flash of white wings—quick!
where are the binoculars?
what we miss…looking
Bird watching—or even the less planning activity of just watching birds—shares at least two things with haiku. Seeing a bird is often a quick impression. Not a complete story, not a close-up, detailed depiction, but, more often, an impression. That’s what haiku can create. And when it comes to birds such as mourning doves or robins, which most of us see fairly frequently, haiku can be a chance to look again, to see something that will turn the common sighting into something astonishing.
Reading these haiku, I hope, will be like looking though binoculars: seeing something as familiar as backyard birds, but closer. Not nearer, necessarily, but closer as in more exceptional. I remember the poet George Abbe’s remark: “poets are like most people, only more so.” Haiku, for being much less, can be “more so.”
But I also recall many mornings of bird watching when I first studied ornithology in college. My lab partner Jim and I would be up at four or five in the morning, and in the first light of day, we’d be pointing to this tree top or bush, holding a field guide to North American birds in one hand, and our binoculars in the other. Sometimes, I just couldn’t see what Jim had spotted in his binoculars; sometimes he couldn’t find what I’d spotted. So I’d try to hold my own binoculars very still, move my head backwards, and then Jim would slide between my arms, press his eyes at my binoculars, and try to spot the bird.
As you might guess, quite often either the bird moved or my hands moved, or Jim’s eyes, despite the binoculars’ being focused in the right area, couldn’t find the bird among the leaves.
Reading this book, you, too, might not see what I’m trying to see in each poem—at least, at first. But give each poem a little time as if you were trying to focus your binoculars. And while it’s not a field guide, at the end of the book, I have provided a few notes, which aren’t necessary for your enjoyment of the poems and illustrations, but might provide an observation or fact I found interesting.
N Kirkus Reviews STARRED REVIEW and BEST BOOK OF 2009
"Haiku and bird-watching are kindred arts," writes the Ohio-based author on the jacket flap, "the subject of both is often a fleeting impression—a snatched glimpse." Rosen's poetic reflection eloquently captures the essence of this season-by-season celebration of 24 common American birds, and of haiku. Fellows's gorgeous watercolor sketches on double-page spreads model hummingbirds, grackles and purple finches in their natural habitats, while brief avian observations (in a delicate cursive that requires a bit of squinting) evoke an enthusiastic birder's field notes. For instance, on the American goldfinch spread, it's noted, "funny—their song is 'potato-chips, potato-chips'." Each haiku mirrors one of the author's "fleeting impressions": That notorious mimic, the Northern mockingbird, is depicted as "the one-man bird band: / diva, choir, and orchestra / unbroken record" and, in another favorite, "wild turkeys' snow tracks / their arrows point us one way / they go the other." A not-to-be-ignored appendix (which highlights the book's unfortunate lack of pagination!) lists the 24 species and expands upon the author's personal insights—often quite wonderful—into both the birds and the words. (Poetry. 6-10)
N Publisher’s Weekly STARRED REVIEW
A rare gift for young and old alike, this exquisite book about birds combines delicate verses and stunning watercolors that celebrate the natural world. Designed as if it were a birder's notebook, the book provides an intriguing haiku for each bird, dazzling paintings of the species in their habitats, as well as notes about their behaviors and traits. The double-page spread about American goldfinches shows them perched on a thistle feeder, “above gold jonquils/ feeding finches stacked like coins/ April's alchemy.” (A handwritten note adds, “funny—their song is 'potato-chips, potato-chips.' ”) The poems are arranged by seasons, and Rosen's words conjure dramatic images—in winter the dark-eyed juncos are “phased like tilted moons/ half shadow, half reflection” while the blue jay is “December's bugler/ jay! jay! jay! your one carol.” Fellows revels in the iridescent sheen of a blackbird or a field of summer wildflowers as he accurately yet expressively varies the point of view, settings and design elements for each page turn. Text and images, like a well-rehearsed duet, balance and echo each other's beauty. Ages 6–10. (Mar.)
