Here's a nice visual reference for the lines: When the Bakhtiari herd their goats back/Into the highlands ... a 10-minute documentery film on the annual Bakhtiari migration in Iran. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IljkR_y9Or8&feature=player_embedded#at=157
The Rookery
In late October, a chill settles in the basement.
In the third floor bedroom, an antiqued-blue chest
At the foot of the bed becomes a nesting ground.
Several species of shorts winter here: cut-off denims,
Silk boxers, one-hundred-percent-cotton chinos.
Plaid baggies puff their pleats to scare interlopers.
Mating pairs entice each other with floppy pockets.
The shorts breed; they rear; they remain for months,
Fighting off wash-day trespassers, day-old underwear,
Wallets, wedgies, and wanderlust. In mid May,
When the Bakhtiari herd their goats back
Into the highlands; when the Pennacooks hike north
To Concord; when martins, swallows, terns, and warblers
Wing their way up coasts, the shorts tentatively explore
The second floor, testing the breezes, warming to travel.
About Me
- Jeff Roberts
- No one likes everything. We explore. We discover. We winnow. When young we are silly in our devotion to music. We pretend. We imitate our favorite artists. When Midnight Train to Georgia comes on the radio, I still turn into a Pip. Jimmy Buffet’s A Pirate Looks at Forty still touches me. I am similarly affected when I encounter good and great art and poetry. Joseph Cornell, Seamus Heaney, Louise Nevelson, Louise Gluck, Giorgio de Chirico, William Carpenter, Dali. When I see a Duchamp that nails it for me, I have the urge to windmill my arm like Pete Townshend. What if we let art and poetry sneak up on us like music? What if art came in 3 minute bursts and had a volume knob? What if?
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