On the Other Shore

By Juan Ramón Jiménez

All night long
the birds have been
singing their colors to me.
Not the colors
of their morning wings
in the cool air of suns rising.
Not the colors of their evening breasts
in the embers of suns setting.
Not the colors
of their everyday beaks
extinguished at night,
as the familiar colors
of leaves
and flowers are extinguished.
Other colors,
primeval paradise
completely lost by man,
the paradise
the flowers and birds
so enormously know.
Flowers and birds
that come and go perfuming,
encircling the whole orb.
Other colors,
of the unchangeable paradise
that man travels in his dreams.
All night long
the birds have been
singing the colors to me.
Other colors
which have in their other world
and which they bring out at night.
Some colors
I have seen, quite awake,
and where they are I well know.
I know whence
the birds have come
to sing for me in the night.
I know whence,
crossing the winds and the waves
they came singing their colors to me.


How I found it
I smothered myself in this poem. I was reading to my youngest who was having a restless night and I don’t recall reading Jiménez before ever. But this poem, especially when read aloud, has impact. I read it through three or four times and just felt the weight of the words, the enormity of the author’s experience.

Why I love it
1. Synesthesia. I use it in my writing. I’ve experienced it in life and the colors of birdsongs is perfect. I also work with kids who experience synesthesia.
2. I love that this poem made me see, feel, and hear colors without even the mention of one color.
3. I’ve been an expatriate many times over and I know the emotions expressed here (Jiménez writes about the birds of his native land while living in the US.) There is that faint sense of “disconnect” I’ve felt before when two worlds collide.
4. I love how Jiménez moved beyond isolation and longing for home to a sense of privilege. The birds are singing for him. Perhaps this is because of their shared homeland? He’s seen them before, speaks their language. Thus through the poem, the experience of birdsong, he has transported himself his status as a foreigner (outsider) to one who can see the bird song (the only insider.)

Making sense of life
This poem makes sense of my life because I work with people whose senses are unique. It helps me put into perspective living as an expat. Living in a foreign land, one sometimes longs for a taste (or song) from home. It reassures me that though I’m a foreigner here, I’m part of the vast sphere of nature. It reminds me of how easy it is to experience nature –the dance of a butterfly, sunprints in the sky, or the song of a bird. Because I can see, hear, feel, think, and remember…I am not alone.

The Battle of Blenheim

The Batle of Blenheim

Robert Southey (1774-1843)

It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll someting large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing ther ahd found;
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by,
And then the old man shook his head,
And, with a natural sigh,
"'Tis some porr fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out:
For any thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us waht 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhlmine looks up
With wonder-waiting ees;
"Now tell us all abou tthe war,
And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory."

"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burt his dwlling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many childing mother then
And newborn baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight
Afer the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;
But things like that, you know, must be
Afer a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine,
"Nay...nay...my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why that I cannot tell," said he,"
"But 'twas a famous victory."

End

Why I like it:
1. Word use and word order
-‘twas
-“beside the rivulet in playing there had found” is such a more beautiful way of saying “found while playing beside the river” (or rivulet or stream)
-“large and smooth and round”
2. “things like that, you know”
-I really love the phrase and the repetition and the placement of this casual (almost modern-sounding) phrase after the most horrid descriptions – newborn babies dying and bodies rotting in the sun.
3. This poem does a wonderful job conveying the bluntness and wisdom of children
4. The form – Southey used the style of a Ballad to tell his tale, but instead of creating a true Ballad where the action of the tale is the story – he used the form and style to send his message. Clever!

How it makes sense of life:
Ahhhh… the feeling of not being able to explain the unexplainable to my kids. This poem reminded me of Samantha age six asking me if war was real. I didn’t understand her at first, until she explained “Do they just have it in movies and in stories or also in real life?” I had to tell her the truth. “Why?” She wanted to know why! And I was at a loss. It was almost a year later when I found this poem and I did read it to her. Although I couldn’t answer her question, I think this poem helped. She listened, asked me to read it again, nodded and said, “The children are right.”

Every time I read this poem, it reminds me not to be a parrot like Kasper, but to tell the truth!!!