Watch the shrike

Shrikes are charming birds of open country, also found in grooves of trees. They decidedly avoid thick forests and can be seen perched on low boughs of trees or bushes few feet above the ground. Keenly searching insects they pounce and devour it on the ground then returns back to its perch. It has fixed territory and is resident specie. The Bay Backed Shrikes are asiatic species found throughout the subcontinent, they have black band across the eyes crossing the beak, a broad grey and white head. A small bird with longish graduated tail they have black wings with white patch, shoulders chestnut maroon. They are also known to mime other birds.

On Arabic poetry: Ahmad Shawqi (1868-1932) is perhaps one of the most prominent figures in recent Arabic history. He is known as a great poet, he was also a leader of the people. Upon the publication of Shawqi's collection "Al-Shawkiyat", a celebration was held in his honor on 1927, where Shawqi was named as Poet- Laureate. Arab nations praised Shawqi's poetic achievements on the rejuvenation of the Arabic language, which constitutes a strong common linking bond for all Arab countries. Sadly this blogger couldn’t get English translation of his poems on the net, I am quite disappointed. So I am writing about one of the greatest Arabic poet Al Mutanabbi (915-965) who was born in what is now modern Iraq. Al-Mutanabbi means 'he who claims to be a prophet', that did define him (the statue is that of Mutannabi in Baghdad on the bank of Tigris). Though a great poet he was a fiery individual bordering egomania, didn’t care much about whom he crossed which eventually led to his murder. Proud of his supremacy as a poet, Al Mutanabbi often sang his own praise with sentences such as:

The desert knows me well, the night and the mounted men.
The battle and the sword, the paper and the pen.

This from the poem “To Sayf al-Dawla”, as was the custom during medieval period of this region most poems were dedicated to the rulers.

Resolutions are measured against those who make them; generosity in accordance with the giver.

Littleness is magnified by small men, while grandeur is deprecated by the great.

Sayf al-Dawla imposes upon the army his will, yet seasoned armies cannot achieve it.

He asks from men all that he has in himself, though even lions would not claim to match that.

Dose al-Hadath know of its red color? Or which of the two pourers was a cloud?

White-streaked clouds had watered al-Hadath before his arrival; when he approached, it was inundated with skulls.

The enemy came at you, hauling their weapons as if they traveled on legless horses

When their ranks caught the light, their swords remained unseen, since their shirts and turbans were also made from steel.

You stayed where you were, when doing so meant certain death: as if perdition itself slept while you stood in its eyelid

Wounded and fleeting, heroes passed you by, while your face remained bright and your lips, smiling.

You surpassed the bounds of courage and understanding, until people claimed that you knew the unseen.

Most medieval period Arabic poems were built on rich oral traditions of pre-Islamic Arabia. Poets glorified the legends and achievements of their tribe, and this very public role later transferred itself to the patronage sought from rulers. The intent of poetry was oral-speaking and singing, and therefore was frequently quoted in streets. Structure and sound was given much importance in constructing the eulogy, use of rhetoric and imagery was common.

Al Mutannabi therefore expertised in exuberant panegyric (the above being an example), unfortunately he also used his skills to lampoon. This created lots of enemy, Al Mutanabbi though remained widely popular and an inspiration for generations of poets for his splendid poetry. Need to add here reading the translation was not much exciting and yes there aren’t many. This blogger believes that cultural groups or governments should create websites to promote these heritages. Internet has become an important tool and virtual world has its own life and increasing influence, and yes English has become a mediatory language, apart from English these translations should be made available in atleast five international languages. Who is responsible for not much literature on Shawqi in the net?. Being a major Arabic poet we would like to know his contribution, we want a website dedicated to all his poems. I strongly think creating these websites is much more important than building malls, ironically it takes one millionth the cost. It is a criminal neglect.

The intention of this blog is no different but in an informal personal way, frankly it is just an attempt. Though I give much importance to literature but the premise is nature, you got to know the birds first!.

Indian Robin

Quite a common bird of the subcontinent, males are glossy black steely blue with a small white patch on the shoulder while females are brown with upper darker both have conspicuous chestnut under tail. They are partial to stony barren ravine kind of region and spent most of the time hopping on the ground or nearby wall or post. A sprightly bird with head kept straight and high, tail cocked up, it is a delicately proportionate lovely little bird. Quite bold and could be seen around human habitat heedless to human presence but flit away at slightest hint of danger.

Last few weeks I was doing bit of search on the Net and ended up reading Yasunai Kawabata, his Nobel Prize speech (1968) is probably one of the best. While reading these I came across two poets-zen masters- Saigyo Hoshi and Dogen Zenji (I have read Dogen few years back).

Saigyo Hoshi (1118-1190) was one of the great poets whose influence include none other than Basho. His poems expressed the tension between the renunciatory Buddhist ideals and his love for nature.

“Even to the heartless this sad beauty is felt: snipe-birds rising from a stream in the autumn sunset”.

The following is from disciple Kikai about Saigyo: Saigyo frequently came and talked of poetry. His own attitude towards poetry, he said, was far from the ordinary. Cherry blossoms, the cuckoo, the moon, snow: confronted with all the manifold forms of nature, his eyes and his ears were filled with emptiness. And were not all the words that came forth true words? When he sang of the blossoms the blossoms were not on his mind, when he sang of the moon he did not think of the moon. As the occasion presented itself, as the urge arose, he wrote poetry. The red rainbow across the sky was as the sky taking on color. The white sunlight was as the sky growing bright. Yet the empty sky, by its nature, was not something to become bright. It was not something to take on color. With a spirit like the empty sky he gives color to all the manifold scenes but not a trace remained. In such poetry was the Buddha, the manifestation of the ultimate truth."

Dogen was a great Zen master who wrote extensively on Buddhism and even traveling to China to seek (if all human beings are born with Buddha Nature, why is it so difficult to realize it?). The primary concept underlying Dogen's Zen practice is "oneness of practice-enlightenment" (practice and enlightenment are one and the same- the absolute reality, the soto school).

Apart from these he wrote many poems. Just before he died he wrote his ‘death poem’:
Fifty-four years lighting up the sky.
A quivering leap smashes a billion worlds.
Hah!
Entire body looks for nothing.
Living, I plunge into Yellow Springs

few more

The true person is
Not anyone in particular;
But, like the deep blue color
Of the limitless sky,
It is everyone, everywhere in the world.

The migrating bird
leaves no trace behind
and does not need a guide.

Treading along in this dreamlike, illusory realm,
Without looking for the traces I may have left;
A cuckoo's song beckons me to return home;
Hearing this, I tilt my head to see
Who has told me to turn back;
But do not ask me where I am going,
As I travel in this limitless world,
Where every step I take is my home.

Before I end this I would like to quote from part of the speech made by Yasunari Kawabata, quite interesting. I found the expression "Eyes in their Last Extremity” very much touching, deeply meaningful.

I have an essay with the title "Eyes in their Last Extremity". The title comes from the suicide note of the short-story writer Akutagawa Ryunosuke (1892-1927). It is the phrase that pulls at me with the greatest strength. Akutagawa said that he seemed to be gradually losing the animal something known as the strength to live, and continued:

"I am living in a world of morbid nerves, clear and cold as ice... I do not know when I will summon up the resolve to kill myself. But nature is for me more beautiful than it has ever been before. I have no doubt that you will laugh at the contradiction, for here I love nature even when I am contemplating suicide. But nature is beautiful because it comes to my eyes in their last extremity."

Akutagawa committed suicide in 1927, at the age of thirty-five.

In my essay, "Eyes in their Last Extremity", I had to say: "How ever alienated one may be from the world, suicide is not a form of enlightenment. However admirable he may be, the man who commits suicide is far from the realm of the saint." I neither admire nor am in sympathy with suicide. I had another friend who died young, an avant-garde painter. He too thought of suicide over the years, and of him I wrote in this same essay: "He seems to have said over and over that there is no art superior to death, that to die is to live," I could see, however, that for him, born in a Buddhist temple and educated in a Buddhist school, the concept of death was very different from that in the West. "Among those who give thoughts to things, is there one who does not think of suicide?"

White cheeked barbet

A common arboreal bird seen in well wooded localities, it feeds fruits on fig trees such as banyan and peepul. Bright green above pale below they have broad lines across ear coverts and distinguishing white patch on the cheek. They blend well in the foliage and so when face with danger will go still. A loud kotur-kotur call is quite known to most people although they may not have seen the bird. Barbet have thick swollen bill that is stronger than woodpecker and used to chisel nest on tree, they have bristles on the root of bill that is typical features of these birds (this snap was taken at Cubbon park Bangalore, must say these lush gardens are great places to be in but unfortunately frequented by scums of society from drug peddlers to god knows who all...it is quite unsafe if you go further into dense part, bad experience).

Tanaga the short Filipino poems

Tanagas are four line poems with 7 syllables having same rhyme at the end of each line. They are handed down from oral history and are used to share proverbs and moral/ethics. Tanaga was originally done in Tagalog language; it is now a dying art. Unfortunately not much could be found on the net (the library nearby was no help at all), except these…

"Katitibay ka Tulos
Sakaling datnang agos!
Ako'y mumunting lumot
sa iyo'y pupulupot."

Translation:
"Oh be resilient you Stake
Should the waters be coming!
I shall cower as the moss
To you I shall be clinging."

I read that Philippines government has taken initiatives to preserve and encourage this art form. I hope they also upload some info on the net about this form of poem, history and contemporary poets if any.

Large cuckoo shrike

It is an unobtrusive bird found throughout Indian peninsula (except the western region and south East Asia), having a loud call that is infrequently used. Seen perched motionless on high branches of large trees for long period. Interestingly cuckoo shrikes are neither related to cuckoos or shrikes but are closely related to orioles. They have greyish to white plumage with grey barring on lower part, broad bill that is slightly notched at the edge, tail moderately long, rounded and graduated.

Dear daughter of Iraq dies in exile

Probably as a painful metaphor on the contemporary world we live in one of the finest Arabic Iraqi poetess died in exile at Cairo few years back. Nazek Al Malaika (1923-2007) was one of the earliest to write Arabic poems in freestyle rather than classical rhyme. Unlike what we see now Iraq in mid 20th century was culturally vibrant, it was in this milieu that she was influenced by Shelley, Byron and so on (her autobiography also talks of influence from poets like Mahmoud Hassan Ismail, Badawi Al-Jabal, Amjad Al-Tarabolsi, Omar Abu Risha and Bishara Khouri) and moved away from the rigid metric and rhyme schemes of classical poetry and start to explore modern topics. Her first collection of poems was published in 1947 under the title ‘Night’s Lover’ and her second collection, entitled ‘Sparks and Ashes,’ came out two years later. These poignant lines from “To wash disgrace” brings out the horror of honor killing.

Oh mother, a rattle, tears and darkness
Blood gushed out, and the stabbed body trembled.
“Oh mother!” Heard only by the executioner
Tomorrow the dawn will come and roses will wake up
Youth and enchanted hopes will ask for her
The meadows and the flowers will answer:
She left to wash the disgrace.
The brutal executioner returns
And meets people
“Disgrace!” He wipes his knife
“We’ve torn it apart.”
And returned virtuous with a white reputation.

Once she got up in the morning to hear on the radio a report on the number of Cholera deaths made her write her well-known poem "The Cholera". Few lines from the poem "The night is silent, listen to the effect of groans, in the depth of darkness, below the silence, on the dead." "Night came to a standstill listen to the echoes of wails in the dark of night, under silence and on corpses death, death, death humanity laments." (these are the only few lines I could manage from the Net, frankly despite visiting hundreds of website I really couldn’t get much). This poem was path breaking and when she wrote these she was criticized for lack musicality and rhyme but said she “Say whatever you wish to say. I am confident that my poem will change the map of Arab poetry.” And sure it did!!. Ironically many decades later much to the dismay of her admirers she initiated counter revolution against free verses as she thought the beauty of poetry was getting degraded.

These brilliant lines from the poem “Song for the Moon”

Stay as you are, a secret world
Not such thing as a soul discerns
Spinner of poems, the last muse
In a world whose mirrors are dimmed
What song did not flow with honey
If you were to smile your praise upon it?

This my favorite, lines from “Love Songs for Words”
Why do we fear words?
Some words are secret bells, the echoes
of their tone announce the start of a magic
And abundant time
Steeped in feeling and life,
So why should we fear words?

“The Sea Changes its Color” has become my all time favorite, it is such a refreshingly ecstatic little poem despite translation (it sure is a great work of translation).
My love.
My rapture was a sea.
Which changed its colours,
the sockets of its eyes turning black and green.
It threw its waves ahead, forged pearls
Flowed into springs,
landed on shores.
Created tides,
made islands.
Scattered,
across the blue of the gulf,
a blond archipelago.

As Ezra Pound once said great poems should be written regardless of who writes them, we live in fortunate times to be able to read these poems.

Coucal: the Crow Pheasant

If Coucal could speak then it would say “what this bird shird life I should have been a cat or something!”. Coucal (they are also referred to as crow pheasant since they have head and bill of crow and long tail of pheasant) is a member of cuckoo family (but non parasitic) is an ungraceful bulky kind of bird that doesn’t seem to like flying and could be seen creeping or clambering through the tangled undergrowth. They have black overall with chestnut color wing and blood red eyes. A very common bird found throughout the subcontinent and East Asia they can be sighted in bushy region with water source nearby, they spend most of their time walking sedately on the ground and when disturbed take a short flight or scuttle to the nearby bush, they are strong runner possessing straight hind claw. They live on insects, reptiles (snakes are high on menu) and are known to be quite destructive to other species of birds.

Juan Ramón Jiménez (1881-1958) was one of the prominent Spanish poets- born in Andalusia. An interesting aspect about him was that he translated Tagore into Spanish. It is difficult not to like Jimenez as a poet but more as a person. Quite an amazing man.

In an essay To Burn Completely (1956) written near the end of his life, after he had stopped writing poetry, he writes When we contemplate things and beings, when we love them and enjoy them, when we have their confidence, having given them ours; when we concern ourselves with them through our complete consciousness and as complete consciousness, they manifest their content to us, we shall possess their most profound secrets and thus they will be able to offer themselves to us as an ideal, for perhaps the ideal may be a secret of which the most loving are worthy.

He writes in the same essay The true man, the authentic man, the inherent cultivated aristocrat, who unites the greatest sensitivity in daily life to the greatest richness of a greater life, is he who most desires the happiness of the world, he who seeks his own happiness in the universal happiness, he who succeeds by means of a clear concept of the whole life of the world, in best occupying, using, and enjoying his space and time.

He defined aristocrat not on family or wealth but as “a state of man in which are united in supreme union, a profound cultivation of the interior being and a conviction of the natural simplicity of living-idealism and economy”

In another essay, Poetry and Literature, he wrote Literature, however perfect it may be, is always artificial, the more artificial, the more perfect. Through literature it is possible to arrive at a relative beauty but poetry is beyond relative beauty and its expression aspires to absolute beauty…Pretentious literature must be content to reach a mirrored beauty

To live out of doors in the sun and fields was, for Jimenez, the ultimate existence. "There is no more exquisite form of aristocracy than living out of doors." He had many ‘disciples’ includes Spanish and Latin American poets (prominent being Lorca). Juan Ramon Jimenez is regarded, within the whole Spanish-speaking world, as the teacher and master. He was poets poet, I thought he was beyond poetry.

These two poems I came across on the net

I am not I
I am not I
I am this onewalking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.

Poems

I am like a distracted childwhom they drag by the hand
through the fiesta of the world.
My eyes cling, sadly,
to things...And what misery when they tear me away from them.

I liked the above poem a lot, quite simple but really remarkable. A unique kind of Time-Space construct. Time as death, Space as attachments.

Juan Ramon Jimenez once wrote In reality the poet, when mute or when writing, is an abstract dancer, and if he writes, it is out of everyday weakness, for to be truly consistent he ought not write.

I wrote these (my ‘everyday weakness’ no not about writing, better word would be scribbling)

In the pond
moon sleeps
water lily blooms

Blyth’s myna (sub specie of grey headed myna)

This blogger is ecstatic to have got (not really a rare but) uncommon bird (even AO Hume mentions in 1880s that it is not very common). Recently I read that Blyth’s myna has been upgraded into different specie. Frankly when I took the snap I wasn’t even aware of this bird it took some research and lots of browsing to classify this one. There is no much detail about this bird on the net though nor in the guide book I have, there is ample literature on grey headed myna. Blyth’s myna (sternum malabaricus blythii) is a very shy bird and quite difficult to observe and are purely arboreal in sharp contrast to common mynas. Blyth’s myna has whole head white and is also endemic to Western Ghats.

Yehuda Amichai: one of the greatest Modern Hebrew poet
There are very few who have interest in poetry wouldn’t have read Yehuda Amichai, he probably was one the best “a poet who played with words”. Amichai’s poems have all kinds of emotions, it is alive and brims with so much energy, the kind that is rare in poems these days. It is an absolute pleasure to read him. Ted Hughes wrote “Yehuda Amichai begins to look more and more like a truly major poet - in the strict sense of the term. That is, there's a depth, breadth and weighty momentum in these subtle and intricate poems of his, even in the slightest, that sounds more and more like the undersong of a people. Who else is dipping his bucket into such a full river of experience and paid-for feeling?”. He noted that Amichai's imagistic language is drawn from both the external and the spiritual history of Jewry. “It is as if the whole ancient spiritual investment has been suddenly cashed, in modern coinage, flooding his poetry with an inexhaustible currency of precise and weighty metaphors.”

This from the poem “I want to die in my own bed”

All night the army came up from Gilgal
To get to the killing field, and that's all.
In the ground, warf and woof, lay the dead.
I want to die in My own bed.
Like slits in a tank, their eyes were uncanny,
I'm always the few and they are the many.
I must answer. They can interrogate My head.
But I want to die in My own bed

This his very well known poem “wildpeace”

Not the peace of a cease-fire
not even the vision
of the wolf and the lamb,
but rather
as in the heart when the excitement is over
and you can talk only about a great weariness.
I know that I know how to kill, that makes me an adult.
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.
A peace
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
without words, without
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
light, floating, like lazy white foam.
A little rest for the wounds - who speaks of healing?
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation
to the next, as in a relay race:
the baton never falls.)

Let it come
like wildflowers,
suddenly, because the field
must have it: wildpeace.

As I read his poems I just couldn’t help write these

Words live in their own world

My great grandfather’s word would be living
in some corner of world
cocooned in stray thought unaware to even the thinker
maybe it lives on the treetop like python to strangle the victim
or gestates in the words I write
and sprang meanings unintended.

In the prayer room when multieyes of multiple headed gods
shower their benevolence on conditions
that are pact of words
of ancestral hopes and tribulations.
A realization dawns that I am just
mediator of words
that come and go
and do what they please.

White Throated Orange Headed Ground Thrush

This specie is also endemic to Western Ghats (there are lots of foreigners who come from far off places to glimpse these birds that are found nowhere else. Western Ghats has amazing biodiversity and its our duty to protect these, it need be noted that UN has declared western ghats as biodiversity hot spots meaning they are seriously threatened), Orange Headed Ground Thrush is distributed from India to south East Asia, while the White Throat are found only in Western Ghats (this is my first spotting of this bird and had to spend hours going through the net trying to place the bird, I am grateful to Mr. Prasad for the help). The western ghat race has distinguishing dark brown and white oblique bands across the face that run down from the lower part of the eyes, the throat is white. Ground Thrush are found in forest in shaded damp surroundings. A solitary bird they are mostly found foraging on the ground for insects, berries, under fallen leaves as such their beak could mostly be enveloped in mud. Bills are brown and legs fleshy pink colored. A shy bird when it was spotted took to flight perching on a low bough contemplating whether to alight on the ground (it was in an opportune position to be clicked but unfortunately my manual lens took sometime to focus, so missed that one. Just about managed to get the above pic before it vanished). They nest on low trees using thin root fibers and mud.

We can crib about the equipments we have and always aspire for better but it will be insightful if we also put things in perspective, then probably we realize how fortunate we are. There is an incident mentioned in ‘The Fall of Sparrow’ (Salim Ali) when they went to kutch to study flamingoes, writes Ali “To make doubly sure that the camera he had lent me (to replace mine which had developed a last minute hitch) behaved as it should in my hands, Maharao Vijayarajji had considerately sent out from bhuj the state photographer, Ali Mohamed, with complete paraphernalia and a special assistant, whose function was not immediately apparent. The two photographers and their equipment made up two complete camel loads. The vintage apparatus-full plate studio camera of solid teakwood, enormous proportions and cumbrousness- looked like some antique piece of furniture from William the conqueror or thereabouts. It was obviously a camera with history…the apparatus not only need two able bodied men to rig it up for action on its massive wooden tripod, but for its complicated cooperative operation. It was worked like a ship, and this is where the trained assistant became indispensable. The chief photographer (the captain) had to enshroud his head in yards of black cloth, eyes glued to the focusing screen. From this position-the bridge-he signaled order down to the ‘engine room’, as it were, to the assistant in front, to twiddle the focusing knob a trifle this way or that to get the correct focus. The focusing knob was out of reach for captain himself and only a specially trained assistant could help. The camera erected in the nest colony, ‘on location’, showed up afar in the vast expanse as a fair sized house, and, when a wind sprang up and the black shroud round the captain’s head began to flutter and flap, I thought of there could be no earthly chance of getting any photographs of the birds. I am afraid at that point I also became rather uncharitably facetious at the captain’s expense, but he bore it all with surprising good humor. It was not until we got back to bhuj and he produced the most unexpectedly good results from his dark room that I realized the laugh had really been on me, and that it needs something more than a good camera to produce good result.”

Song of the Butterfly
In the coming heat
Of the day
I stood there.

That was Native American song. These songs are examples of aesthetic connection with the nature of Native Americans (there are many groups across American continent). I am quite astounded by the degree of sophistication of these poems that could have been passed from generations. There is fun and abandon in some these lines. The above remind of haiku. Sample few more…

The owl was requested
To do as much as he knew how.
He only hooted and told of the morning star.
And hooted again and told of the dawn.

The bush
Is sitting
Under a tree
And singing.

In the heavens
A noise,
Like the rustling of the trees.

I liked this “love song”- matter of fact, frivolous, hilarious…it’s all there in this simple song. I am sure there is more to it before the translation.
You desire vainly
That I seek you.
The reason is,
I come
To see your younger sister.
I have read Native American songs here and there many years back. Now as I read them again I am in enchanted. What lovely people…

O what a spectacular bird !!

Tree pie mentioned in the last blog has rufous plumage but there is another spectacular looking tree pie endemic to Western Ghats: the Southern tree pie most commonly referred to as White Bellied Tree pie, it has black mask in sharp contrast to its white under part and a long flowing tail. Though endemic to the region it is classified as ‘least threatened’ by IUCN. It is an amazing bird to look at and unlike the rufous tree pie they are found in dense forests. I followed it about an hour as it flitted from one tree to another. Absolutely incredible bird. This painting is by John Gould, need to add here Gould was the one who gave its scientific name Dendrocitta leucogastra.

Oodgeroo Noonuccal and aboriginal poems

I came across some really amazing poem by aborigines in particular Oodgeroo Noonuccal on the Net (I just cannot help expressing my thanks to those genius people who created Internet and made it accessible to common people around the world. I am really very grateful, it is such an amazing experience. The more I know about it the more exciting it gets, I guess very soon laptops will also become accessible to most people). Oodgeroo Noonuccal (1920-1993) was the first aboriginal poet to get her work published which was quite a success. She started her career as domestic servant and later joined the women’s wing of the Army and rose to be a corporal. She remained an untiring campaigner for aboriginal rights till her end. The Aborigines have the longest cultural history in the world, with origins dating back to the last Ice Age. The Aborigines believe that "Creation Ancestors" created the landscape and the first people. When these creatures disappeared, they left their spirits in the mountains and rocks, to destroy or damage a sacred site threatens not only the living but also the spiritual inhabitants of the land.

I manage to get few of her poems browsing websites, I found ‘We are going’ very touching, the poem ends with lines that are haunting…

The scrubs are gone, the hunting and the laughter.
The eagle is gone, the emu and the kangaroo are gone from this place.
The bora ring is gone.
The corroboree is gone.
And we are going.

Her poems are grounded to history and attempted to communicate a proud Indigenous identity that was linked to a vibrant, spirituality of the land. Her Aboriginal upbringing was her main inspiration. Oodgeroo grew up on North Stradbroke Island, near Brisbane. Here, surrounded by the sea and the bush land she would wander off for hours exploring. Nature became very important to her.

This poem reminds me of all the trees in big cities (of course if they survived the onslaught of development). This a poem titled Municipal Gum most Australians have read…

Gumtree in the city street,
Hard bitumen around your feet,
Rather you should be
In the cool world of leafy forest halls
And wild bird calls
Here you seems to me
Like that poor cart-horse
Castrated, broken, a thing wronged,
Strapped and buckled, its hell prolonged,
Whose hung head and listless mien express
Its hopelessness.
Municipal gum, it is dolorous
To see you thus
Set in your black grass of bitumen—
O fellow citizen,
What have they done to us?

Only someone who is deeply connected to nature could have written these lines. It is such an evocative poem. If trees could speak they will have different story tell…

It’s raining Orioles

This blog is about Orioles, I was fortunate to get all the Orioles: the Golden Oriole (the female too-must say much difficult to spot), Black hooded Oriole and the migrant from Andamans- Black napped Oriole. It is just amazing to get all these birds in one go in almost the same spot in matter of two or three hours. It is no wonder that Thattekad is described as the best place for bird watching by none other than Salim Ali. I though had to muster all my patience standing frozen partially hidden under trees for about three hours. And yes i was the only one in that jungle atleast 2-3 km around, it was a situation wherein every prospect pleased. Orioles are fun to watch, they have amazing zest for life. Chasing each other from tree to tree, flashes of bright yellow across the green foliage that are treat to eyes. All these can vanish in a jiffy if they spot you; you see Orioles are extremely shy but vocal birds.

Golden Orioles are rich golden yellow except a broad line along the eye, lots of black on the wings and tail. Females though have entirely different color plumage that is yellowish green and brown wings. Both have pink colored bills. Golden Orioles are purely arboreal so much so that they don’t even descend to the lower branches and confines themselves to high canopy in thick foliage tree. Golden Orioles migrate from north part of the peninsula in winter and return during summer to northern plains. They are also sometimes referred to as mango bird since they are often found foraging mango trees coinciding ripening of mangoes. It is very difficult to locate them as they choose boughs with thickest foliages so one gets to hear its plaintive calls than actually seeing it.

Black hooded Oriole as the name suggests has black head and throat, they are found in well wooded regions. Like golden orioles they too are arboreal but do descend ground to catch insects. Generally found alone or in pairs.

Black napped Orioles have a broad black stripe that go across its eyes to join the nape. They are resident birds of Andaman and Nicobar Islands that migrate to Western Ghats during winter. Orioles feed on insects and fruits. The nests of Orioles are something to be proud of. A slender beautifully woven cup suspended on the fork from the twigs.
The picture below includes all these species. The species of Orioles found in American continent includes Audubon’s oriole that is black headed with yellow body. The painting of Oriole is by Audubon. Incidentally this year is 125th birth anniversary of that great man.

Pie on the tree !

Unlike lapwing Tree pie, as the name suggests, is arboreal and rarely seen on ground. It has sooty head and neck (as if it had peered into a chimney!), rufous wing and a conspicuous grayish white patch on the sides. It is a very common bird in winter, so common that I saw it right in the middle of polluted and crowded Delhi on a winter morning (need to add it was the Lutyen’s part of Delhi that is green with huge trees, I was walking…it is an isolated path and so very unsafe to walk, it is different matter that it may have highest concentration of police force anywhere in the country!). Tree pies don’t really prefer dense forests but region where clumps of huge trees and garden occur, they are generally found in pairs or group. Not intimidated by humans they though are shy and could be seen in patches as they fly across thick foliage. You could catch them pursuing insects climbing trees and sometimes hanging on claws very much supported by its long tail. This bird though has an envious reputation of being destructive to other species (after all it is a corvid!) as they ransack their nest eating eggs and chicks. Tree pie has one of the most melodious calls.

This poem titled “The dead crow” by Samad Said is translated from Malay
He saw a dead crow
in a drain
near the Post Office,
He saw an old man
gasping for air
And a baby barely able to breathe
In a crowded morning clinic
This land is so rich
Why should we suffer like this?

I want clean air
For my grandchildren
I want the damned fools
To leave the forest alone,
I want the trees to grow,
The rivers run free
And the earth covered with grass.
Let the politicians plan how
we may live with dignity
Now and always

Samad Said is one of the well known and foremost writer, poet and painter (as also essayist and playwright) of Malaysia. He is a Sasterawan Negara (national laureate, highest recognition for literary figures in Malaysia), the above is part of school curriculum and so read by most Malaysian (it is very much liked by children, a website had them expressing their opinion. His novel ‘Salina’ is also part of school curriculum-this he wrote when he was only 23, the book places in World War 2 and chronicles poverty and moral degeneration). His writings are known for its keen observations and intellectual integrity (but I must say I couldn’t come across much of his writings on the net). There is a debate that erupted in Malaysia few years back about removing all Sasterawan Negara writing from school curriculum since children find them difficult to understand. Said finds this ridiculous and questions the quality of teachers (need to add here Anwar Ibrahim as the Education minister immensely contributed to culture of reading in the country). He says “In America the students are studying To Kill A Mocking Bird, and in England they go for Lord Of The Flies. All are difficult books. If you want simple books, then just read ABC all the time… Just think of these students two decades from now. They are not exposed to good literature. We are not creating a situation where people will read good literature”. I don’t think there is anyone who could disagree with that. He further says “Reading is not easy. Unless you have cultivated the habit, you will not read. Things are becoming easier with the existing graphic novels. Now they can see pictures only. The intellectual groups always complain that my books are difficult to read, my books are difficult to study. If they don’t want to read my books, what can I do? If they don’t want to read books, what can I do? They will be stupid because they don’t read. …I am always moving up. I should not go down. They (readers) should also go up. If they don’t understand me, it doesn’t mean I am wrong. I am 72 and I have been through all sorts of experiences. I don’t just make a sentence. I care about every word I write, whether it is reasonable, whether it is beautiful”. Well said.