The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Thursday and Fancy Birds

The Peacock at Alderton
By Geoffrey Hill

Nothing to tell why I cannot write
in re Nobody; nobody to narrate this
latter acknowledgement: the self that counts
words to a line, accountable survivor
pain-wedged, pinioned in the cleft trunk,
less petty than a sprite, poisonous as Ariel
to Prospero's own knowledge. In my room
a vase of peacock feathers. I will attempt
to describe them, as if for evidence
on which a life depends. Except for the eyes
they are threadbare, the threads hanging
as from a luminate tough weed in February.
But those eyes—like a Greek letter,
omega, fossiled in an Indian shawl;
like a shaved cross section of living tissue,
the edge metallic blue, the core of jet,
the white of the eye in fact closer to beige,
the whole encircled with a black-fringed green.
The peacock roosts alone on a Scots pine
at the garden end, in blustery twilight
his lambent cloak stark as a warlock's cape,
the maharajah-bird that scavenges
close by the stone-troughed, stone-terraced, stone-ensurfed
Suffolk shoreline; at times displays his scream.


Wednesday started cool and overcast and ended raining buckets. In between, things were pretty uneventful -- I did do two socially distanced Pokemon raids, one from my car near the tennis courts and one from my house with a remote raid pass while a neighbor used one as well, and I fought with Google Photos which was so much easier to use when it could be set to sync automatically with Google Drive.

We never managed to take a walk because the thunderstorms moved in, so I watched some Merlin while folding laundry and in the evening we watched this week's The 100 (dark but good this season) and Agents of SHIELD (a thing of beauty -- I love Sousa's storyline, both his noble intentions and his shifted fate, and the film noir format made it witty and clever). Fancy birds from Parrot World:



  • Poem for Thursday and Great Falls Geese

    I Am Waiting By Lawrence Ferlinghetti I am waiting for my case to come up and I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder and I am waiting for someone…

  • Poem for Wednesday and Great Falls Cardinals

    The Bird Her Punctual Music Brings By Emily Dickinson The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— Its place is in the Human…

  • Poem for Tuesday and Carderock

    A wounded Deer – leaps highest – By Emily Dickinson A wounded Deer – leaps highest – I've heard the Hunter tell – 'Tis but the ecstasy of death…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded