chris at
7:21 AM
|
double-reading between the lines from
(Dept. of [what to do with] Romanticist Poetic Conceits)
Bruce Barcott, "Painting the Sky" * :
Some birds were made for poems. Keats had his
nightingale, Poe his raven. The European bee-eater's life
is more an epic novel . . . .
It's a good life, growing up as a European bee-eater
(Merops apiaster). The vast majority form
clans that raise young in the spring and summer
in a wide swath from Spain to Kazakhstan . . . .
Once the [European] birds arrive in Africa [after
winter migration], the social season kicks into
high gear. Male[s] stick with their own clan,
while females leave to add their genes to a distant
pool. Grass fires often function as mixers.
. . . Spanish-born males meet Italian-born
females, [the] Hungarian[-born] . . . meet Kazahks
and mates pair up for life. . . . Home is usually
a sandstone cliff or . . . riverbank . . . burrows.
Nesting season is time for family alliances and intrigue.
Members of the Meropidae family . . . are famously cooperative
breeders. In any colony there are apt to be numerous
nest helpers--sons or uncles who help feed their
father's or brother's chicks. The helpers benefit too:
Parents with helpers can provide more food for chicks
to continue the family line. The trick, of course,
is to recruit more helpers. . . . [Cornell University
researchers studying a related breed living in Kenya] found
that they often use strong-arm tactics. After [building]
the burrow, a male . . . typically engages in courtship
feeding--impressing his mate by bringing her a tasty
[tidbit]. [Researchers] watched parents butt into
their son's business, begging for the courtship treat
or barging in between the mated pair. If that didn't
work, a parent might block the entrance of the son's
[home], preventing the female from entering . . . .
After a while some sons succumbed to the pressure,
abandoning their own breeding efforts to become helpers
at their parents' nests.
European [birds] aren't quite as ruthless.
They are more likely to find helpers among males
whose own nests fail through natural causes.
Trickery and theft aren't uncommon, though.
. . . If a female leaves her burrow to feed,
another female may sneak in to lay eggs--a
tactic to fool the neighbor into raising the
stranger's brood. Similarly, if a male leaves
the nest unguarded, other males may seize the
opportunity to copulate with his mate. Other[s]
occasionally turn to robbery, harassing neighbors
who return with food until they drop [the food]
and the thief can fly away with the goods.
It's a short, spectacular life. . . . But what a
story: bee chases, hive raids, brush fires, nest intrigue
. . . .
(62-63)
* National Geographic (ngm. com), October, 2008.
chris at
5:10 AM
|
Sunday, October 05, 2008
reading from Kahlil Gibran's The Vision,
"Children of Gods, Scions of Apes" * :
. . . Yesterday we were and today we have become, and this is
the will of the gods for their children. What, then, is your will,
scions of the apes?
Have you advanced even one stride forward
since you issued from fissures in the earth?
Or have you lifted your gaze toward the heights
since the demons opened your eyes?
Have you pronounced a single word from the Book
of Truth since the serpents kissed your mouth with theirs?
Or have you listend even an instant to the song of life
since death stopped up your ears?
I have been passing by you for 70,000 years and have
seen you metamorphose like insects in the corners
of grottoes. Seven minutes ago I looked at you
from behind the pane of my window and found you ambling
in filthy alleyways, led by the devils of apathy,
the chains of servitude shackling your feet
and the wings of death fluttering above your heads.
You are today as you were yesterday and shall remain
tomorrow and thereafter, just as I saw you in the beginning.
Yesterday we were and today we have become, for this is
the wont of the gods with the children of gods. What,
then, is the way of apes with you, O scions of the apes? . . .
(31-32)
* Kahlil Gibran, "Children of Gods, Scions of Apes," in The Vision, trans. Juan R. I. Cole (Penguin, 1994)
