Mad Condescension

Summary

The web content presents a poem titled "Mad Condescension" by J.D. Harms, which reflects on crows, nature, and human interactions with the environment, alongside a prompt inviting writers to compose their own crow-themed poetry.

Abstract

The poem "Mad Condescension" by J.D. Harms, published on 10 July 2021, is a contemplation on the presence and significance of crows in the natural world. It opens with a Bukowski quote that sets a dark, ironic tone, followed by the poet's personal reflections on mistaken identity in nature, the desire to connect with crows, and the unintentional harm caused to animals. The poem delves into the poet's yearning for a quieter dawn, free from the chatter of robins, and touches on the theme of respect for nature's intelligence. Accompanying the poem is a prompt for a poetry challenge, encouraging others to write their own crow poems, drawing inspiration from a previously published piece by Vixen Lea and the tradition of the "Speaking Crow" open-mike series.

Opinions

The poet expresses a sense of inadequacy in understanding and interacting with nature, particularly with crows.
There is a hint of guilt and regret over unintentional harm caused to animals, as seen in the poet's recounting of past encounters.
The poem conveys a desire for a deeper connection with nature, seeking a more harmonious coexistence.
The author seems to have a complex relationship with the natural world, admiring its wisdom yet feeling alienated by it.
The prompt suggests a passion for poetry and community, inviting others to engage in a shared creative process centered around the theme of crows.

10 July 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: the crows talk too

but they ran out of shells before they ran out of crows and the crows came back and walked around the pellets and stuck out their tongues and mourned their dead and elected new leaders and then all at once flew home to fuck to fill the gap. — Bukowski

That tree you pointed at and then went on to name as an American Elm —

it is a mountain ash and I didn’t know that either — had to go elsewhere to find the answer — tedious time that was

but still don’t know how to entice the crows come live here instead — but probably it means I will have to kill something and I haven’t done

any killing — that I was really there for— well, one deer one crow one tiny white rabbit — the crow I tried to slide to the far side of the highway for — obviously not in time

I know — mad, right? but that rabbit that squeaked under other car wheels — I fucking TRIED to swerve, dumb bunny I don’t do it on purpose — so you see I have nothing to offer my black

heads of state — that future state where I don’t have to reel in loud robin mornings — nattering it is not a song — it is a nattering and it’s gods damned

annoying

wishing it was still dark when I get home from work like — well, you know these things don’t just develop but spring whole like cut outta thighs —

still — I don’t like it when you look down on me from top frail branches — leaves too thick to see clearly.

Prompt:

Once upon a time, I was madly in love with reading poetry to people once a month; most memorable was getting up in nothing but a towel to read a poem called “Sex in the Bath”... Charmingly, that series (I think still running, and one of Canada’s longest-running open-mike series) was called “Speaking Crow”. By tradition, every night was opened by a “crow poem”. I’ve done a few myself, and when I found Bukowski’s effort, I couldn’t help myself. Write me a crow poem (if you’re looking for inspiration, check out Vixen Lea’s amazing piece from a little while back!); tag me in it, and write on!!