Autodidactic Poet @autodidacticpoet - Tumblr Blog

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Adrienne Rich's 1987 Poem "For an Album" from her collection Time's Power.

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Wooroloo by Frieda Hughes, from the collection of the same name.

Wild oats pale as peroxide lie down among The bottle brushes. A beaten army, bleaching. Life bled into the earth already, and seeds awaiting. Stiff little spiked children wanting water. Above the creek that split apart the earth With drunken gait and crooked pathway, Kookaburras sit in eucalyptus. Squat and sharp-throated They haggle maggots and branches from ring-necked parrots. I have watched the green flourish twice, and die, And the marsh dry. In this valley I have been hollowed out And mended. I echo in my own emptiness like a tongue In a bird’s beak. My words are all gone. Out of my mouth comes this dumb kookaburra laugh. How my feathers itch.

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Kookaburra by Frieda Hughes. From her collection Wooroloo

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So big in life, head like a chopping block Beak like a carving knife, His hysterical voice cracked branches, his laugh Stripped bark from the wood-borers But in the twilight something got him, So close to the house I should have heard. He was left like a taunt, a dead bird By an empty chicken run. Now his dusk-stained feathers rock In their dead-grass cradle, His bitten body is the flame From which these moths escape That beak is buried in the sucked-out skull Where eyes were lost in another mouth. His small crate, Ant-eaten already, his ribs like rafters To welcome flies, and his wings rest like two open fans Beside him. Stripped of what made him He is only a fraction of his noise.

Kookaburra by Frieda Hughes. From her collection Wooroloo.

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