Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, —
Nature’s observatory — whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
‘Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

The ivory-billed woodpecker, also known as the Lord God bird, is a very large woodpecker native to the bogs of the southeastern United States. Already endangered in the 1930s, the birds’ habitat was extensively logged, and the ivory-bill was believed to be extinct for over 60 years. Then in 2005, it was announced that several sightings had occurred, all in the same area along the White River in Arkansas.

I heard about the sighting of the ivory-billed woodpecker on NPR in April of 2005. At the time, I had never heard of the bird, but the emotion with which the locals and professional and amateur ornithologists discussed the possibility that this strange and beautiful bird might not be dead was really moving to me. One man, after seeing the bird, just sat down and cried. It was as if these people had had a sign that the earth was more beautiful, and more merciful, than they had believed.

In addition to the very thorough wikipedia page linked above, the Cornell Department of Ornithology has a web site devoted to the search for ivory-billed woodpecker, including possible video footage of the bird. The most recent issue of Birding Archives is largely devoted to the ivory-bill as well.

Lost Star

When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their first splendor, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang `Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!’ But one cried of a sudden —`It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.’ The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, and they cried in dismay —`Yes, that lost star was the best, she was the glory of all heavens!’ From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one to the other that in her the world has lost its one joy! Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among themselves —`Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over all!’ Rabindranath Tagore

]]> http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/07/lost-star/feed/ 0 feelings from heart http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/endless-time/ http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/endless-time/#comments Tue, 01 May 2007 06:30:18 +0000 feelings from heart http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/endless-time/ ]]>

Endless Time

Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes. Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait. Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower. We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chance. We are too poor to be late. And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to every querulous man who claims it, and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last. At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut; but I find that yet there is time. Rabindranath Tagore

]]> http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/endless-time/feed/ 0 feelings from heart http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/bright-star/ http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/bright-star/#comments Tue, 01 May 2007 05:25:11 +0000 feelings from heart http://bokarshorgo.wordpress.com/2007/05/01/bright-star/ ]]> Bright Star by John Keats  

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art--

    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,

 And watching, with eternal lids apart,

    Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

 The moving waters at their priestlike task

    Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

 Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask

    Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

 No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,

    Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

 To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

    Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

 Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

 And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

All the World’s a Stage

by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems–not to suffer pain?

Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

O Intelligences moving the third heaven,
the reasons heed that from my heart come forth,
so new, it seems, that no one else should know.
The heaven set in motion by your worth,
beings in gentleness created even,
keeps my existence in its present woe,
so that to speak of what I feel and know
means to converse most worthily with you:
I beg you, then, to listen to me well.
Of something in me new I now will tell—
how grief and sadness this my soul subdue,
and how a contradiction from afar
speaks through the rays descending from your star.

A thought of loveliness seems now to be
life to my ailing heart: it used to fly
oft to the very presence of your Sire;
and there a glorious Lady sitting high
it also saw, who spoke so pleasingly,
my soul would say “Up there dwells my desire.”
Now one appears, which I in dread admire
a mighty lord that makes it flee away,
so mighty, terror from my heart outflows.
To me he brings a lady very close,
and “Who salvation seeks,” I hear him say,
“let him but gaze into this lady’s eyes,
if he can suffer agony of sighs.”

Such is the contradiction, it can slay
the humble thought that is still telling me
of a fair angel up in heaven crowned.
My soul bemoans its present misery,
saying, “Unhappy me! How fast away
went he, in whom I had some solace found!”
And of my eyes it says, with mournful sound,
“When was it such a lady pierced their sight?
Why did they fail to see me in her guise?
I said, ‘Oh, surely, in this lady’s eyes
the one must dwell who kills my peers with fright.’
To no avail I warned them (Oh, my dread!),
but look at her they did, and I fell dead.”

“Oh, no, not dead, you are bewildered much,
O my poor soul, so pained and grieving so,”
replies a loving spirit, kind and sweet,
“For the fair woman, that you feel and know,
has changed your life so quickly and so much,
you now are trembling in your vile defeat.
Look how humility and mercy meet
in one so wise and gentle in her height:
so call her Lady, as by now you must.
And you will see, if steadfast is your trust,
such lofty miracles, such full delight,
you’ll say, ‘O Love, true lord, do as you please:
here is your humble handmaid on her knees.’”

My song, I do believe that those are few
who can unravel your most hidden sense,
so intricate and mighty is your wit.
Therefore, if by some fate or circumstance
you stray and venture among people who
seem not completely to have fathomed it,
oh, then, I pray, console yourself a bit,
and say, O lovely latest song, to them,
“Notice, at least, how beautiful I am!”

• Dante Alighieri

Dante Alighieri Poetry

~

Of Beauty and Duty

translated:D.G.Rossetti

TWO ladies to the summit of my mind Have clomb, to hold an argument of love. The one has wisdom with her from above, For every noblest virtue well designed: The other, beauty’s tempting power refined And the high charm of perfect grace approve: And I, as my sweet Master’s will doth move, At feet of both their favors am reclined. Beauty and Duty in my soul keep strife, At question if the heart such course can take And ‘twixt the two ladies hold its love complete. The fount of gentle speech yields answer meet, That Beauty may be loved for gladness sake, And Duty in the lofty ends of life