tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618025896103645633.post8450756643356896240..comments2023-11-25T08:33:24.935-05:00Comments on art, birds, nature: A New Moku Hanga Print; Return from SWLA Annual ExhibitionKen Januskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16984782169460110520noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618025896103645633.post-50170870850668383442019-11-24T13:58:33.830-05:002019-11-24T13:58:33.830-05:00Hi Bob,
Feel free to include my drawing with your...Hi Bob,<br /><br />Feel free to include my drawing with your poem. I very much enjoyed reading it. I'm not a big reader of poetry, perhaps because I see so much that seems bad to me. But I just reread this and enjoy it all the more. It moves along at a pace similar to a raptor on the hunt.<br /><br />Best wishes,<br /><br />KenKen Januskihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16984782169460110520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3618025896103645633.post-6385783936075558462019-11-23T11:14:12.352-05:002019-11-23T11:14:12.352-05:00Mr Januski:
I'd like to get permission from yo...Mr Januski:<br />I'd like to get permission from you to reproduce your Coopers Hawk in snow on the front of my annual Christmas card, which is one of my poems. I admire your work and think it would be a perfect compliment to the poem <br /><br />To the Hawk that Cured My Holiday Blues<br /><br /> “My heart in hiding/Stirred for a bird….”<br /> ––Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The Windhover”<br /><br />In a funk just days before Christmas, <br />my holiday shopping lagging weeks behind, <br />my head crammed with lists of wants and must-haves<br />and me eager to make a deal at every turn, <br />not thinking of spreading joy and bringing cheer, <br />as I should have, but about paying less than<br />I thought I should for more than I knew I needed <br />in the world of dollars and cents, when, by dumb chance, <br />I caught that morning winter morning’s marauder, <br />not Hopkins’ hovering “dauphin,” his gaily decked kestrel, <br />but a bully Cooper’s hawk, sleek feathered assassin, <br />bird of those piercing, all-seeing red eyes,<br />daggering through trees in snow-decked woods <br />behind our house, hot on the tail of a male cardinal, <br />my beloved’s favorite bird, scared witless. <br />I ran out waving my arms and shouting not now<br /> you heathen you unbeliever, not in this most cherished season….<br />I yelled and yelled, but the sound of my voice <br />was just a rasp in all that wintery bluster. <br />The more I shouted, the more the hawk hawked on <br />as only a hungry hawk must, and I, quickened <br />by beak and claw, blood and a trance of feathers, <br />went inside and wrote these lines.<br /><br />Bob DeMott<br />Christmas, 2019<br /><br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13643158480430861487noreply@blogger.com