Monday's (11-1-2021) Memo: Attention! The Month of No's is here again!

As I've mentioned in prior posts here on Blogger, the poet, Thomas Hood has this to say (in the poem posted atop this entry) regarding the month of November. And now it's here again!

Dear reader, what are your thoughts about this month?

Iris Day 2021

While cutting through The American Museum of Natural History's Theodore Roosevelt Park (on my way home from the greenmarket and compost drop off) I saw patches of Irises, the flower variety featured in the images atop this entry. 

My seeing them reminded me that Iris Day (celebrated one week and one day ago) was an event I've written about in bygone years here on Blogger. In case you didn't catch my 5-8-2017 post about this holiday, you may reference it by clicking here. 

Whenever I see Irsies I think of Vincent van Gough and today was no exception. 

However, in addition to recalling this artist's paintings of irises, I also thought of what Mary Oliver (the poet) had to say in relation to them:

"Praying

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.”

These words are something I constantly need to be reminded of when I sit down to write most anything.

European starlings contine to enjoy my garden. (Saturday's Sentiment)

European starlings the bird type featured in the image atop this entry (visiting my roof extension garden) were brought to NYC from England 131 years and one month ago yesterday (3-16-1890).

Thursday's Tale: Certain Central Park Tulips Now Have a Georgia O'Keefe Look

This is the first year that I do not have tulips in my garden as I was not able to plant new bulbs in 2020 because of the pandemic. In general, my tulip bulbs don't winter-over well even with my diligent garden winterizing. I truly miss having them this year but memories of my tulips sustain me. I have had such amazing varieties during the many years of my having a garden. Be that as it may when it comes to not having tulips in my garden this year, I have been able to appreciate them in tree pits as well as in Central Park. The tulip seen in the photo atop this entry is one I saw there five days ago.

Daffodils: A contendor for NYC's flower + an inspiration to poets (Tuesday's Truths WK 211)

Welcome to my 211th segement of Tuesday's Truths, where I'm pointing out that evidently Michael Bloomberg, when he was mayor of NYC, wanted to designate daffodils, the flower type featured in the image directly above (which was taken in Central Park) to be our city's flower (the state flower is the rose). 

Friday's Fact: Today is the ninth day for National Poetry Month 2021.

It's Day 9 of 2021's National Poetry Month and as always, Odgen Nash (whose poem is featured in the text-based image atop this entry) has got this. I think of his poem often, and yesterday was far from an exception, upon my spotting a blooming tree (featured within the next sequence of photographs) when I was in Central Park.

I confess that I'm having trouble id-ing this beauty and plan to reach out to the Park's Department for help, but in the interim, any TLLG blog readers out there know the type of tree pictured here?

On another note I have a few trees in my rooftop garden, including a flowering one known as a Crabapple Tree.

"....the thing with feathers that perches in the soul...."

TM, a woman who lives in Queens, sent me a copy of the photo seen atop this entry, which she took while on a walk. 

I guess she thought of me when she saw the chalkboard quotation because a few years ago (in March of 2019), I read a mediation by Dr. James Campbell ("In Praise of Pigeons") on Emily Dickinson's poem titled “Hope is the thing with feathers” and shared it with TM.

Part of Campbell’s meditation stated: "When I imagine that 'little bird' of which Dickinson wrote, I automatically think of the starlings and the sparrows of my Indiana childhood.  I might even imagine the colorful and aggressive blue jays or cardinals that I still enjoy watching. But when I think of hope and birds and bird songs, I never ever think of a pigeon...."

The meditation goes on to talk about the orator's experience with pigeons and he adds, "But those pigeons were persistent, muscular, determined....They never let me forget that they were there..." 

And he continues his thought re Dickinson's poem repeating the line, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune--without the words, and never stops at all…. But it’s not a delicate little bird, easily frightened away.  Hope is a New York City pigeon – persistent, determined, muscular, cooing at us even when we do not want to hear her song, reminding us that where we are today is not where we shall end.  The exiles will return. There will be justice and equity for the poor of the earth..."

More info can be found within another entry on my blog. Btw, pigeons and references to poems (including other ones by Emily Dickinson) can be found in my hard-cover book series, Words In Our Beak. 

MY BOOK SERIES

The goal of these books is to open readers to a simple understanding of the winged world and their environment. Set in a rooftop urban garden (mine) in New York City, my story is told in the voice of Cam, a female cardinal, who visits it. Words In Our Beak is directed to children and adults who are curious about birds, and want to learn about them from a unique perspective. 

The books make a perfect gift for someone who may be in quarantine or lockdown due to consequences of the coronavirus because the stories in them can bring the outdoors into the homes of those who cannot go out (or should not) and about.

April's Inspiration

I recently discovered the poem, "Spring," by Edna St. Vincent Millay, which is posted atop this entry, and because we are now in National Poetry Month, I'm calling attention to it, on some levels, it reminds me of what T.S. Eliot has said re the month of April, and it is posted directly below.

I've published posts re Eliot's quote including ones from 2019, 2018 and 2011 and because I'm familar with his darker interpetation of what this month means, I wasn't surprised to read the words of Edna St. Vincent Millay when it comes to April.

However, I wonder if E.B. White might've been surprised to hear her words about this month, given what he wrote about this poet in his mini New Yorker essay, "WRITER AT WORK" (published in 1927).

“A new day. A blue jay. A new beginning...."

Blue jays visit my garden frequently and the other day was no exception. My latest visitor can be seen in the image atop this entry as well as in the ones directly below.

Upon my seeing this creature, I thought of some lines from a poem by Eleanor Farjeon which go like this, “A new day. A blue jay. A new beginning...."

You may recognize her name as she wrote the hymn, "Morning Has Broken," which is usually associated with Cat Stevens whose recording of it popularized the song.

This bird type, which sometimes gets a bad rap, has influenced me from an early age when I drew (albeit not very well) the creature's picture.

"...When January brings new faces!"

"THE CHIKADEE" BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

As promised in my last entry (published on 1-7-2021), I'm back in the blogging saddle for now. My absence wasn't so long when I consider it has been over eight years (November 18th 2012) since I heard the sound which poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, calls the "gay and polite" "cheerful cry" of a Chickadee occcuring in my rooftop garden but I heard it this morning.

My eyes are on the House sparrows...

HOUSE SPARROWS ARE FEATURED IN WIOB

HOUSE SPARROWS ARE FEATURED IN WIOB

I came across the photos (which are posted directly above) just the other day when organizing my photo-library. They were taken on October 24th 2015, which happens to be the day my dear friend, Donna DeSolis (DD) might've been celebrating her birthday with me had she not died a few months prior (in June of 2015). As readers of this blog may recall, I created at the request of DD's son a video commemorating her life and it may be viewed on Vimeo and/or You Tube.

As for these two pictures I am which I am now referencing they feature House sparrows enjoying a meal from a bird feeder in my rooftop garden. The sparrow with dark features an a black "bib" is a male. In a recent entry here on Blogger, I discussed this characteristic (bib) which is a feature of male House sparrows in a recent entry here on Blogger. However, my seeing these photos at this time caused me to think of a poem by Mary Oliver, which is posted below.

In the song sparrow's nest the nestlings,

those who would sing eventually, must listen

carefully to the father bird as he sings

and make their own song in imitation of his.

I don't know if any other bird does this (in

nature's way has to do this). But I know a 

child doesn't have to. Doesn't have to.

Doesn't have to. And I didn't.

Ms. Oliver is referring to a song sparrow in this particular poem, "Blue Horses" (from "To Be Human is to Sing Your Own Song"). I have pictures of that bird type too within my photo collection, an example of one whom I saw in Central Park is featured in the next image.

SONG SPARROWS ARE FEATURED IN OTHER BLOG POSTS

However, it the House sparrow whom I've included in my three volume hardcover book series, Words In Our Beak.

MY BOOK SERIES

Friday Follow-up to Yesterday's Blog Post

JEWEL, THE MUSCOVY DUCK IS FEATURE IN V 3

I'm following up on yesterday's blog post, where I discussed my reacquainting with Jewel, the Muscovy duck featured in volume three of my book series, Words In Our Beak.

MY BOOK SERIES

Upon seeing the content of my Muscovy duck entry (which was posted on Facebook on 7-8-2020), bird rehabber, Amanda Remsberg, commented saying, "That’s amazing. Her kind originate from Central America, I’m not sure how she has adapted to the winters there. I’m glad she is thriving!"

As some of you might recall, I wrote about how "supposedly one of the workers at this [Boat Bain] office puts out a bowl of fresh water for Jewel on a regular basis" (in a 2017 entry here on Blogger) after I first encountered Jewel.

I'm not sure if the man seen in the picture atop this person is the one who does this (puts out fresh water) and I suspect others (including residents of the houseboats) do as it well, for Jewel was flapping her wing (while on a pier near to several house boats) as if she were trying to get someone's attention...

JEWEL, THE MUSCOVY DUCK IS FEATURE IN V 3

... when I saw her the other day.

Thursday's Testimony: Clouds and Jays Inspire Mary Oliver (AND Yours Truly)

Upon my seeing clouds (reflected in the windows of a building across the courtyard as seen in the image atop this entry); coupled with my seeing a Blue jay enjoying nourishment (from a feeder that's in my garden)...

BLUE JAYS ARE FEATURED IN MY BOOK SERIES

BLUE JAYS ARE FEATURED IN MY BOOK SERIES

BLUE JAYS ARE FEATURED IN MY BOOK SERIES

BLUE JAYS ARE FEATURED IN MY BOOK SERIES

... I thought of a meditation which references a poem by Mary Oliver. 

This meditation "establishes an atmosphere of loving kindness with the “smile”; relaxes and awakens through the body; and guides us into a spacious presence. We then rest in that presence, letting go of any controlling, and simply allow life to be as it is. It’s in “letting be” that we come home to the luminosity and tenderness of natural awareness......We close with a verse from Mary Oliver…"

I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So

simple. Then I lie back until I am

inside the cloud that is just above me

but very high, and shaped like a fish.

Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place

of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-

wanting. When the blue jay cries out his

riddle, in his carping voice, I return.

But I go back, the threshold is always

near. Over and back, over and back. Then

I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I

have been asleep. But I have not been

asleep. I have been, as I say, inside

the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating

on the water. Then I go back to town

to my own house, my own life, which has

now become brighter and simpler, some-where I have never been before….

On another note, Blue jays are referenced in my book series, Words In Our Beak...

MY BOOK SERIES

...which are a great read anytime, but especially during the lazy, crazy days of summer.

Easter Sunday 2020

In a recent post on my personal Facebook Page, I made a commitment to share a poem a day during the month of April in honor of this being National Poetry Month.

In the event the text of this poem too small or too pixelated within the golden backdrop that I created as an image, here's a copy of Oliver's poem:

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it glides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Because it is now Easter morning, I chose The Sun, by Mary Oliver, for today's selection to post there but wanted to share it here too. Re this poem, Robin Bates writes, "I have periodically turned to Mary Oliver to provide Easter poems, even though she seldom speaks overtly about religion. A number of her lyrics reenact the progress of Easter week, from dark suffering to miraculous release and ecstatic union with the divine. In 'The Sun,' Oliver’s main focus is on the moment of transcendence."

Crabapple Blossoms

MY ROOFTOP GARDEN

The other day (Tuesday, 4-7-2020) in a post on my personal Facebook (FB) Page, I mentioned that I had just remembered that April is National Poetry Month and shared a Mary Oliver, then I made a commitment to post a poem (or lines from a poem) every day (on Facebook) during this month.

Because a strong wind knocked down my crabapple tree last night (as see in the photo atop this entry photo which was also included in a posting story in my Friday evening Facebook post on my business page, I've decided today would be a good time to share the poem Crabapple Blossoms, by Carl Sandburg.

Saturday's Sentiments

American robins are featured in Volume 3

Early this morning I had my second 2020 face to face encounter with a lone American robin who was spending his/her time in my rooftop garden.

He/she played a bit of peekaboo with me as seen in the image atop this entry. Our encounter caused me to think of the literary critic, Chris Day.

Gourds & Pumpkins Put a YES in November!

No sun--no moon!

No morn--no noon!

No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--

No sky--no earthly view--

No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--

No "t'other side the way"--

No end to any Row--

No indications where the Crescents go--

No top to any steeple--

No recognitions of familiar people--

No courtesies for showing 'em--

No knowing 'em!

No mail--no post--

No news from any foreign coast--

No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--

No company--no nobility--

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member--

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

November!

The first week of November comes to a close tonight and before that happens, it's high time for me to share Thomas Hood's poem (which is posted directly above) about this month, which has been something I've done in bygone years when writing about November.

Because it's usually true that there are no flowers in November or if there are they can be few and far between, at least in my rooftop garden where a lone flower is blooming on my Anemone (as seen in the image below)...

... where she is posing with two of my pumpkins (a Fairytale as well as a "standard" variety).

Honoring September's Morning Glory Flower (with a Memory of Barbara Brine)

The photographs atop this entry (and directly below) feature Morning Glories who climb up a metal fence in an area of Central Park located on the northern edge of Sheep's Meadow (mid-Park at 69th Street just north of Sheep Meadow) known as Nell Singer Lilac Walk. I saw them a little over a few weeks ago when taking a walk with CF.

A web-page for the Official Website of Central Park describes the Nell Singer area by saying it "boasts many varieties of its signature fragrant flower from around the world. Artfully composed he walk was designed for the greatest visual effect. Come spring, it's a wonderland of white, pink, and purple blossoms. Twenty years later, Conservancy gardeners undertook the major task of replanting the beds. Today, the little path along the meadow is a spring highlight for Park lovers."

I'm surprised this web source does not state that Morning Glory's grow up the fence (enclosing Sheep's Meadow), for as you can see this vine's flowers are spectacular.

With this month of September coming to an end the day after end tomorrow, I thought I should take the opportunity to publish this non-scheduled day entry in order to give a shout out to this flower type since she, along with the Asters (the flower variety seen in the pictures below that were taken within Shakespeare Gardens in Central Park), are considered to be the birth flower of the month of September.

According to a web-page for The Old Farmer's Almanac, "Asters are mainly symbols of powerful love. Perhaps because of their positive symbolism, according to folklore they were once burned to ward off serpents."

Re the Morning Glory, the aforementioned page has this to say: "Morning glories are simple symbols of affection. Those who rise early may be able to watch their lovely blooms open. Morning glory flowers generally curl closed later in the day, hence their name!"

Their beauty was not lost on my dearly departed friend, Barbara Brine, who was born on October 19th in 1934. Her obituary states, "Barbara Theresa Brine (Bebe) was born in Boston, Massachusetts on October 19, 1934, lived most of her adult life on Manhattan's Upper West Side, and died on August 22, 2014 in Centerville, Massachusetts..."

It's 2019's first day of fall in NYC.

In honor of the onset of Autumn in New York, I'm sharing some comic strips by Patrick McDonnell whose strips (Mutts) almost always warm my heart.

On this first day of fall in NYC, we don't have much fall color and won't for a few weeks, so, on this first day of fall, I'll leave you a poem (Song for Autumn) by Mary Oliver, and with photos of what the leaves on the trees in Riverside Park will look like in the coming months, that as if they repeat what they've done in by gone years.

Song for Autumn
(By Mary Oliver)

In the deep fall

don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

inside their bodies? And don’t you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.