Drifting Off

Colin See-Paynton "Round of Wren"

Drifting Off

The guttersnipe and the albatross

gliding for days without a single wingbeat

were equally beyond me.

I yearned for the gannet's strike,

the unbegrudging concentration 

of the heron.

In the camaraderie of rookeries,

in the spiteful vigilance of colonies 

I was at home.

I learned to distrust
 the allure of the cuckoo

and the gossip of starlings,

kept faith with doughty bullfinches,

leveled my wit too often

to the small-minded wren

and too often caved in

to the pathos of waterhens

and panicky corncrakes.

I gave too much credence to stragglers,

overrated the composure of blackbirds

and the folklore of magpies.

But when goldfinch or kingfisher rent

the veil of the usual,

pinions whispered and braced

as I stooped, unwieldy

and brimming,

my spurs at the ready.

Seamus Heaney 

I wonder if this could be called a self-portrait too. We had Robert Graves describe his face, Arthur Rimbaud ascribe different characters to himself, and Heaney now, seems to be telling us his place in the world by means of birds. He's not a lone flyer or patient hunter, he likes the comaraderie of colonies, he's made some mistakes of judgment, fell for a good sad story or two, believed a little too much in some characters, but when the moment came - he was ready. Ready for what? Attack? Defense? What bird is he? He doesn't say. All this makes me smile.