“Poetry
is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind
them.” – Charles Simic
Born in May 1938, Simic is a
Serbian-American poet and former co-poetry editor of the Paris Review. 
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in
1990 for The World Doesn't End, he has been a finalist for two other
Pulitzers and is one-time Poet Laureate Consultant to the Library of
Congress. For Saturday’s Poem, here is
Simic’s,
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in
1990 for The World Doesn't End, he has been a finalist for two other
Pulitzers and is one-time Poet Laureate Consultant to the Library of
Congress. For Saturday’s Poem, here is
Simic’s,
Talking to Little Birdies
Not a peep out of you now
After the bedlam early this morning.
Are you begging pardon of me
Hidden up there among the leaves,
Or are your brains momentarily overtaxed?
You savvy a few things I don't:
The overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler;
The traffic of cats in the yard;
Strangers leaving the widow's house,
Tieless and wearing crooked grins.
Or have you got wind of the world's news?
Some new horror I haven't heard about yet?
Which one of you was so bold as to warn me,
Our sweet setup is in danger?
Kids are playing soldiers down the road,
Pointing their rifles and playing dead.
Little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks
In the thick foliage as you hear me say this?
After the bedlam early this morning.
Are you begging pardon of me
Hidden up there among the leaves,
Or are your brains momentarily overtaxed?
You savvy a few things I don't:
The overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler;
The traffic of cats in the yard;
Strangers leaving the widow's house,
Tieless and wearing crooked grins.
Or have you got wind of the world's news?
Some new horror I haven't heard about yet?
Which one of you was so bold as to warn me,
Our sweet setup is in danger?
Kids are playing soldiers down the road,
Pointing their rifles and playing dead.
Little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks
In the thick foliage as you hear me say this?
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