Augury birds

Once when hours could be wasted, when seconds were not
precious, I could listen to the blackbirds in the middle of
a step. I could stop and smile, while running late. You
were always there, and I would come. I would rush to share
my moments of the burst of buds and birdsong. It would be
spring, and the augury birds would coo and whistle. We were
sated with infinity of time.

Perfume of roses couldn’t hide incense of corpse songs from the basement

This was before the crows and magpies settled in our oak. It was
before the message came. I do not wish to talk about your head-
aches now, I wish to sleep, to make believe that birdsong could be
different than road-kill caws that echo in our chamber. I wish
for migratory birds to come, but in their cage the augury birds
are silent.

The color of the pigeon’s song smells of headstones and a wilted rose.

Why do we wear black at funerals? Is it for our sorrows or
regrets? I have always felt that funerals should not just
mark an end but a new beginning. I have picked the roses, I have
closed the doors, because if I keep walking it prevents me from
thinking, when the augury birds have died.

Two drunkards argue with a lost magpie over an empty beer-can.

This is a haibun of sorts with the haiku replaced with America Sentences. I tried to capture some kind of abstract sense of sorrow here. I will link this to Tuesday Platform at toads.

February 27, 2018

25 responses to “Augury birds

  1. Oh my goodness, Bjorn, your poem blows me away. I love the format, with the american sentences inserted and love the repetition of the augury birds. And the joy of that time in earlier years just shines. Wowzers!

  2. This is deeply thought provoking Bjorn, I can’t stop thinking about “Why do we wear black at funerals?”.. and loved your American sentences especially; “The color of the pigeon’s song smells of headstones and a wilted rose..”… wow!

  3. Yes, why should it be black? Just as Henry Ford offered on his Model T. ‘You can choose any color but has to be black’ or something to tbat effect.

    Hank

  4. Yes, why should it be black? Just as Henry Ford had offered on his Model T. ‘You can choose any color but has to be black’ or something to tbat effect.

    Hank

  5. This is incredible. I will read it several times. I especially like …

    Nope. Can’t do it. It’s the whole piece. Every single line. Magnificent writing. One of your finest poems/stories.

  6. A lovely poem of nostalgia and sorrow. The most interesting part for me was the beginning:
    “Once when hours could be wasted, when seconds were not
    precious, I could listen to the blackbirds in the middle of
    a step. I could stop and smile, while running late. ”
    It’s actually the contrast of time not being important and catching these moments that really resonates with me as being what we are supposed to take time and pay attention to when we realize how precious time is.

  7. I love this form, Bjorn, and the black and white photograph complements it well.I love the truth in:
    ‘Once when hours could be wasted, when seconds were not
    precious, I could listen to the blackbirds in the middle of
    a step. I could stop and smile, while running late’
    and the sinister undertones of:
    ‘Perfume of roses couldn’t hide incense of corpse songs from the basement’.
    And I feel the sadness in:
    ‘I have picked the roses, I have
    closed the doors, because if I keep walking it prevents me from
    thinking, when the augury birds have died’.

  8. stunning piece – and wonderful combination of forms – and as someone noted: the beginning – it really just stops and pulls you right in – Once when hours could be wasted, when seconds were not
    precious, I could listen to the blackbirds in the middle of
    a step.

    This just completely sets the tone, and we go flying in – and the use of the different birds to signify different moments in time and events –

    oh this is definitely an amazing piece Bjorn – one of my favourites!

  9. It captures sorrow and loss perfectly. Especially the stylized sentences and the penultimate stanza. They feel especially true for me today (it’s the 5th anniversary of my little brother’s death, and things still feel raw).

  10. This has a ringing of sorts, not quite circular. I liked it, the subject and the cleverness. The first I may have liked the best, the prose poem leads vaguely into the haiku. I see a mother, beautiful yet filled with love, yet by notice of the A. Haiku we are plunged into the next, set up and ready now for funerals. What was in her basement? Had she killed her late husband and his body parts, cut into pieces, lay burried there. Followed into similar progression. It doesn’t have to stop with three sets.
    ..

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