An English In Kentucky


















April 28th 2010    Tim Candler

    Summer Tanager may have arrived, because I think I can hear him calling through the mist.  Pretty certain that last year I had wrapped this call properly into memory.  I had it on the end of my tongue.  I perceived it as a post-structural invocation, a noise for noise's sake.  And on a hot afternoon it would grate the nerves of patience producing those same grumbling noises from me that a barking dog produces from me.

   There might have been a time when my memory was less possessed by intransigence, special interest and self centered pursuit.  Could be that once years ago memory in me was a happy void waiting for content.   The empty page upon which the call of Summer Tanager might have been written. 

    Now as I listen and on through the day I will hear this call drumming.  Sometimes I will say "Yes", and sometimes I will say "No, maybe it's a Cardinal."  And there will be further confusion.  Mockingbird, some sort of Woodpecker, Nightjar, Sparrow.

    But gradually it will become apparent.  Not through anything so noble as the retention of notes or sounds that birds actually make, because that ability clearly is no-longer possessed by me.  Rather because post-structural invocations by their nature are obscure and wandering, and this while I am looking for definition and precise things that dramatize the world with cleverness.

    So yes, the Summer Tanager is home again.      

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