Charles Simic was named the new poet laureate of the United States this past week, so I’m picking one of my favorites of his. I often talk to our morning avian visitors, and always am amazed at the rhythms of their visits — they come and then disappear again, often without any warning…
Talking To Little Birdies
Not a peep out of you now
After the bedlam early this morning.
Are you begging pardon of me
Hidden up there among the leaves,
Or are your brains momentarily overtaxed?
You savvy a few things I don’t:
The overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler;
The traffic of cats in the yard;
Strangers leaving the widow’s house,
Tieless and wearing crooked grins.
Or have you got wind of the world’s news?
Some new horror I haven’t heard about yet?
Which one of you was so bold as to warn me,
Our sweet setup is in danger?
Kids are playing soldiers down the road,
Pointing their rifles and playing dead.
Little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks
In the thick foliage as you hear me say this?
This is one of his many great poems, although I don’t claim to fully comprehend all of his meaning here, but I believe I have a pretty good idea.
I especially like some of his early “object” poems, which have surrealistic elements. His writing, like Mark Strands is very interesting.