two events, and made the connection.

Let's hope that like the bird, the boy someday recovers and flies....

I'm in ruthless minimal prune mode right now - not written much new for ages, just picking and trimming old stuff for this bleeding book which I'm rather sick of now to be honest!
So I came up with this version of your piece.

A starling thumped against my window. There, on the paving, upright, beak gaping, very still. All I had wanted was breakfast and to read a little. But a piece of yesterday’s pain came back, would not leave: On the screen last night, the Russian boy in tears, the orphanage, his mother who is dead his father who abandoned him. He finished speaking, sat very still.

I'm not suggesting this improves the poem, just wondering if people think it makes it different?
How?
****
PS Regards to all P1-ers, Have been bumped off again for non-posting, (sorry), but I am still around and try to read all the new stuff.

xx
tc

Hello James

What a poignant little vignette you are telling us here - the parralle between the two events drawing us into a world of life and death in a moment and the value of life and death.

I like the echoing of 'very still' because it is the stillness of the child and the fragile stillness of the stunned bird that capture the attention.

I wont meddle with your structure - just take the easy way and bask in the sentiment!

Lovely writing - a moment in time captured for posterity and not lost

thanks
Tina

Hello Helen - good to hear from you again. 'Ruthless minimal prune mode' - I like that, know what you mean. But...I think I want this poem to be not too tight, a little bit informal, like an anecdote.

I hope the bird survives - and that boy becomes an engineer.

Tina, thank you. It's quite a casual little poem, but that coincidence of the boy and the bird was begging to be made into a poem, even an informal one.

James.

Dear James,

I love birds in poems. And you did a great job with this poem, as the others have said.

I rather like the first version, especially the first perfect opening two-line verse and the triangulation of noun-verb-noun of starling & thumped & window.

Elly

Thank you, Elly. I think I'll probably stay with the first version - the new spaced-out lines in the other one seem hardly necessary.

James.

Hi James,

Birds are always flying into my kitchen window (I've tried to work out what it is they're attracted to and remove it, but it keeps happening). They're usually just stunned and if you give them a half hour they recover and fly off - you just have to keep them out of the cats' claws in the meantime.

I loved the connection your memory made between the two events. For me, I'd like to think that the birdlike physicality of a child abadoned in a Russain orphanage resembles a small helpless bird, thus the connection in your mind.

I also like the first version best, splitting the lines seems to make it unnecessarily bitty.

Flo

Thanks, Flo. I have a room with windows on both sides, exactly opposite, so I suppose birds think they can fly through. Yes, I agree about the revision - I'm more or less satisfied with the first version.

James.

James - wonderful link between the bird and the boy. Poetry at its best!

James,
It's fascinating how when you put these two incidents together the mind makes links. I guess our minds are all about trying to find links between things. I do like the second version you posted. Somehow it highlights not only the upright posture, the stillness, but the pain not leaving, still there, like the bird on the paving stones.

Elsie, this is the stuff of poetry, isn't it? Making links. I think everyone has that facility for making surprising connections. I was reminded of my older daughter at the age of three - there was an image on TV (in what context I can't recall) of a heap of large vehicle tyres, truck or tractor tyres, that sort of thing, and she said, 'Oh, it's like a big snake!' We all do it; poets write it down.

James.

This morning a starling
flew to my window.

Suddenly, he was there.
Upright, beak gaping, very still.

A moment before
All I had though of was breakfast
and
to read a little.

But a piece of yesterday’s pain,
arrived with the bird;
came back,refusing to leave.

Suddenly, he was there
The Russian boy I had seen last night
Not through a window but on a screen.

In the filth of an orphanage
His Mother dead;
abandoned by his father.

When he finished speaking,
he sat very still.

I looked back to the window
But
The Bird was gone.



I loved this poem and found it very poignant. I rewrote it a litle but your version is the best. It felt as though the bird somehow had captured the image of the boys pain for you again.

James,

something about this reminded me of the opening of The Body Artist by Don Delillo (which I love (tho' his characters tend to be a bit more self-involved)). already (arriving a bit late as I am) much has been said on it, but it doesn't matter admitting that I like it too. I was also hugely taken glancing through your back-catalogue and hardly feel qualified to comment, but I rather think that the stanza starting with 'but a piece' isn't perfectly arranged; I was thrown for a split second each time I read it, and I think I'm tripping on the subclause 'though I had slept on it' which I half reckon needs parentheses around it, or the stanza needs to be rearranged. however that might be my problem, not yours.

my deux cents are also that the line breaks in the first version are fine (tho' line breaks are the last thing I'd worry about, perhaps wrongly), and your remark about the exclusive days of pen and paper made me think. I read a poet (can't remember who, and he was possibly quoting another poet) saying that the desired effect of the finalized poem is to hide it's creation process; he suggested this as an argument for holding onto myriad paper drafts of a piece (he also claimed this was an investment for the future when some university wanted to buy all the shoe-boxes). this made me feel guilty about my very unprecious approach to drafting, whereby I'm more than happy to get rid of each incarnation once dismissed - I remember the intrigue of exactly what Emily Dickinson would have settled on in some of her poems. sorry to ramble, but I was suddenly curious about where everybody else's drafts went in this digital age! phoo.

Hi SaintEx - Thanks for your comment. I've put parenthesis at that line, though I don't think it makes a huge difference. A pair of commas can act as a parenthesis too.

As for drafts, I just delete them. At least, as soon as a poem has reached a stage when it's better than any previous draft. Paper copies go to be recycled. I've probably saved a square mile of forest.

James.

Hi there,

I'm going to be contentious and say that I much prefer the commas to the brackets.

An aside needs to be strong to work in brackets; this one is much more subtle.

I think this is a very powerful poem and (with that one change) just right as it is.

You commented elsewhere, James, about how poetry is good at enabling us to move from the specific to the general. I think this poem moves nicely from a small specific to a bigger specific and in the process implies a great deal about the general. The even nicer thing, which is another possibility of poetry, is that the reader can, as here, be left open to supply their own deeper meaning, within the boundaries of the poem.

Thank you.

pt

Many thanks, pt - if the poem does what you say it does, move from the specific to the general, and if it's open', I'm happy with that.

You're right about the brackets - there is a difference. I'll remove them.

James.