I recall writing about Rufous babbler (at Silent valley) and Spotted babbler (Nandi hills), babblers are quite noisy birds. The above picture is that of White-headed Babbler while lower one that of Common Babbler (its behavior is more like pheasants). White heads are confined to south William Carlos Williams: things “that astonish me beyond words”
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) was a poet, novelist and essayist, apart from being a practicing doctor! H e sou
ght to invent an entirely fresh-and singularly American-poetic, whose subject matter was centered on the everyday circumstances of life and the lives of common people. The Poetry Society of America continues to honor William Carlos Williams by presenting an annual award in his name for the best book of poetry published by a small, non-profit or university press.
This poem below is one of my favorite, the way he compares gaits of people (its not about “body language”…I hate that word, part of my job involves dealing with this, I tend to switch off when speaking about these!)….yah it does ‘astonish me beyond words’ too when you see people in crowded impoverished places making all attempts to carry their life with dignity, it is fascinating. And when you put it in context of crude manipulative richer section, snarling at each other for power and benefits, it becomes wonderful. Perspectives that add meanings to life…
Pastoral
The little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
But we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we think good
or evil.
Meanwhile,
the old man who goes about
gathering dog-lime
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the Episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a Sunday.
These things
astonish me beyond words.
“Libertad ! Igualdad! Fratenidad!”
You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
--if we were rich
we'd stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!
It is dreams that have destroyed us.
There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.
Well--
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
and--
dreams are not a bad thing.
“Hic Jacet”
The coroner's merry little children
Have such twinkling brown eyes.
Their father is not of gay men
And their mother jocular in no wise,
Yet the coroner's merry little children
Laugh so easily.
They laugh because they prosper.
Fruit for them is upon all branches.
Lo! how they jibe at loss, for
Kind heaven fills their little paunches!
It's the coroner's merry, merry children
Who laugh so easily.
Dawn
Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky
with metallic clinkings--
beating color up into it
at a far edge,--beating it, beating it
with rising, triumphant ardor,--
stirring it into warmth,
quickening in it a spreading change,--
bursting wildly against it as
dividing the horizon, a heavy sun
lifts himself--is lifted--
bit by bit above the edge
of things,--runs free at last
out into the open--!lumbering
glorified in full release upward--
songs cease.
Pastoral
When I was younger
it was plain to me
I must make something of myself.
Older now
I walk back streets
admiring the houses
of the very poor:
roof out of line with sides
the yards cluttered
with old chicken wire, ashes,
furniture gone wrong;
the fences and outhouses
built of barrel staves
and parts of boxes, all,
if I am fortunate,
smeared a bluish green
that properly weathered
pleases me best of all colors.
No one
will believe this
of vast import to the nation.
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) was a poet, novelist and essayist, apart from being a practicing doctor! H e sou
ght to invent an entirely fresh-and singularly American-poetic, whose subject matter was centered on the everyday circumstances of life and the lives of common people. The Poetry Society of America continues to honor William Carlos Williams by presenting an annual award in his name for the best book of poetry published by a small, non-profit or university press.This poem below is one of my favorite, the way he compares gaits of people (its not about “body language”…I hate that word, part of my job involves dealing with this, I tend to switch off when speaking about these!)….yah it does ‘astonish me beyond words’ too when you see people in crowded impoverished places making all attempts to carry their life with dignity, it is fascinating. And when you put it in context of crude manipulative richer section, snarling at each other for power and benefits, it becomes wonderful. Perspectives that add meanings to life…
Pastoral
The little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
But we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we think good
or evil.
Meanwhile,
the old man who goes about
gathering dog-lime
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the Episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a Sunday.
These things
astonish me beyond words.
“Libertad ! Igualdad! Fratenidad!”
You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
--if we were rich
we'd stick our chests out
and hold our heads high!
It is dreams that have destroyed us.
There is no more pride
in horses or in rein holding.
We sit hunched together brooding
our fate.
Well--
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
and--
dreams are not a bad thing.
“Hic Jacet”
The coroner's merry little children
Have such twinkling brown eyes.
Their father is not of gay men
And their mother jocular in no wise,
Yet the coroner's merry little children
Laugh so easily.
They laugh because they prosper.
Fruit for them is upon all branches.
Lo! how they jibe at loss, for
Kind heaven fills their little paunches!
It's the coroner's merry, merry children
Who laugh so easily.
Dawn
Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky
with metallic clinkings--
beating color up into it
at a far edge,--beating it, beating it
with rising, triumphant ardor,--
stirring it into warmth,
quickening in it a spreading change,--
bursting wildly against it as
dividing the horizon, a heavy sun
lifts himself--is lifted--
bit by bit above the edge
of things,--runs free at last
out into the open--!lumbering
glorified in full release upward--
songs cease.
Pastoral
When I was younger
it was plain to me
I must make something of myself.
Older now
I walk back streets
admiring the houses
of the very poor:
roof out of line with sides
the yards cluttered
with old chicken wire, ashes,
furniture gone wrong;
the fences and outhouses
built of barrel staves
and parts of boxes, all,
if I am fortunate,
smeared a bluish green
that properly weathered
pleases me best of all colors.
No one
will believe this
of vast import to the nation.
