Please note that the work on this blog is the copyright of the writers and may not be reproduced without their permission.
The dapper geese, black-necked, beige-bodied,
at weekends by the park lake bully the toddlers
brought to feed the ducks. Small children,
crowded by beady-eyed birds their own height
jostling, stamping black triangle feet,
tearfully hand over bread, or simply howl.
As the days shorten the geese gather by the canal
placing themselves in one neat row along the bank,
spaced regularly and sitting in symmetry,
quiet, settled, heads facing the flat water,
preening occasionally, ignoring people,
disciplined, knowing their own routine.
At dusk suddenly they sweep through the air
in military formation, a purposeful V
silhouetted above the trees, controlled, powerful.
Though they no longer migrate, still their abrupt cries
convey remembered wildness and waiting distance,
great open places, a calling emptiness.
21 comments:
love this poem Zeph, just brilliant! You've really 'captured' them, their every detail, not necessary to review here but the last stanza and especially "a calling emptiness" really talk to me. (How their cries startle at ground level, how they must echo around their skies - and they seem to Own them don't they? Even birds of prey don't fack wi' Geese eh?)
An irresistible scalpel defines, a very delicate lyricism leads us to the beauty of these strong birds, not always apparent, but here they are redefined, reinvented for us (the martial aspect is so astute). Fine, fine, fine!
o and did I say Fine?
Thanks ever so, File! They're Canada geese of course, so you would like them:)
Apart from just trying to describe their general goosishness, I was kind of fascinated by how, even though they stay here all year round, they still do pre-migratory things. So the instinct to migrate is still there.
Whether they're European, Canadian, or African geese, it's always the same dilemma...
Grilled, roasted, stewed, in gravy...? Stuffed, maybe.
A brilliant poem Zeph. I'm not friends with the geese down our canal, they attack and kill the ducklings. They've attacked me before too, perhaps I look like a giant duckling...
I didn't know that they don't migrate any more. Is that because the city geese have become somehow domesticated? Or is it a climate change thing?
Either way I find that sad.
I do like this poem - it reminds me of feeding geese slightly fearfully. As you say, they are very big when you are very little.
Thank you Pink and Mimi. I don't know why, but the Canada Geese (not very tasty, Offie) in the UK stay here all the time, though our other species of geese still migrate. Perhaps we're halfway between the two areas they used to migrate between, and they just thought "Hey, why bother?" Perhaps there's enough food (Tesco sliced white bread, often) for all the year round... Any ornithologists out there?
Excellent poem, Zeph, the details, and also the suggestion of something vast and lost.
I think I may have told this story on pseuds before, but as a small child, I was attacked by an enormous goose. In fact, this is one of my childhood-memories-or-was-it-only-a-dream referred to on the previous thread. Haven't liked grey or white geese ever since, but I do like Canada ones.
I didn't know either that they no longer migrate, but it makes sense to me, because they seem almost quasi-tame, or at least very comfortable with their urban existence. Like when cats do something that reminds you their not really domesticated, or rather the other side of that coin.
File, I'm not sure how old the fillets are, but I highly recommend this book - or for anyone else who has kids to buy books for.
"they're"! Not "their". How embarassing.
Really like this, Zeph - especially the second stanza.
I think they've always been resident, although apparently some have taken to migrating in order to moult.
More interestingly, a Canada goose does a poo every four minutes.
that's some serious observation skills you've got Ringo, does it depend on what time of day?
Zeph, personally speaking I don't think the instinct to migrate ever leaves us, we just get tired! Maybe the geese got tired?
thanks for the recommendation munni, I noticed it's set on Walden Pond, might serve as an intro to Thoreau
I'll add it to my cart and let you know what fillete thinks of it (she's 6 and 5/8's and obsessed with picking up [huge and filthy] goose feathers in the park right now - ever since she learned how to make a quill)
talking of sky life, there's quite a bit more here
Thanks Munni and Ringo. I believe Canada geese do still migrate in some parts of the world, but our ones seem to be a bit like urban foxes, or indeed cats, having decided to put up with us being around in exchange for food.
On the other hand geese are like cows - grass goes in one end and comes almost straight out the other.
Fine pomes over there File!
I took a gander at this and enjoyed it. I particularly like the alliteration used in the first stanza.
File: they grow out of collecting feathers. Usually. Mimi used to bring home enough every summer to build her own herring gull. I would throw them out of the window and she would immediately leap out and bring them back.
Since she sort of stopped being a kitten, her fascination with feathers has waned.
I was having a pleasant time having a drink in the garden the evening before my birthday last week accompanied by the many noises of the nature around me, the honking of geese flying overhead and then *splat!!! (an unwelcome birthday present) They say it's lucky if a bird shits on you, but Jesus Zeph if they really were like cows I would have to disagree!!
I beieve the V formation is used for wind protection but Normally Geese shouldn't be allowed to poop while in fligjht.however if it's all green, it's all good.
... depends if it lands on your head Guitou!
In which case, the fertilizing would be welcome.
Some very dear friends of mine found a dead goose in the garden on their wedding day. They claim to believe this was a good omen.
Free food is always a good omen.
Post a Comment