Redbud Arioso
The Buzz
I'm rooting around the meadow this morning, soiling
My knees as I lap up the sweet, as I shower in sunspray,
A bristled provocateur, but how I want to be glib as
St. Francis and chat with this bee, whose motor I hear
As he thrums past in his yellow dinner jacket or the robins
Atwitter, our flirty neighbors, who zip from green to green.
I want to learn enough conversational buzz so I'm not such
A tourist in these woods. Please, God of this profusion, give
Me tongues of chirp so I can talk birdy birdy or chatter squirrel
Chatter. Let waxwings skim the milkweed or caterpillars rob
The goldenrods. Let dew spread its acres of silver
Fabrication, but attune my tenor vibrato to shagbarks and cedar,
The yellowing crocus or that nearby frog who sounds like Basho
Intoning his poem. Spare me from the road vulture I might become,
Content with his swill of entrails. Spare me the ambitions of men
In their seed caps or the women hoisting percale sails on backyard
Poles. May my tongue warble oriole and flicker in kingsnake.
May I speak to the vole in his subway, the otter sleeking by, water
So clear and articulate, allelu, allelu. O death crouched
In the bushes, you can go on eating your carcass if today you
Keep quiet and let all the other voices teach me to talk back.
--Miguel de Ozarko
Redbud Arioso
The Buzz
I'm rooting around the meadow this morning, soiling
My knees as I lap up the sweet, as I shower in sunspray,
A bristled provocateur, but how I want to be glib as
St. Francis and chat with this bee, whose motor I hear
As he thrums past in his yellow dinner jacket or the robins
Atwitter, our flirty neighbors, who zip from green to green.
I want to learn enough conversational buzz so I'm not such
A tourist in these woods. Please, God of this profusion, give
Me tongues of chirp so I can talk birdy birdy or chatter squirrel
Chatter. Let waxwings skim the milkweed or caterpillars rob
The goldenrods. Let dew spread its acres of silver
Fabrication, but attune my tenor vibrato to shagbarks and cedar,
The yellowing crocus or that nearby frog who sounds like Basho
Intoning his poem. Spare me from the road vulture I might become,
Content with his swill of entrails. Spare me the ambitions of men
In their seed caps or the women hoisting percale sails on backyard
Poles. May my tongue warble oriole and flicker in kingsnake.
May I speak to the vole in his subway, the otter sleeking by, water
So clear and articulate, allelu, allelu. O death crouched
In the bushes, you can go on eating your carcass if today you
Keep quiet and let all the other voices teach me to talk back.
--Miguel de Ozarko