Men först ut fågelbonas egen bully (mobbare), göken.
To the cuckoo, by William Wordsworth (1770-1850), tre verser.
(From The essential Wordsworth. New York : Ecco Press, 1988.)
O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?
While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.
Though babbling only to the Vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.
***
Den första ugglan väcker med sitt mytiska läte, ett barn i natten. Poeten Richard Wilbur sätter rim till ropen.
A barred owl, by Richard Wilbur (f. 1921)
(From Mayflies : new poems and translations. London : Harcourt Brace, cop. 2000.)
The warping night air having brought the boom
Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard
Was an odd question from a forest bird,
Asking of us, if rightly listened to,
“Who cooks for you?” and then “Who cooks for you?”
Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear,
And send a small child back to sleep at night
Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight
Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw
Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.
***
Jag avslutar med en dikt om lappugglan, som storleksmässigt är i paritet med berguven. På engelska kallas den Great Gray Owl.
Great Gray Owl, by Annie Finch (f. 1956)
(From Bright wings : an illustrated anthology of poems about birds. Edited by: Billy Collins, David Sibley. New York : Columbia University Press, 2010.)
Who knew you would grow from gray bark
So that nothing is separate or new
But your yellow eyes following through
From the mottling brown in the dark,
Spectral Owl—from the spiral, the spark
That the circling feathers lead to?
Who knew you could speak as you do,
Great Gray Ghost—who knew you could speak?
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