I wonder could there ever be
An egotist as great as thee?
To think a Robin sang for thee
When walking down beside the quay!
The Robin is a punchy bird
And thus his song is often heard.
The song he sang was aimed at thee
To get out of his territory!
And later as the danger passed
To stick your poem up your
Chris - now you miss the point. I used the word
"pretentious" to indicate that I had no such
intention of my own that might be defined via
that word when celebrating my pleasure witnessing
an unexpected source of life in action in a bleak
inhospitable environment.
As you say - it seems appropriate to leave things
there.
Cheers
If you are saying that my comments are either pretentious or invalid in reference to both Shelley and Hardy, or cannot be reasonably interpreted in relation to this and more as stated - I would disagree MC. On which note, I would add that intention can be based upon what you have said and my interpretation still be equally valid in the words as they exist on the page. The two are not mutually exclusive!
Maybe for politeness sake we can leave it there - I do hope so. Particularly as my time and effort was offered to Fitzroy and not yourself.
"I am Life"...that, my friends, is the spine
around which the poem came to be written.
The sudden unexpected reminder in a sparse cold
November day of the gift and thrill of it...from
a small wild creature to a much larger not quite
so wild one. Nothing more pretentious or
complicated than that, I'm afraid.
I note the comment from Moriam Nesa. It
appeared in my emails and was linked to my own
post of the poem "The Galmpton Robin". However,
the same comment also appears on other WOL posts
and seems to be an "ad" for another poetry site.
That said, I'm always grateful for a well-meant referral to other poetry online.
Well Shelley sees God and heaven in the lark. He delights in it for its sake, but also for what it must mean for mankind. Hardy in the face of sadness, a religious man losing or having lost his belief - post Darwin, nods to Shelley and mourns in the Thrush, the beauty of which it seems is forlorn. The same delicacy, though fragile and not bound for a better place, but heading the way of us all. The Bird of both poems is above man in so much as they portend to much.
I would be amazed if you were not aware of the poems, poets and context above Fitzroy. Here man does not look to the bird as omen, good or bad, post-modern, perhaps the issue of God is not even a question that arises. As Nietzsche said - God is dead, and that is true for much of the western world.
Here ego has replaced God, rightly or wrongly. Man over nature, hubris is the plumage that has replaced feather.
I also like the stab at the notion of the robin playing for anyone, be it man or...The territory comment, humorous as is the notion that such pretty displays are for poets walking through parks lol The poet knows they are a part of the tooth and claw survival of natural selection. In an objective sense this could be seen as a comment upon Shelley's Skylark or Hardy's Thrush. Pretty though birds may sound and be, what they do is for themselves and as pretty or as ugly as a lion tearing a zebra in half lol
Not sure of the ending :) but...
I like the rhythm throughout, it adds weight to the deliberate pomposity and mirth.
More than meets the eye ;)
Best of
Chris
<Deleted User> (11938)
Wed 19th Feb 2014 04:49
Hey there, wonderful piece of writing. You might want to check out www.highonpoems.com Keep writing!
A quirky put-down but the farce is:
Robins and humans both have arses.
Granted both might fart and shite,
But it`s only us can read and write.
A spoof? Forsooth!
He speaks the truth!
That lonely robin
Was there a'bobbin
And singing high up in that tree...
For who was worth it more than me?!
Tue 18th Feb 2014 11:33
You know? That's funny, I got the strangest feeling some word was missing too...(Maybe I didn't want to get 'mediated'?)
But there is a spoof here. More than one... something very close to hand; something from C Rossetti or some other PRB member perhaps; and, of course, a Marmite jar...
Such is post-modernism I suppose.
Haha :D Belting! Is this a kind of spoof of another poem that I'm not aware of? It has an aged feel to it. Like a 'proper' poem, if you know what I mean, but with that very funny ending :D
Does feel like there's maybe a line or a word/s missing from that last bit though. Something about the 'to stick' line - dunno.
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fitzroy herbert
Wed 19th Feb 2014 15:52
The robin is feeling a tad nauseous. It could be altitude sickness, or possibly the shadow of a raptor..
In any event, he's way out of his comfort zone and wants to get back to being a leaf-tosser. Let's leave him there.