9th February 2008
gamb’yan gamb’yan
our dream
colour of dawn
our song
gamb’yan gamb’yan
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
is part of Shimpei Kusano's wild but tender rendition of frogs’ voices in his poem Birthday Party.
With a paring of the storm moon high in the true blue sky, the day is clear for anything. Frogs have already found that clarity & a breath of spring for their clutching & spawning in the ditches. When they disappear again, they leave behind hundreds of eggs, each in a ball of jelly as proof of their passion. Or imperative genes. Amplexus is the clasp of a male on a female’s back; an embracing kind of copulation where the male fertilises the female’s eggs as they emerge into the water. The poet Shimpei Kusano, for whom frogs were a metaphor of life itself, had no doubt: genes & libido are one & the same, driving frogs; all living things. In an echo of the swelling moon, these eggs will grow to become tadpoles by the time of the last quarter of this moon. Each globe of jelly holds the beginning of a frog, a black speck far smaller than the head of a safety match.
Once I had an ancient glass battery jar & watched this development in the cold porch each year, never tiring of the astonishment of spring childhood, of the dream of life becoming. Now, I’m content to watch as I pass the shallow wild water. The frogs have sung their soft songs. To slightly paraphrase Shimpei Kusano in his epilogue to Birthday Party: “as author I have no desire to stop the choir at this party celebrating birth. by a ditch near the burn at Gobsheallach, by Acharacle, in the peninsula of Ardnamurchan in the western Highlands. a party of points tinier than sesame seed as yet. this ecstasy’s swaying echoing flowing place.”
A new spring & I step along the path together.
gamb’yan gamb’yan
our dream
colour of dawn
our song
gamb’yan gamb’yan
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
gyawalot’gyawalot’gyawa-lololololi(t)
is part of Shimpei Kusano's wild but tender rendition of frogs’ voices in his poem Birthday Party.
With a paring of the storm moon high in the true blue sky, the day is clear for anything. Frogs have already found that clarity & a breath of spring for their clutching & spawning in the ditches. When they disappear again, they leave behind hundreds of eggs, each in a ball of jelly as proof of their passion. Or imperative genes. Amplexus is the clasp of a male on a female’s back; an embracing kind of copulation where the male fertilises the female’s eggs as they emerge into the water. The poet Shimpei Kusano, for whom frogs were a metaphor of life itself, had no doubt: genes & libido are one & the same, driving frogs; all living things. In an echo of the swelling moon, these eggs will grow to become tadpoles by the time of the last quarter of this moon. Each globe of jelly holds the beginning of a frog, a black speck far smaller than the head of a safety match.
Once I had an ancient glass battery jar & watched this development in the cold porch each year, never tiring of the astonishment of spring childhood, of the dream of life becoming. Now, I’m content to watch as I pass the shallow wild water. The frogs have sung their soft songs. To slightly paraphrase Shimpei Kusano in his epilogue to Birthday Party: “as author I have no desire to stop the choir at this party celebrating birth. by a ditch near the burn at Gobsheallach, by Acharacle, in the peninsula of Ardnamurchan in the western Highlands. a party of points tinier than sesame seed as yet. this ecstasy’s swaying echoing flowing place.”
A new spring & I step along the path together.
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