Wounded bird

Issue #87 of your inbox poetry magazine

Raven? Crow?
No, I really don't know.
But this wounded bird needed help, so
I tried, failed and had to
let it go.

Five years ago, my better half went out for a walk with our son and the dog. We lived in The Netherlands, quite close to the beach then and it was the end of winter. When they came back, I knew something was going on, even before I turned around to look at my muse. She was smiling awkwardly, holding a seagull in her arms. He’s wounded, she said. We put the poor bird in a box, to make him (or her) calm and keep it safe from the dog. I knew what to do.

In The Netherlands, when you find an animal in distress you call the animal ambulance. They come, much like an ambulance for people, provide first aid and bring the animal in question to a veterinary clinic or a shelter. In this case, they couldn’t. There was a bird flu epidemic at that time, and their station was in the zone where the transportation of birds was prohibited. They told me that if I could stay out of that zone, I could take the bird to a shelter myself. So, we drove to the bird shelter in The Hague and they took care of our seagull.

Recently, I was not that lucky. By now living in France, I had no idea who to call. I tried searching online, but no such thing as animal ambulances or bird shelters. I reached out to some animal lovers I know on Instagram, called our veterinary clinic and the national league for the protection of birds. Unfortunately, at lunch time, these type of organisations are impossible to get hold of in France. By then, the bird I had found wounded in our garden had died. It was sad. I tried to help a wounded animal. I failed. And then, I had to let it go. Learn. Move on.

I did.

Also in this issue: Something to listen to and Poetry elsewhere. Read on!

The poem above is a tritriplicata. Find out what that is here.

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Something to listen to

A poet who invites poets to talk about their favourite poem, that’s Arji’s Poetry Pickle Jar. He has been at it for 30 episodes now, and I still have to do some catching up. I liked the vibe of this third episode:

Earlier this week, I released another chapter of my own poetry podcast, too. Listen to Chapter 14 now:

Today’s poem is also available in audio format in te #trpplffct readings collection:

And of course, our playlist for April. Enjoy this eclectic collection of tunes:

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Poetry elsewhere

I could not “repair” this broken bird. But there are things that can be repaired. And sometimes you have to break it down and find that one worthwhile thing inside to build something better. James Maynard shows you how in Of rods & low wands hidden in the root.

When we lived in Latvia, we learned how birch sap was harvested and consumed as some sort of invincibility potion. Now I recently learned that maple syrup is harvested in much the same way, through the wonderful poem Sijo: Just Maple.

There is much sorrow in the world. Not for the first time. This poem captures not just the sadness of repeating horrors, but, to me, it also holds a glimmer of hope. Read How Long is a Blue Moon.