Back to Issue Fifty-Five

A Stranger Is an Animal Who Doesn’t Sing

BY BRIAN TEARE

 

“We read our history clearly
in the flight and cries of the bird.”

—Yannis Ritsos (trans. Spring Ulmer)

 

when it is time

to study hatred

again sparrows

gather bicker

in the forsythia

i tend like i tend

the life of the mind

its leafless thicket

a tangle of lines

other voices live in

i think i think

if i transcribe

enough sentences

in the notebook

i will find a form

that has a hate

i can tolerate

my first teacher

of poetry liked

to quote lowell

pity the monsters !

pity the monsters !

which pissed me off

it was the ’90s

my lover was dying

of AIDS too bad

he’s going to hell

my mother said

with all the others

i loathed pity

and monstrosity

as discourses

about politics

exerting power

over who lived

and who died

who was mourned

and who deserved it

by decade’s end

i earned two degrees

in the literature

of compulsory

heterosexuality

and still don’t know

if that was shelter

or injury or both

i still don’t know

what to do with

words that draw

calamity closer

as i write i hear

the house sparrows

i was taught

i had to tell apart

from song sparrows

and the several

finches who flock

without much song

i was also taught

to say hello

without judgment

to each thought

as it steps forward

sheer meaningless

thereness amidst

the mind’s bare

declaratives

hello now go

i write i say

to this midwinter

fact of existing

as long as each

moment presents

what happens

not so that

i awaken to

the excellence

of this life

yvonne rainer

writes but so

that i awaken

to the ways

i have been

taught this life

is excellent

just and right

this is one part

of the difficulty

another part

is the sparrows

i was taught to keep

from breeding

english sparrows

i was taught

to call them

invasive species

who in one season

produce three broods

and outcompete

cavity-nesting

native passerines

who produce fewer

i was also taught

to destroy their nests

and bar the birdhouse

entrance hole

until a bit later

in the season

when bluebirds

start nesting

which is what i did

despite believing

passer domesticus

a blameless form

the world thought

to take and keeps

on thinking

beaks adapted

to distinguish

seed from hull

upper mandible

lower mandible

my minds grinds

against itself

parenthetical

endlessly opening

continuous

shrill monotonous

noisy chirping

reads one guide

pretty shady

for ornithology

though david

allen sibley writes

in a tone i don’t

care for either

of monotonous

nearly identical

chirps in the realm

of emotion

house sparrows

get a lot of hate

and annoy people

for not singing

like john cage

who removed

both melody

and harmony

from his music

and wrote instead

with structure

and method

perhaps as queer

as zen gets

cheerfully severe

he asked listeners

to face attachment

to the pleasures

of received form

and adherence

to convention

by refusing them

reviews reflect

the fact some

resented that

antisocial turn

it was the cold war

the pink scare

the category is

straight people

having feelings

in the free world

the state spread

isolationist

affective textures

through citizens

who listened

against otherness

vigilant the way

they are today

no matter what

severely cheerful

cage enthused

that pure life

expresses itself

through structure

and wrote that

everybody has

a song that is

no song at all

i am not so nice

what can i write

about my past

ethnonationalist

birdhouse phase

when bluebirds

traded sweet

clipped whistles

with their fledgling

i was not proud

i started to feel

i had been taught

to save bluebloods

from what birders

like to call

little brown birds

and i totally did

i sit with this

for a long time

by which i mean

until it snows

for a long time

is a phrase i love

within it i feel

the world

without a self

fall into folds

like the sheets

in a signature

in a book

all pasts collapse

together a past

becoming my own

the way i read

that it is true

house sparrows

were introduced

to the U. S.

in brooklyn

in greenwood

in 1852

but it is not true

that the man

eugene schieffelin

who soon released

more sparrows

near his house

in madison square

wanted to populate

central park

with every bird

in shakespeare’s plays

an anxious nativist

at the american

museum of natural

history made that up

the truth is just this

bird some people liked

or believed useful

maybe they were kids

in other countries

and saw sparrows

make dust wallows

and loved the sight

and brought them here

without knowing

much about them

and found cheerful

what another guide

calls their incessant

tuneless cheeping

for one hundred

seventy three years

the bird has remained

nonnative invasive

a flexible symbol

in a long series

of constructions

government reports

scientific studies

satirical poems

moral editorials

and testy letters

citizens once sent

to newspapers

to complain about

immigrant finches

dissipated

urban-dwellers

rich in vices

wretched foreigners

feathered reprobates

lazy little louts

self-willed and violent

hard characters

full of impudence

and pugnacity

alien vermin

rowdy little gamin

disgusting exotics

fond of fighting

and love-making

stormy and ignoble

domestic tyrants

the little saxons

copulated freely

and scandalized

scientific men

of the period

stopwatches in hand

watched fourteen

successive bouts

of intercourse

at a rate of five

seconds per act

with five-second

intervals between

outrageous data

whose prurience

helped fuel

what historians call

the sparrow wars

that were never

really about birds

but homeland

biosecurity

the little animal

became a stranger

despite how like

men are birds

wrote whittier

thinking maybe

about fighting

or fucking like

scientific men

i was taught

to be skeptical

of equivalence

between nativism

and conservation

but what about

the model bird law

of 1886

promoted by

eugenicist

naturalists

and passed

by ten states

that legislated

the slaughter

of non-natives

or the sparrow

exclusion act

which though

it did not pass

was modeled

on the chinese

exclusion act

and argued

this sparrow is

to native birds

what yellow peril

is to human

immigration

the question

after all is who

is the enemy

and who is not

the current

reigning architect

of genocide

on television says

they are animals

like all previous

reigning architects

of genocide

performing

the consoling

fiction of fixed

identity in

the gender

ideologue

lip synch

elimination

competition

banal evil

invariably

whosoever

a nation-state

calls a stranger

a nation-state

calls an animal

because the state

can kill an animal

without qualm

to live with wrong

genocidal men

constantly talking

isabella hammad

suggests we live

between alignment

and alienation

alike and unlike

never quite at home

in the notebook

finding things out

and changing

with the needs

of sense-making

without linear

evolution

its limitation

is acceptance

of whatever

happens next

unsymbolic

wintry mix

falling here

on the object

realm of shadows

cupped in snow

shifting in wind

ever intimate

with the flock

shaking the bare

sentences where

come spring

yellow will speak

for itself

i look closely

to try to say

a given name

the question

being a short bib

above white belly

or a very streaky

onesie like that one

picking around

in the leaflitter

alone because

song sparrows

only flock in fall

i did not know that

i looked it up

as i close the book

the flock disappears

into the dark

blocky paragraphs

of the holly

i want to write

the way they move

though i was taught

in the mental realm

thoughts are clouds

the mind is water

i was also taught

i could not move

freely in a poem

because i’d learned

to shape its music

through exclusion

you couldn’t write

peanut butter

to save your life

said my first teacher

and he was right

though i did not

want to sing

i wanted to think

the way the world

thinks itself being

one teacher might

enforce tradition

another might

bring a sword

to cut off

all concepts

pretty aggressive

to undo

the habitual

movements

of the mind

and release

with mysterious

precision

an unknowing

worthy of this world

a tawny noise

the sparrow

is not a parable

thinking animal

speaking animal

fond stranger

waiting for spring

neither of us

will be singing

hello is the end

of the poem

hello now go

[ January 2025 ]

A 2020 Guggenheim Fellow, Brian Teare is the author of seven critically acclaimed books of poetry, including Doomstead Days, winner of the Four Quartets Prize, and Poem Bitten by a Man, winner of the William Carlos Williams Award. A selected essays, Textual Preference, will be out from Nightboat in 2027. A Professor of Poetry at the University of Virginia, Brian lives in Charlottesville, where he makes books by hand for his micropress, Albion Books.

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