Once More to the (Other) Lake...

Yesterday afternoon: 20-25 sandhill cranes overhead here on the southwest edge of Fort Worth, circling and reversing with great precision, considering they fly like lanky noodles, dithering about whether to stop the night on their way back up to the Platte River in Nebraska. They make such a sweet sound when they fly. Also: some kind of hawk, possibly ferruginous, parked itself on the ground behind a low mesquite-like thorny bush, and sat there and studied me. Benbrook Lake is full for the first time in a long time.

Louise Gluck's "Parable of the Swans"

Parable of the Swans


On a small lake off
the map of the world, two
swans lived. As swans,
they spent eighty percent of the day studying
themselves in the attentive water and
twenty percent ministering to the beloved
other. Thus
their fame as lovers stems
chiefly from narcissism, which leaves
so little leisure for
more general cruising. But
fate had other plans: after ten years, they hit
slimy water; whatever the filth was, it
clung to the male’s plumage, which turned
instantly gray; simultaneously,
the true purpose of his neck’s
flexible design revealed itself. So much
action on the flat lake, so much
he’s missed! Sooner or later in a long
life together, every couple encounters
some emergency like this, some
drama which results
in harm. This
occurs for a reason: to test
love and to demand
fresh articulation of its complex terms.
So it came to light that the male and female
flew under different banners: whereas
the male believed that love
was what one felt in one’s heart
the female believed
love was what one did. But this is not
a little story about the male’s
inherent corruption, using as evidence the swan’s
sleazy definition of purity. It is
a story of guile and innocence. For ten years
the female studied the male; she dallied
when he slept or when he was
conveniently absorbed in the water,
while the spontaneous male
acted casually, on
the whim of the moment. On the muddy water
they bickered awhile, in the fading light,
until the bickering grew
slowly abstract, becoming
part of their song
after a little longer.



Louise Gluck
from Meadowlands Copyright © 1996 by Louise Glück.
Buy Meadowlands, here.

Bukowski's Blue Bird

Perennial as the grass are the poets and writers, mostly men, who drink us all to death, carrying us down with them like undertow. And we raise a glass to them even when they're gone.

The Peculiar Species: Texicanus Tyrannicus Assholus

Yesterday I went birding at an "area lake" here. I saw some amazing birds, but was greatly distressed by the lingering presence of the peculiar species Texicanus Tyrannicus Assholus. What you can't see in this cell phone photo: lots and lots of nylon fishing line entangled in undergrowth and roots and reeds, sometimes with vicious hooks and lures still attached, with bright-colored fake bait still attached.
I cleaned up under the watchful eye of a red-tailed hawk with its feathers fluffed out in the cold, yessir, yessir, six bags full.

"The Butterfly Circus"

Some films are really, really useful in teaching because they risk much, and because they inevitably fall short of their ambitions. I love this one for its imperfections.

The Butterfly Circus (low res) from The Butterfly Circus on Vimeo.

Random Found Art

Don't know what this is, or who did it, but I like it.
Children reading, superimposed over a vintage table of wages.
If I knew whom to credit here, I would.

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore

Via TriQuarterly and Poets & Writers: Lovely little animated short, Oscar-nominated if you care about that kind of thing:

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore from Moonbot Studios on Vimeo.