Home, Really Home

If there was a theme to today’s walk at Nisqually Wildlife Refuge, other than how many days in a row can the weatherman be wrong, it would have to be “raising the kids.” The day started with a sighting of this Hooded Merganser with her brood of ducklings paddling straight toward me:

Meganser Chicks with Mom

Of course, the magic of Aperture and Photoshop managed to make the shot better than it actually was because it was awfully gray when I started the day, and not much lighter when I ended at 1:30. Heck, I had to put on a jacket over my vest and don a pair of light gloves to keep from freeing while standing around taking pictures.

A few yards down the trail I sighted this Wood Duck with two chicks:

Wood Ducklings

It didn’t take much longer to sight several Cedar Waxwing, though it took me awhile to realize they weren’t in flocks because it was parents feeding chicks individually. I don’t think that I would have even realized that one of these was a “chick” if I hadn’t seen the mother come over with a mouthful of berries to feed to the very large baby.

Young Cedar Waxwing

It wasn’t long before the mom had left, and the chick set up an awful racket, even though I was only a few feet away snapping pictures.

I’m not absolutely sure that this is the picture of a young robin, but it was making an awful racket and, unlike most adult robins I’ve seen in the wild, it made no attempt to take off when I stood below taking pictures.

Young Robin

Despite the clouds and cold, it was a great homecoming for me since I haven’t been back to Nisqually for nearly three weeks, what with a trip to Colorado and one to Vancouver in the last two weeks.

A Summer Walk

I’m not foolish enough to try to argue that summer has finally arrived here in the Pacific Northwest, but it certainly felt like it today and looked like it when I went down to the Point Defiance Rose Garden. There were people everywhere, and couples lying on blankets sunbathing.

Many of the roses were in full bloom, with a good half of the plants showing off their varied shades of beautiful.

A little jaded by past shots, I chose to focus on this petite rose that trailed up the wooden arch that separates the two main gardens:

Climbing Rose

The Iris Garden across from the Rose Garden was also in full bloom, and I suspect it was really my favorite of the day:

Purple Iris

But I couldn’t resist ending the day by taking pictures of the Calla Lilies:

Calla Lily

It’s not clear what the weather holds for the next few days, but it’s a great time to get to the garden if you live near Tacoma.

Levertov’s This Great Unknowing: Last Poems

I finished Denise Levertov’s This Great Unknowing: Last Poems several days ago and have been struggling with exactly what I wanted to say about the book. So much so that I asked Mike if he could help me to find the exact words to express a feeling that I have about much of Levertov’s poetry.

First, let me make it clear that I like Levertov’s poetry a lot. One of the first things I look for in a poet is the ability to help me see more clearly what it is I believe, and the more I read her poetry the closer I think the two of us are attuned. She puts into words feelings and ideas I’ve felt but have seldom heard articulated more clearly.

Looking at “Immersion,”

IMMERSION

There is anger abroad in the world, a numb thunder,
because of God’s silence. But how naive,
to keep wanting words we could speak ourselves,
English, Urdu, Tagalog, the French of Tours,
the French of Haiti.

Yes, that was one way omnipotence chose
to address us-Hebrew, Aramaic, or whatever the patriarchs
chose in their turn to call what they heard. Moses
demanded the word, spoken and written. But perfect freedom
assured other ways of speech. God is surely
patiently trying to immerse us in a different language,
events of grace, horrifying scrolls of history
and the unearned retrieval of blessings lost for ever,
the poor grass returning after drought, timid, persistent.
God’s abstention is only from human dialects. The holy voice
utters its woe and glory in myriad musics, in signs and portents.
Our own words are for us to speak, a way to ask and to answer.

for instance, I find myself agreeing with virtually everything she says, though I don’t think I’ve ever articulated these feelings as clearly as she does. Emerson and Thoreau are two of my favorite philosophers, and I was surprised when I found out that their views on human nature based on their observation of Nature stemmed from their Puritan ancestors who viewed natural phenomena as “signs and portents” from God.

Certainly life would be easier if God would speak directly to us, just as childhood was easier than adult life because our parents told us what to do. It’s much harder when you reach adulthood and have to make your own decisions based on your own observations of the situation. That might seem like a high price to pay for “perfect freedom,” but most of us would never trade adulthood for childhood again.

If there is a God, I believe like Levertov that He reveals himself in “events of grace, horrifying scrolls of history and the unearned retrieval of blessings lost for ever.” Only a child would demand that he tell us what to do directly by speaking to us.

I found 13 other poems in this 84 page book that I enjoyed enough to reread and reconsider. Perhaps it’s wrong to demand more than that from a poet, but I do.

When I thought back about all the Levertov poems I’d read, I couldn’t remember a single poem or even a single line that stood out in my memory, although, if pressed, I could certainly summarize her main themes. Rather strange when I can still remember specific poems that I read way back in high school that are still important to me, like Hardy’s “Darkling Thrush” or even Eliot’s “The Hollow Man,” a poem that I disagreed with but still made a deep impression on me.

I suspect that Mike is right when he suggested that Levertov is too cerebral. He might even be right when he suggests that might be her appeal to me, that I tend to be cerebral — though that’s certainly not a word I would use to describe myself. Heck, sometimes I even worry that I’ve been Googled
, unable to read an in-depth article, forever limited to lyrical poems where I can pause between poems for a brief mental respite, or walk away for a cup of freshly-ground, freshly-brewed cup of Poverty Bay Coffee Company’s Skookumchuck River French Roast.

In short, “Immersion” offers interesting ideas, but lacks poetic imagery, rhyme, near-rhyme or even assonance or consonance, for that matter. In other words, like many of Levertov’s poems it seems more like a prose meditation than a poem. Of course, I have found myself strangely attracted to various forms of meditation lately, so that might also explain why I like her poetry

Flowering

What started as a birding trip

Song Sparrow

Sunday to Theler Wetlands in Belfair quickly became a “flowering trip,” not so much for a lack of birds, but, rather for, a plethora of flowers, particularly wild roses

Wild Rose

whose fragrance filled the air for much of the walk .

and for wild iris which made up for their scarcity with a brilliance that lit up the dark corners of the forest that lines the refuge.

Wild Iris