Poetry about birds.

All summer we have been watching a family of gulls bring up three fledglings. We overlook the nest site on top of the Harley-Davidson garage opposite King's Buildings (Edinburgh University) and one reason we became so keen to observe the birds' progress was that one of the fledglings had clearly injured a wing and looked much weaker than its siblings. Phoning the SSPCA Wildlife Rescue Centre gave us hope although the kindly Wildlife Officer was very clear that unless the bird fell off the roof and someone was able to put a box on top of it they would be unable to rescue the bird in such a potentially dangerous situation. However she did say that sometimes young injured birds can heal themselves. After several weeks of observing the gulls and watching the injured one gradually gain weight and strength we we still full of uncertainty as to whether it would be able to fly. The other two fledglings had progressed from fly-jumps across the roof to get food from the very attentive adults to flying away from the roof for several hours leaving the bird with the damaged pinion alone.But one day on our way to the allotment we noticed the injured bird on top of a nearby rooftop and since then it hasn't looked back. We've seen it regularly flying around our patch still looking a bit ragged but flying successfully after all.
I've written several poems based on these gulls and my reaction to the possible plight of the young gull has made me think more about human relationships with birds and bird poetry. Birds have been on this earth far longer than humans and provide food, adornment and plenty of inspiration for artists and writers. Birds are regarded as ethereal presences and down-right nuisances; representations of human souls and adored companions for bird hunters.So what is it about birds that people find so endlessly fascinating?

Here are some writers on birds who have inspired me.

From 'Ode to a Nightingale' by John Keats.

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
    But being too happy in thy happiness,
        That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
           In some melodious plot
    Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
         Singest of summer in full-throated ease.


From 'Hawk roosting' by Ted Hughes.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather;
Now I hold Creation in my foot

From 'A bird came down the walk' by Emily Dickinson.

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

From 'Seascape' by Emily Bishop'

This celestial seascape, with white herons got up as angels,
flying as high as they want and as far as they want sidewise
in tiers and tiers of immaculate reflections;
the whole region, from the highest heron
down to the weightless mangrove island
with bright green leaves edged neatly with bird-droppings
like illumination in silver,

From 'Birds and People' by Mark Cocker and David Tipling (2013)

The great Welsh poet of the fourteenth century Dafydd ap Gwilym caught perfectly the gull's light refracting properties in his love poem Yr Wylan ('' The Seagull'').

Fine gull on a warm tide-flow
Colour of snow or pale moon,
Flawless is your beauty,
Sun-shard, sea-gauntlet,
Weightless on the wave-flood,
Swift proud fishfeeder,
Close flying to the anchor,
Close to my hand, sea-lily,
Bright sheet's semblance
Nun of the tide's swell.

From 'Findings' by Kathleen Jamie.

This is what I want to learn: to notice, but not to analyse. To still the part of the brain that's yammering, 'My god, what's that! A stork, a crane, an ibis? - don't be silly, its just a weird heron.' Sometimes we have to hush the frantic inner voice that says 'Don't be stupid,' and learn again to look, to listen. You can do the organising and redrafting, the diagnosing and identifying later, but right now,just be open to it, see how it's tilting nervously into the wind, try to see the colour, the uncanny shape - hold it in your head, bring it home intact.