Same Thrush !!

In an earlier blog I had written about white throated ground thrush but the photos were not proper and I could have uploaded these new photos to that blog like have done with Red whiskered Mynas, Brahminy Kites, Magpie Robin and so on. Somehow I love these birds and so decided to put it in my new post. These are quite lovely but very secretive birds, they avoid flocks and are mostly solitary or found in pairs. A shy and quiet bird promptly flies away when disturbed and sits motionless for threat to pass before resuming its quest. The distinguishing feature of Orange headed found in the southern part of the country is two oblique lines on the white chin, as if they have put mascara. These birds prefer forest with damp shady thickets and that is precisely where I found this beauty. Seen rummaging on fallen leaves and debris, tossing them around to search for insects and berries. Then it froze to lookout for threat then it ran disappearing, appearing, disappearing, appearing in the woods and to new spot to rummage…it really was an ordeal to get these pictures but what great fun and I really enjoyed following this charming busy bird. With time and persistence I did gain some trust, it came quite near to say “hello you want to take my pictures do you?!!” and then flew away just about giving me few seconds to click the above pic. Moments of joy in birding.

Ruben Dario “the child poet”

Ruben Dario (1867-1916) was a legendary poet of Central America (loosely described as Hispanic), though born in Nicaragua his influence spread across nations. He was the forerunner of modernism in Spanish-American literature. A precocious child he started to write quite early and by the time he was 13 years was well known across the country as “child poet”. There is an incident that happened in1882 when Dario at the age of 15 had a chance to pursue a scholarship which would have given him the opportunity to study in Europe. However, after reading his poem “El Libro” (The Book) in front of President Joaquin Zavala and other conservative Nicaraguan Authorities, he was denied. The president declared his poems too liberal. He feared that Europe would further influence his liberal and anti-religious views.

Dario traveled across the Central American countries starting with teaching career at El Salvador and then working at newspapers (as also as member of diplomatic delegations and later as ambassador to Spain) in Chile, Guatemala, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia and most importantly in Argentina. He also used these opportunities to travel abroad to Spain, France and so on. This was the reason for his influence across the countries as he involved himself deeply into not only on the cultural scenes of the countries he visited but also with the political leadership, his coterie of friends included heads of states and other dignitaries. He died at a relatively young age with alcoholism related illnesses.

These two poems of his I found in the net:

On the Death of a Poet

Only the Swans that day
Saw the high maker of our thoughts embark
And o the Lake Mysterious fade away
In the black ship that crosses to the dark.

The poet's robe was his,
Embroidered with illustrious fleurs-de-lys;
And laurel leaf and thorn
His sad prefigured forehead did adorn.

Afar God's City rose,
Where everlasting Peace her throne has reared
Above the poppy-meadows of repose;
And as the coat of his desire he neared,
He proved divine delight, knew grace untold,
Beheld the Cross uplifted and, before
That sacred Conqueror,
The fallen Sphinx, a corpse already cold.

Fatality
The tree is happy because it is scarcely sentient;
the hard rock is happier still, it feels nothing:
there is no pain as great as being alive,
no burden heavier than that of conscious life.

To be, and to know nothing, and to lack a way,
and the dread of having been, and future terrors...
And the sure terror of being dead tomorrow,
and to suffer all through life and through the darkness,

and through what we do not know and hardly suspect...
And the flesh that temps us with bunches of cool grapes,
and the tomb that awaits us with its funeral sprays,
and not to know where we go,
nor whence we came!...

This I wrote the other day

Binaries in the brain

In the depth of the night
forgotten ones
don’t wait for summons these days
they come dressed for picnic
with handbags, caps and savories.
I sitting about the tree
dents in the grass
warmth in the air.