Hope, wrote Emily Dickinson, is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words And never stops – at all –
Hope is not so insistent for most of us, and for some it is a rare bird indeed. Despair makes the darkness of Winter and wickedness seem never-ending. Yet birds and flowers have always been symbols of hope, and their return at this time of raises hopes, however faint, of other returns and other changes.
So here are fourteen poems by seven authors about birds, flowers and hope:
Katy Staples writes a hymn for the turning of the year, of crocuses versus concrete, and the lonesome call of a coot chick , and Joseph A Farina of an overwintering dove and a girl who would be a raven. I ponder the question of the first feather, and when hope can be unrecognised. David Thompson captures a particular evening moment, and the curious relationship between human and crow.
Robert Elliott’s relationship with the Outback Birds is more one-sided, but he finds comfort in the survival of outcast daffodils. Rodney Cranston observes upland crane and curlew, and Judith Pinnick sings of a Shetland bird sanctuary.
I hope you enjoy this, the (almost) tenth anniversary issue of Corncrake.
Jenny Brien
Image: Shining Cuckoo on Branch Closeup by Siobhan Leachman CC0 via Wikimedia Commons
