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The Vanishing Oriole

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A poem by Daniel Mark Epstein

Orioles, common as robins when I was young,
Are going the way of the passenger pigeon
Whose mile-wide flocks two counties long
(According to John James Audubon)
Wheeled and coiled like serpents in the sky,
Shutting out the light of the noon sun.
Now nobody alive has ever seen one.

No hue in nature matches the oriole’s breast,
That bright cadmium orange, except maybe
Marigolds when the sun is low. And I miss
The bird’s staccato mezzo-soprano,
His pitch, so round and rich, his syncopation.
If he has a fault, it lies in the desultory
Treatment of his theme, a predilection

For chattering preludes and fiddlery before
The main melody—a fine construction.
Half-done, he’ll take wing, leaving us to wonder
Who will sing the last notes, and when
And where, and who on earth will listen,
As if there were no end to the generations
Of passenger pigeons, orioles, songs and men.

Daniel Mark Epstein is a biographer, poet, and dramatist, born in Washington D.C. and now living in Baltimore. Acclaimed though he is in literary circles, Epstein has perhaps never had a more grateful audience than the one that gathered in grief and shock in a Baltimore bkyard two years ago to mourn the too-soon loss of a beloved cat. He read them Christopher Smart’s tribute to his cat, Jeoffrey, from his “Jubilate Agno.”
“The Vanishing Oriole” is from Epstein’s “The Glass House: New Poems,” published this year by Louisiana State University Press.

  • Usha Nellore

    YOU LIE!

    I genuflect to the Oriole with you-
    Mark Epstein–I marvel you know so much
    about this bird that wheels no more in the sky-
    if nobody alive has ever seen one
    and YOU are alive,do YOU lie when you imply
    the bright cadmium orange of this bird’s breast
    once caught your eye–
    its half finished song–
    once left you wistful that death would never be as foul as extinction?

    Ah, but you are a poet, not a politician,
    you have license and a stiff logician
    yelling at your lyrical ode, “YOU LIE!”
    will never earn the same distinction
    as Joe Wilson yelling the same to Obama!
    Usha Nellore

  • Usha Nellore

    Dedicated to Mark Epstein–my second and final version of a poem inspired by a poem

    YOU LIE!

    I genuflect to the Oriole with you-
    Mark Epstein–I marvel you know so much
    about this bird that wheels no more in the sky-
    if nobody alive has ever seen one
    and YOU are alive, do “YOU LIE” when you imply,
    the bright cadmium orange of this bird’s breast caught your eye–many times–
    its half finished song–left you wistful that death would never be as foul as extinction?

    Ah, but you are a poet, not a politician,
    you have license and a stiff logician
    yelling at your lyrical ode, “YOU LIE!”
    will never earn the same distinction
    as Joe Wilson yelling the same to Obama!

    Usha Nellore

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  • Emily

    Beautiful poem, Daniel. More poetry on the Brew, please!

  • Mike Bowler

    I loved the poem, and am so glad the Brew is publishing poetry. Used to run it myself in the Eve. Sun op-ed page when I edited it between ’86 and ’94. Alas, you don’t see poetry in newspapers any more, at least of this quality. (Usha,he’s talking about passenger pigeons. Read it again and tell me when you last saw one.)

  • Usha Nellore

    With Mike Bowler, holding my hand across your verse, now it is clear as daylight to my idiot mind,
    Mark Epstein–you are talking about the passenger pigeons (not the oriole) once wheeling and coiling in the sky–
    Now gone–it’s frightening to behold my own mind,
    Going the way of passenger pigeons, presuming to point a finger at your perfect poem,
    If I were Joe Wilson, I’d find some excuse to exonerate me,
    I’d say past midnight when I accused you of lying, the Baltimore Brew was no brew at all,
    Instead a hallucinogen,
    It made me see in what you wrote a careless deception,
    Or I would say “Nothing is ever clear in a poem,
    Always subject to interpretation,
    From the oriole, to the robins, to the passenger pigeons you forced me to shift my comprehension–
    in your first verse and taxed my tired brain into the misapprehension-
    You lied,”
    BUT I WON’T foolishly defend my presumption,
    Or act as though I was ever in a position to challenge the veracity of your verse,
    And unlike Joe Wilson to Obama, I will tender you two apologies,
    Willingly once and even more willingly twice,
    Sorry–Sorry,
    I will also tell you this,the last passenger pigeon, Martha, buried on this planet,
    Died in 1914, in the Cincinnati zoo,
    Ninety five years ago this month, and if I were Joe Wilson I would search high and low to locate one centenarian alive who saw this pigeon so I can crow, “I was right in the first place–you lied!”
    But being Usha, I won’t,
    Besides I already know Mike Bowler will jump to your defense and tell me if I did that, “Pigeons in captivity don’t count!”
    Usha Nellore

    You lied

  • Hon

    Usha, Gotta love your attention to detail but you got his name wrong…it’s Daniel Mark Epstein, not Mark Epstein

  • Usha Nellore

    Thanks Hon–it seems that I am irredeemable but I am going to give the predictable excuse–Daniel Mark Epstein–too long–Mark Epstein has just the right ring, the right number of syllables and the right length for poetry. I know what you’ll say,”But still not his name hon!” Think about it–Mark Epstein–has the flourish, and the flavor of Mark Anthony–Daniel Mark Epstein–the Daniel is an interloper. Usha

  • http://n.a Joanne Hall

    The “oriole dialogue” proves that beauty and fun may co-exist and that, life being so brief, we may all be friends.

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