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a poet’s notebook

crow

rain...on the iron gate...one crow

A new photograph, photoshopped, with an old poem. I’ve been meaning to play with this idea for some time:

Haiga is a traditional Japanese art form composed of brush painting
and calligraphy of haiku poetry . . . [in] the modern English haiga
school . . . the image may be a digital image, a graphic image, a
painting, a photograph.  [from Haiga]

There are some wonderful examples there, including another crow. And of course, there is our own crow poem dance, and For the Love of Crows, Crows.net, and The Corvids, which opens with this lovely line from Niall Williams:

Blackbirds like
small priests walked in the silent fields.

And one of my favorite poems, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, by Wallace Stevens.

Crows are fascinating, but I still prefer Raven.

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6 responses to “crow”

  1. Modulator Avatar
    Modulator

    Friday Ark

    Cats, Dogs, Spiders and ? every Friday. I’ll post links to sites that have Friday (plus or minus a few days) photos of their chosen animals as I see them (photoshops at my discretion and humans only in supporting roles). Leave a comment or trackback to…

    Reply
  2. msdedi Avatar
    msdedi

    like this new direction, and this haiga

    Reply
  3. SB Avatar
    SB

    Am I going in a new direction?
    I’ve been wondering, but unable to identify it; so I’m intrigued that a reader sees something I only glimpse…

    Reply
  4. Cathy Avatar
    Cathy

    Hey!!!!! no stealing my ideas please 😉 Ok I wrote about the idea in diary not in the blog. So I hope to see more. I need to just take more pics and then find a poem to go with it.

    Reply
  5. Jilly Dybka Avatar
    Jilly Dybka

    One of my top 5 favorite poems. Plath.
    Black Rook in Rainy Weather
    On the stiff twig up there
    Hunches a wet black rook
    Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
    I do not expect a miracle
    Or an accident
    To set the sight on fire
    In my eye, not seek
    Any more in the desultory weather some design,
    But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
    Without ceremony, or portent.
    Although, I admit, I desire,
    Occasionally, some backtalk
    From the mute sky, I can’t honestly complain:
    A certain minor light may still
    Lean incandescent
    Out of the kitchen table or chair
    As if a celestial burning took
    Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then —
    Thus hallowing an interval
    Otherwise inconsequent
    By bestowing largesse, honor,
    One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
    Wary (for it could happen
    Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
    Yet politic; ignorant
    Of whatever angel may choose to flare
    Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
    Ordering its black feathers can so shine
    As to seize my senses, haul
    My eyelids up, and grant
    A brief respite from fear
    Of total neutrality. With luck,
    Trekking stubborn through this season
    Of fatigue, I shall
    Patch together a content
    Of sorts. Miracles occur,
    If you care to call those spasmodic
    Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait’s begun again,
    The long wait for the angel.
    For that rare, random descent.

    Reply
  6. Ken Avatar
    Ken

    And, for a Celtic reading of the Crow and the Raven:
    http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/morrigan.html
    Oh, and for good measure, James Hillman’s recent book: “A Terrible Love of War,” tells the same story of the connection between Mars and Venus.

    Reply

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