The Patient Bird

Summary

"The Patient Bird" is a reflective poem that contemplates the nature and symbolism of a heron.

Abstract

The poem "The Patient Bird" is a contemplative piece that uses the heron as a central motif, exploring themes of solitude, nature, and the passage of time. It depicts the heron as a wise and patient observer, akin to a monk in meditation, standing in contrast to the bustle of life. The speaker marvels at the heron's collective noun, a "siege," and draws a parallel between the bird's stillness and the human heart's fortitude. The poem delves into the heron's ancient presence, linking it to biblical imagery and the beauty of creation. The speaker recalls a moment of vulnerability and intimacy with the heron, bathed in moonlight, and concludes by acknowledging the heron's freedom to fly, suggesting a parting of ways.

Opinions

The heron is portrayed as a symbol of wisdom and patience, a 'grey avian guru' in a state of zen.
There is an appreciation for the irony in the collective noun for herons, 'a siege,' contrasting with the bird's tranquil demeanor.
The poem expresses a deep connection between the speaker and the heron, highlighting moments of shared solitude and reflection.
The author seems to draw a parallel between the heron's presence and significant moments in human history, such as the biblical Garden of Eden.
The speaker acknowledges the heron's inherent wildness and freedom, recognizing that it cannot be confined or possessed.
There is a sense of nostalgia and longing in the speaker's tone, particularly when recalling a past encounter with the heron.

A Poem

I’m drawn to the patient bird. The old heron monk. Grey avian guru in state of zen amidst a goose parliament at this slight river’s edge. Solitary bird. Hello spirit.

Do you know what they call more than one heron? A siege. My ribcage shakes for the blatant irony of the heart. The little fortress town, with its little sticks for walls. How many days now since you entered on that night? Unarmed. Army of one.

Come wade in the cold waters Predator bird. Hunter of cryptic positions. I see the long blade of your lovely neck a measured strike away from my bare chest. Chosen site from where I call.

Do you remember? Ancient one. Bird of sun and creation. Do you remember the flowers that grew in Eden’s Garden? And the man and the woman asleep in the brush were they beautiful in their nakedness, just like us? Do you remember? Wise bird. Bird of divination.

I remember. The view of you perched on the tip of a pyramid. You had your guard down, and I saw how you moved. Dancing bird. Lucid bird wet with silver moon cumming through an open window somewhere, someone forgot to close.

Bird of flight. Lover of sky. I forgot you were made to fly. but if ever your wings unfurl to please the air beneath them and either the wind — or you, are drawn toward my window again. Turn around. You won’t find me there. Go and look for the patient bird at the slight river’s edge.