Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
The Little Black Bird: A Poem For The Other Woman
the little black bird
goes home in a cave
just below her belly
between
her legs
it sings about love
that she always kills
for nothing
before midnight the
blackbird flies
seeking the warmth
of other blackbirds
it is cold and
dying
in her keeping
now she sings alone
like a blackbird
cursing
the trees and the flowers
she wants to disown the
blackbird
in exchange for the
earthworm
she likes it that way
wriggling
without any feet at all
pointed and
penetrating
the curse continues
it can never be hers
and the blackbird
keeps coming back
mocking her like
an old man
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blackbird Metaphor
the Beatles had it
as the struggle for freedom of the blacks
that blackbird singing in the dark
wanting to be free
the Americans
had that blackbird swirling in Vietnam
that chopper that saved lives
that war that caused them humiliation
in the world's opinion
that lie of Nixon
Steven Wallace had eight ways of seeing
that blackbird
Noah sent that blackbird
that did not come back since it was happy
picking on the rotten flesh
of the remains of the dead
the ninth way
of seeing
disobedience
One writes again about the blackbird
that lives singing the songs of neurosis
in his mind
at winter time
The poet commits suicide
His colleagues bury him
with eulogies and ' what ifs'
One sleeps with a blackbird
The other sings with a blackbird
Someone flew away with a blackbird
and did not come back
since then
So many stories
So many poems are written
Now i have to write about this blackbird too
But there shall be no disturbance
No unhappy ending
I swear to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vespers
O blackbird, what a boy you are!
How you do go it!
Blowing your bugle to that one sweet star -
How you do blow it!
And does she hear you, blackbird boy, so far?
or is it wasted breath?
'good Lord! she is so bright
To-night!'
The blackbird saith.
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bye Bye Blackbird
Fletcher henderson, dixon
Pack up all my cares and woe, here I go, singing low,
Bye-bye blackbird.
Where somebody waits for me, sugars sweet, so is she,
Bye-bye blackbird.
No one here can love and understand me.
Oh -- what hard-luck stories they all hand me.
Make my bed and light the light
Ill arrive late tonight,
Blackbird, bye-bye.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Good Friend To Me
The gold billed blackbird whistling upon the the garden tree
For the past few years a good neighbour to me
He whistles every day all through the Spring
And his song to it has a distinctive ring.
From the other all dark males of his race him I know
Since on his left wing a few flight feathers white as snow
He tells other males of his kind in his song
This patch of ground to me and mine belong.
Each time I hear the blackbird pipe and sing
My thoughts return to the far northern Spring
On Spring evenings in groves by Millstreet Town
The blackbirds pipe before the sun goes down.
The blackbird whistling on the wattle tree
He only sings to proclaim territory
His neighbour males the warning in his song hear
And his border they dare not venture near.
The blackbird in the garden a good friend to me
I know him by sight each time him I see
By the few white feathers on his left side wing
And his song it takes me to the Northern Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Wrong House
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Blackbird
Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o' spring,-
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough, -
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.
Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.
'Tis blithe, wi' newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornen's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-barked woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole day long,
Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.
Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zetten o' the zun,
Then blushen Jeane do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' stay till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.
An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryen eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meade
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheade;
Or climb aloft, wi' clingen knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees,
While frightened blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.
poem by William Barnes
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0051 The Blackbird of Truth
Waiting for the train, listening
to the blackbird singing
across the railway line
I whistled a musical game with it
of call and response,
variations, show-off riffs;
the blackbird listened,
held its head a little to one side,
crisply hopped onto the iron rail
and I thought myself mighty clever
as we played our musical game, and
it flew across the line, a few yards nearer,
swiftly, with clear intention
onto the platform two yards from me
and the whole world turned on me
as I realised I had no idea
whether it was playing at
blackbird makes friends with man
or whether it was planning
a swift dart at this rival’s eyes
and I felt humble, stupid, ashamed, and yes scared,
to have intruded in this blackbird’s life;
stopped whistling, turned away
and pretended it was just a game,
knowing now
it wasn’t.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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To hear a blackbird sing
To hear a blackbird sing is such a pleasure to our ears
so full of promise, hope and without fear
there he stands so proud and at ease
as whispers blow along a summers breeze
of memories of long summers past
like warm still evenings upon the mind that last
of frantic family BBQ's with much chat and laughter
the blackbird sings of happy ever after
Their songs are so similar to angels sighs that blow
always for joy, not to boast or glow
if you are ever sat troubled remember those days
sat in the garden of a summers golden haze
single out the blackbird and listen to his joy of each day
and hold it close to your heart, for always
for no matter what joy or difficulties life brings
we can always rely on the joy in the way a blackbird sings
From the stillness of dusk to the glory of dawn
the promise of life like the birth of a fawn
songs that burst forth from the darkness to light
lifting us from the depths to a future so bright
it doesn't matter how down we can be
his song brings us hope for all to see
wherever we are, wherever we go
the blackbird will always be there with the best darn show!
poem by Alison Drew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Sign From Nature
When you hear the blackbird singing in the warmth of a Summer's day
It is a sign from Nature that rain is on the way
Since blackbirds are natural Spring songsters in Summer their songs tell of rain
From listening to Nature's wildborn creatures weather insights we do gain
Birds can be Nature's weather forecasters of such instances quite a few
But to that you may even say tell us something that is new
Of Nature's many wonders we do become aware
But she has many secrets that with us she'll never share
The blackbird one of Nature's leading songsters in the green Season of Spring
But before rain in Summer he too is known to sing
One of Nature's many weather forecasters of weather change birds know
At the ways of our Earth Mother our wonder only grow
When in the warmth of a Summer's day the blackbird's song you hear
It is a sign from Nature that rain is very near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Blackbird
Herbert sacker, nina simone
Why you wanna fly blackbird you aint ever gonna fly
No place bif enough for holding all the tears youre gonna cry
Cos your mamas name was lonely and your daddys name was pain
And they call you little sorrow cos youll never love again
So why you wanna fly blackbird you aint ever gonna fly
You anit got no one to hold you you aint got no one to care
If youd only understand dear nobody wants you anywhere
So why you wanna fly blackbird you aint ever gonna fly
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after.
quote by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blackbird's Song
The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.
Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen
In the knee high rushes clap his wings and crow
By their calls and songs the birds you get to know.
The distance from the home fields may be long
But whenever the migrant hear the blackbird's song
He or she will see the lushness brought by rain
And walk through fields where wild flowers bloom again.
To it the blackbird's song has a nostalgic ring
It takes the migrant to a distant Spring
And though far distant the Homeland near 'twould seem
And the dipper's song is echoing in the stream.
I thought this thing nostalgia I'd outgrown
But the blackbird's song it carries me back home
And I walk the high fields where I walked before
Up to the hill through the wood at Claramore
poem by Francis Duggan
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Blackbirds
(- this is done in the tradition of 'Imagist' poetry, which was very popular in the 1910's and 20's... personally I still find it quite fascinating. - Smoky.)
- Stevens wrote:
' The river is moving
The blackbird must be flying '
- The blackest waters
Flow, as flying...
The birds sail
Below, the sky crying -
It has been dark
All day...
Clouds and blackbirds
Get in the sun's way -
In the way they move
And flow,
In the way they stay
And go -
In a field
Of solid white...
The blackbirds
Are the dark of night.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Villanelle: Blackbird
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill,
In autumn after other birds had fled,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
I stood and listened, savoring the thrill
And wondered why the superstitious dread
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.
Perhaps they’d better reckoned why the shrill,
Outspoken, charcoal guardian of the dead
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
A witness of the seasons, it could fill
A tome or tomb with woe: I heard, instead,
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.
The raven’s kin, it played the brazen shill
And, morbid incantations having plead,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
But as I yearn to hear the robin’s trill,
I think of when, now comforted in bed,
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
poem by Richard St. Clair
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The early blackbird
A blackbird has been sitting outside the window
for some time this morning, and
I’m trying to tune in to its blackbird thoughts,
if indeed it’s burdened with such tiresome
delaying tactics to action…
it seems indecisive, though; evidently, plumply,
having well breakfasted; does
the head switching left, right,
a little slower than with alarm,
signify some Hamlet thought?
it could be wondering, if,
in view of what a blackbird would call
global warming rather than
an early summer,
it should sing?
since the early bird, it must have been
taught, or intuited, catches the first mate..
I try looking at it severe of mind,
as mindless tool of Evolution
(and yes, me too…)
only concerned with food and sex
and sex and food,
and other internet concerns
in cyber blackbird space…
but that goes nowhere in the mind..
I open the front door a crack,
whistle a poor imitation of a blackbird’s song;
it twists its head for a moment
as of impatience at some irrelevant comment;
flies off; returns; like I do, when
I’ve lost the train of thought
that sent me somewhere in the house
but have forgotten what it was…
I’ll keep an eye out for it tomorrow…
and turn back to the computer,
remembering Nicholas of Cusa
who says, there is no other:
always, we are looking
at the face of God…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blackbird
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting
For this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting
For this moment to be free
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting
For this moment to arise
You were only waiting
For this moment to arise
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackbird
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Moon Of Kentucky
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackbirds Can Dance
What an easy Spring day watching the garden grow
Then along comes a blackbird dancing, feet to toe
You might call it the worm-dance for tucker’s chance
That little critter was doing the two-step, at a glance
He hopped to the left and, then, two-steps right
I tell you that blackbird’s dance was rather alright
Guess you think I had nothing better to do…
Than to watch that little fella with his dance one-two
Sure I do; but the garden work was all done
Still, I was so amused for all the worms he got for fun
poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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