Poetry Friday: "For the Bird Singing Before Dawn" by Kim Stafford

We're halfway through National Poetry Month, and all I've managed to do so far is rant about the news. 

I know, I know — I'm allowed, given the state of things, but let's take a break from all that, shall we? 

First of all, be sure to visit the inimitable Jama Rattigan for a comprehensive round-up of the Kidlitosphere's NPM poetry projects. So many luscious plans! Thank you, Jama, for all the work that went into that post! It's brimming with places to go, people to visit, and poems to read. 

Secondly, birds. I wrote about birds last month and this morning, just after a walk during which I heard meadowlarks, killdeer, mourning doves, robins, and red-winged blackbirds, I was telling my sister about how much she'll love the Merlin app. 

Birdsong. Is there anything better? When you hear birds — a symphony of birds — tweeting their joyful, ridiculous, miraculous little heads off, it's as if you're part of something both immense and beyond your grasp, but also innate, somehow within you. 

I love them so much. 

Birds = Hope. 

Therefore, I bring you "For the Bird Singing Before Dawn." Of his poem, Kim Stafford said: 

“Many times in my life I’ve been told by serious people that I must be very naïve to be happy, to have hope, to celebrate this little life I’ve been given when, actually, they say, everything is pretty dire. There’s war, poverty, crushing injustice all over—what right do I have to talk back to all that with flimsy little poems about the good? What can I say? The birds are my teachers, my elders, my guides. Every day before dawn, in silence and darkness, I’m at my desk making poems on the page. And then, before light, I hear the first bird outside begin to sing.”

Oh, little plover, I want to hug you. 

 For the Bird Singing Before Dawn

by Kim Stafford

Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,

a song—and in a little while, behold:

....

(Read the last two stanzas here, at Poets.org.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Wishing you morsels — nay, a feast! — of joy as well as the company of birds, who are their own kind of poetry, during this National Poetry Month. 

Heidi Mordhorst has this week's Poetry Friday round-up at My Juicy Little Universe. 

Photo of killdeer courtesy of roamingowlsdotcom at Pixabay.