I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written in terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.
Yes, frequently. Even in the city where I live, Bangalore, I see black kites, herons, and egrets on a daily basis, as well as the occasional monkey (macaque.) [Notably, Bangalore — like Mumbai — has had issues with Leopards in the city, but I’ve never seen them.] But when I travel to wilderness areas, there’s lots of wildlife to be seen. A couple weeks ago I visited Ranganathittu Sanctuary and saw marsh crocodiles, macaques, pelicans, and painted storks. In India, I’ve seen rhino, wild elephant, mongoose, cobra, and many other creatures. In Africa, I’ve seen most of the big ones (lion, elephant, hippo, giraffe, zebra, cape buffalo, etc.)
I was just learning from the wildlife in the park this morning as I watched chipmunks scurry around in a circle of ravens, and that kind of surprised me that the chipmunks didn’t seem phased. I see ravens eating bigger rodents (city rats are about the size of housecats,) but they made no moves on the chipmunks. Maybe chipmunks have stronger kung fu, or maybe they just don’t have enough meat on the bones. I don’t know.
A bird… and if you look closely, you’ll see an elephant under it.
Hundreds of cold sparrows dive into the empty courtyard,
cluster on plum branches and speak of sun after rain at dusk.
They choose to gather en masse and kill me with noise.
Suddenly startled, they disperse. Then, soundlessness.
NOTE: This translation from: Barnstone, Tony & Chou Ping. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry. New York: Random House. p.422.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 