Scan barcode
A review by katrinky
Bright Wings: An Illustrated Anthology of Poems About Birds by Billy Collins
5.0
Oh OK, let's put poetry, birds, and paintings all in one book and see if Katie's heart physically explodes or not. Favorites so far:
George Green, on Frigatebirds: "They're bullies and the way the feed is gross..."
Mary Oliver (OH, Mary Oliver), "Wild Geese": "You do not have to be good./ You do not have to walk on your knees a hundred miles, repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body/ love what it loves."
Robert Cording, "Peregrine Falcon, New York City," about an ad man who puts the selling of stuff on hold to watch a hunting bird slice by outside his window.
Walt Whitman, "The Dalliance of Eagles": "Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,/ In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling..."
Sylvia Plath, "Pheasant:" "You said you would kill it this morning./ Do not kill it. It startles me still,/ The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing/ Through the uncut grass on the elm's hill."
Dear Billy Collins,
Thank you for knowing the simple depths of my poet's little hipster heart.
Love,
Katie
George Green, on Frigatebirds: "They're bullies and the way the feed is gross..."
Mary Oliver (OH, Mary Oliver), "Wild Geese": "You do not have to be good./ You do not have to walk on your knees a hundred miles, repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body/ love what it loves."
Robert Cording, "Peregrine Falcon, New York City," about an ad man who puts the selling of stuff on hold to watch a hunting bird slice by outside his window.
Walt Whitman, "The Dalliance of Eagles": "Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,/ In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling..."
Sylvia Plath, "Pheasant:" "You said you would kill it this morning./ Do not kill it. It startles me still,/ The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing/ Through the uncut grass on the elm's hill."
Dear Billy Collins,
Thank you for knowing the simple depths of my poet's little hipster heart.
Love,
Katie