Writer and Artist
Two crows on a telephone pole
crow about their neighbors, but I
have learned to live alone, I know
none of my neighbors, I stay by
my computer, or by my phone.
I step outside to say hello.
They drop their gazes and start home.
I can only guess what they know.
You were all about on the bare ground
parsing litter from a naked, spidery tupelo
in the last cold light of day in the backyard.
I’d forgotten or was too lazy that morning
to spread any seed, so maybe you came back
after a long day’s searching to make one last go of it.
The day is apparently beautiful
I suppose I should love today
how pigeons pirouette in courtship
and she, flying forth, leaves him
and still he twirls in place, dances on
Why should he not? the day is beautiful
Should sparrows not alight in warm winds
steering and splitting the air like a kite
gliding effortlessly, as playfully as children
who balance on the edge of the riverwalk?
Should they too not also enjoy themselves?
For surely it must be a beautiful day.
Should the robin not be curious of me
brazen and full of courage for crumbs
wondering at the contents of my bag?
Should geese not honk in salutation
and wrens not siren such foreign notes?
Of course. It is a beautiful day
R. Charboneau
Artwork – Pissarro – Springtime in Eragny (1890)
I’ve been obsessed with this painting by Joseph Wright of Derby (1734-97) for the last few weeks. I love the use of chiaroscuro in general, and I love how Wright has used it to deify the scientific experiment. I’ve also been reading Boynton’s Beginnings of Modern Science, a collection of the early letters and essays showing the development of major scientific fields of study. I am always in awe of our curiosity and ingenuity as a species.
This poem is also dedicated to Artschaft, whose excellent art criticism has exposed me to lots of new art and artists. I encourage you to have a look at her work.
And Boyle said let there be the element
primitive and perfectly unmingled body
made of no others nor of each other mixt
of one and only one kind making all things.
I know this because they know this.
They’re not as cautious as other birds,
these passerines along Central Park West
hopping the hillocks of cobbled stone
or perched on the shoulder of the park wall.
Continue reading “Lines Composed Outside the Museum of Natural History”
Robert Charboneau. 