The Eurasian Teal, a Siberian migrant

The Eurasian Teal or Common Teals (Anas crecca) are the most abundant winter migrants, they are gregarious lot and create ruckus in the water bodies they inhabit. Swift fliers they flap quite rapidly, giving the impression of being in a hurry. Common teal feed on plants, young crops and small crustaceans, molluscs, worms, grubs, and snails. 

Tennyson: We feel that we are greater than we know

For now the Heavenly Power
Makes all things new,
And thaws the cold, and fills

The flower with dew;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The poets too

It is not that I am unaware of Tennyson, and I find his poems quite charming, just that I find long poems too much for attention and becomes difficult to comprehend, sometimes the language is too ‘Victorian’. 

It so happened that on an afternoon walk in the streets of Mysore while the setting sun rhymed poetry in the west, I stumbled upon a thin collection A Treasure of Poems (Book 1) with the second hand books vendor. He said it will cost 5R!! I gave him 10R. When was the last time anyone of you bought a book for 10R?! I flipped through the book as I sipped Sarasparila drink at a local shop (Indian Sarasparila is different from American that is the source for much popular drink, the root beer). Soon I was reading what I read in school many decades back “The little bird” 

What does little birdie say

In her nest at peep of day?

Let me fly, says little birdie,

Mother, let me fly away.

Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger,

So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

Charming, however this blogger prefers that children be taught in their mother tongue as far as possible, English can be compulsory language (visit me at www.depalan.blogspot.com on this). So there it was time to revisit Tennyson. Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) was one those very few poets who attained peak of his popularity while still alive, but not before he went through bleakest of situations in life. Any other person in his place would have easily broken down, his tenacity towards vagaries of life is what really rivets me to him.

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

All Things Will Die

Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing

Under my eye;

Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing

Over the sky.

One after another the white clouds are fleeting;

Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating

Full merrily;

Yet all things must die.

The stream will cease to flow;

The wind will cease to blow;

The clouds will cease to fleet;

The heart will cease to beat;

For all things must die.

All things must die.

Spring will come never more.

Oh! vanity!

Death waits at the door.

See! our friends are all forsaking

The wine and the merrymaking.

We are called--we must go.

Laid low, very low,

In the dark we must lie.

The merry glees are still;

The voice of the bird

Shall no more be heard,

Nor the wind on the hill.

Oh! misery!

Hark! death is calling

While I speak to ye,

The jaw is falling,

The red cheek paling,

The strong limbs failing;

Ice with the warm blood mixing;

The eyeballs fixing.

Nine times goes the passing bell:

Ye merry souls, farewell.

The old earth

Had a birth,

As all men know,

Long ago.

And the old earth must die.

So let the warm winds range,

And the blue wave beat the shore;

For even and morn

Ye will never see

Through eternity.

All things were born.

Ye will come never more,

 For all things must die.

I thought of putting this poem that contrast the above… 

Nothing Will Die

When will the stream be aweary of flowing

Under my eye?

When will the wind be aweary of blowing

Over the sky?

When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting?

When will the heart be aweary of beating?

And nature die?

Never, oh! never, nothing will die?

The stream flows,

The wind blows,

The cloud fleets,

The heart beats,

Nothing will die.

Nothing will die;

All things will change

Through eternity.

'Tis the world's winter;

Autumn and summer

Are gone long ago;

Earth is dry to the centre,

But spring, a new comer,

A spring rich and strange,

 Shall make the winds blow

Round and round,

Through and through,

Here and there,

Till the air

And the ground

Shall be filled with life anew.

The world was never made;

It will change, but it will not fade.

So let the wind range;

For even and morn

Ever will be

Through eternity.

Nothing was born;

Nothing will die;

All things will change.

Flower in the crannied wall

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower -but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

 Snake Shyam talks: I happen to listen to Snake Shyam (and Gowri Shankar, who works on King Cobra in Agumbe). Most mysorian know enigmatic and quintessential Snake Shyam, he is now a popular elected councilor, indeed he could have easily been an MP. We went with him for snake rescue mission and saw him in action. He has rescued and released about 30,000 snakes, the man is really passionate about snakes. Though quite flamboyant he comes out as an endearing man. I had joined the workshop to remove my reluctance on snakes. His advice to the group was “not to listen to parents!!” while Gowri Shankar mentioned that “things will look better after this generation of elders vanishes”. Clearly our so called family tradition has no value for nature, despite tall claims, it will need a new generation of sensitive individuals to break free from these regressive pits.

From my scribble pad..

The wasp 
The world and its wants,
tribulations and expectations can go by
 Everything else is here 
The sun, moon and stars
and this earth and its wonders
Like this wasp 
that has just alighted on the window sill 
observes in brief stillness 
and beats its wing for a hurried detour