7 comments

  1. Wow, I love your impressive photographic collage that so perfectly matches with your poem. While reading it I thought about the hummingbirds and the mirrors of your balcony where Sergi and I had breakfast with you. Your poem is full of beautiful imagery, so gripping and breathtaking. Such a wonderful expression of immense sadness. I confess I was longing for more poetry of yours. I especially like how you transition from the hummingbird to the subject of women where the first person narrator of this poem shows such disappointment that I would move heaven and earth to get this person a female partner that was not “violent, vindictive, and opportunistic.” When you use the mirror theme it reminds me of our Catalan poet Salvador Espriu and his work “Primera Història d’Esther”. There is also a mirror metaphor. The mirror broke into multiple pieces. Trying to find the truth implies looking for these pieces to reconstruct what once existed as a whole. I like that you have used the mirror to reflect upon life, upon the self and one’s vanity also linked with the passing of time and getting older. It is all wonderfully expressed. The feelings of hopelessness and despair are intensified along the poem with the images of blood on the bird’s beak while hitting the mirror and not finding what the male bird and the male narrator of this piece want. Repeating errors. As I said, the transitions are magnificently done in this poem. From a description of what a hummingbird does when it comes to the feeder of your terrace to the first person narrator that identifies himself with that bird and the titmouse.

    • Thank you so much for this analysis, which my poem is merely a response and in ways a fiction. All the women I know are not “violent, vindictive, and opportunistic,” for example. The poem by Amanda Salvador may have alluded or caused that. This poem (ekphrastic) was an experiment with words and the plays on words, as with the Plover or Pushover, and Titmouse, which relates to a female breast and perhaps a mouse that is quiet and sneaky. As you may remember in another story I talk about the incessant and self-endangering Titmouse that was fighting itself in the mirror to the point of drawing blood, while it’s partner stood by. I think that bird is now alone and yet it may have found the birdhouse I used to have, which is in a patio on the first floor of my building and around the front. I am so glad the poem is successful. I love the mystery in its construction. I read it to a woman I know and she was very insistent that “You do that a lot,” and I wondered to what she was referring, and I think she was responding to the line “She could not stand the futility of my life.” But, we both know that poems and art such as this, the work of Espriu, and so many others, represent a myriad of men and women, who dedicate themselves to the creation of art that seeks to deepen the joy of reference to realities that we can imagine coming from the ordinary and symbolic. I am not so much worried about women. They seem to be embroiled in dating bad men and then blaming all men or maybe it’s just Capitalism, which combines dating and consumerism, treats dating like a financial transaction, and thus love is a liability. In any event, the poem seems to have succeeded on the plane of literature, which is where I hope to reside. My ex-wife, who had a Master’s Degree in Spanish literature, was apparently immersed in the glorious literature of Ruben Dario, Joaquín Pasos, Ernesto Cardenal Martínez, for example, just before I started dating her, and I thought she was marvelous for it, and she was certainly a genius, but she was also indifferent. She used it as a vehicle rather than as a resting stop through which to view life, instead she was practical. I loved her complexity and ability to be above it all like
      El Señor Presidente in the book of the same name by Miguel Ángel Asturias. I had a love affair with these and other Latin American writers, but my life was impoverished in a practical way.

      • I understand you. I am not a practical person either. I constantly have to force myself to be so because, as you see, I revel in arts and literature, and nature, and… and… Yes, Capitalism destroys any kind of human relationships. So glad there are still people like you and the rest of my friends. 🙏😊

  2. The last lines are a cry of despair with the singing as its way of expression. They provide a perfect end of the poem. The whole piece reminds me of some poems in Robert Hass’s collection “The Apple Trees at Olema” where also hummingbirds appear connected to similar imagery. I thank you once more for sharing such beautiful and expressive art and poetry. By the way, who is Amanda Salvador?


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