The Loneliness of a Cuckoo

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By onemorething

Thu, 17 Aug 2023
  • 1625 reads
16 comments
 

We say, poor meadow pipits,

look at them glut the great gape

of a bird three times their size,

and our sympathies hurry 

to the mousy warblers,

not to any villain of the reed-bed.

A cuckoo chick who has bundled out

all competition, and there gorged

and grown feathered and fat,

fuelled by urge and instinct.

 

But I do not envy the gowk --

such pretence has the particular bite 

of solitude, and then to earn its reputation

for wickedness and deception;

harbinger of light, no, more bringer

of darkness when a fledgling

has never seen the face of its mother.

 

The lonely five thousand miles to winter,

a lost song when it has learnt the language

of sparrowhawk and redstart or dunnock,

how will they recognise one another, I wonder,

but for the journey

of being both the ghost and the haunted 

that makes a cuckoo, a cuckoo.

 

*Gowk - cuckoo from gaukr in Old Norse and ġēac in Old English, I think gowk is still used in Scotland.

 

Image is from here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A_history_of_British_birds._By_t...

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Comments

Submitted by marandina on

"...of being both the ghost and the haunted

that makes a cuckoo a cuckoo."

 

That's an insightful take on a notable bird. Thoughtful and, of course, beautifully written :) 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Ah, thank you, Paul! That's very kind. Yes, I was reading something about them a while ago and felt a little sad for them and just noted down, 'The Loneliness of the Cuckoo', and left it to stew for a while. 

And thanks for the cherry!

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

I hadn't tnought of the 'fostered' fledgling 'never seen the face of its mother' and the madly feeding 'foster parents' with little time to show any motherliness!

We all still love to hear an adult cuckoo, but don't like seeing its chick fill the stolen nest. Though that large gape does remind me of a newborn! Rhiannon

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thank you for reading it, Rhiannon. I find them oddly fascinating. I read about one species of cuckoo, I forget which now that has yellow patterns either side of its neck so that when it gapes, it looks like there are two more mouths to feed either side of it. And also that they make sounds as a fledgling that sound like several of the host species at once. But yes, thinking of them as so solitary, the common cuckoo, at least, bar mating, and never having seen its parents...something sorrowful attached to that for me. 

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I had never thought about how they would learn their own cuckoo song, being brought up by other parents! No wonder their calls sound how they do, wistful and brash at the same time

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Well, yes, but also they masquerade as sparrowhawks as adults, but when chicks 'know' the sound of a host birds chick and are able to sound like more than one. An arms race in nature is always bewildering to me. 

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

This hauntingly beautiful and thought provoking poem by Onemorething is Pick of the Day! Please do share and retweet if you can

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks so much Di, that's a very lovely surprise. 

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is so beautiful onemore - thought-provoking too. I must admit I was on the other birds' side until I read this - now I feel sadness for both. Thank you so much for posting it and congratulations on the very well deserved golden cherries. You've also reminded me that it's been a few years since I heard a cuckoo (I miss their call - they've gone back to Africa by now, haven't they?)

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Oh thanks, insert. Yes, I think it's hard to escape the almost gothic horror of the oversized cuckoo chick in a little bird's nest. And yes, adults return in June, fledglings a few weeks later. Huge drop in cuckoo numbers, sadly. 

 

Submitted by celticman on

how do we recognise ourself? birds at least can fly away from themselves. 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

You always make the best comments. My next poem will be called The Delusions of Birds. 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

I like these words...

a fledgling

has never seen the face of its mother.

No wonder they grow up with behavioural problems.

Despite their reputation your poem makes me feel sympathetic towards them.

Where I live it's the jays that are the bullies. Dozens of them. Beating up the other birds and eating baby lizards from our terrace. Beautiful though.

Nature's a battle in which perhaps it's wrong for us to take sides.

Turlough

Submitted by onemorething on

Ha, yes. And jays, well, all corvids, I suppose, are terrible bullies. But agreed, no room for sides in nature, apart from ourselves, of course, who behave appallingly. Thank you for reading my poem. :)

 

Submitted by airyfairy on

This beautiful and thoughtful piece is our Poem of the Week! Congratulations!

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks so much airyfairy! Very honoured. :)