(Howell Creek Radio Address for April 28, 2012 -- ) You Do Not Know What a Bird Is ============================= You do not know what a Bird is -- they have all escaped your notice -- you have seen but not suspected, and your thoughts have all been clouded. When your eyes look up and spot them, even if in gaze protracted, your thoughts are thick and sleepy; if your nature is more thoughtful than the rest, you may have stood there: watched them watching, perching, gliding tried to see what they were seeing -- then the tired tugging stirring ceased; your feet resumed their walking. You could not awake from dreaming. You do not know what a Bird is. > Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring > The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: > The Bird of Time has but a little way > To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.[^1] * * * > He halted in the wind, and -- what was that > Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost? > He stood there bringing March against his thought, > And yet too ready to believe the most. > > "Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said; > And truly it was fair enough for flowers > had we but in us to assume in March > Such white luxuriance of May for ours. > > We stood a moment so in a strange world, > Myself as one his own pretense deceives; > And then I said the truth (and we moved on). > A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves.[^2] * * * > On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble > His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves; > The gale, it plies the saplings double, > And thick on Severn snow the leaves. > > 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger > When Uricon the city stood: > 'Tis the old wind in the old anger, > But then it threshed another wood. > > Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman > At yonder heaving hill would stare: > The blood that warms an English yeoman, > The thoughts that hurt him, they were there. > > There, like the wind through woods in riot, > Through him the gale of life blew high; > The tree of man was never quiet: > Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I. > > The gale, it plies the saplings double, > It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone: > To-day the Roman and his trouble > Are ashes under Uricon.[^3] > * * * > I leant upon a coppice gate > When Frost was spectre-gray, > And Winter's dregs made desolate > The weakening eye of day > The tangled bine-stems scored the sky > Like strings of broken lyres, > And all mankind that haunted nigh > Had sought their household fires. > > The land's sharp features seemed to be > The Century's corpse outleant, > His crypt the cloudy canopy, > The wind his death-lament. > The ancient pulse of germ and birth > Was shrunken hard and dry, > And every spirit upon earth > Seemed fervourless as I. > > At once a voice arose among > The bleak twigs overhead > In a full-hearted evensong > Of joy illimited; > An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, > In blast-beruffled plume, > Had chosen thus to fling his soul > Upon the growing gloom. > > So little cause for carolings > Of such ecstatic sound > Was written on terrestrial things > Afar or nigh around, > That I could think there trembled through > His happy good-night air > Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew > And I was unaware.[^4] * * * > Lest the awe should dwell > And turn your frolic to fret > You shall look on my power at the helping hour > But then you shall forget! > > Lest limbs be reddened and rent > I spring the trap that is set > As I loose the snare you may glimpse me there > For surely you shall forget! > > Helper and healer, I cheer > Small waifs in the woodland wet > Strays I find in it, wounds I bind in it, > Bidding them all forget![^5] * * * Synopsis ----------- Radio address for April 28, 2012, dictated verbatim from the spring wind and rain on the North Shore. Here you will ride _in_ it -- next week I will tell you all _about_ it. The first bit of poetry is mine, an unfinished piece from last year. Sources for the rest of the poetry are in [the transcript][4]. Music cues are [_The Griffin's Grotto_][1] by Richard Hartley, and [_Please Don't Die_][2] & [_The Gravel Road_][3] by James Newton Howard. [^1]: _The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald [^2]: _A Boundless Moment_ by Robert Frost [^3]: _On Wenlock Edge_ by A. E. Housman [^4]: _The Darkling Thrush_ by Thomas Hardy (originally called _The Century's End, 1900_) [^5]: Extracted from _Wind in the Willows_ by Kenneth Grahame [1]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00000IGQE/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=joelsimprpers-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00000IGQE "Alice in Wonderland, 1999 Soundtrack (affiliate link)" [2]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0029QTMIY/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=joelsimprpers-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0029QTMIY "Peter Pan soundtrack (affiliate link)" [3]: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0013AWSKQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=joelsimprpers-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0013AWSKQ "The Village, 2004 Soundtrack (affiliate link)" [4]: http://jdueck.net/files/hcr-2012/hcr-2012-04-28.txt