Perhaps a looning…the wildest sound…

His usual note was this demoniac laughter … but occasionally, when he had balked me most successfully and come up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn unearthly howl, probably more like that of a wolf than any bird; as when a beast puts his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls. This was his looning- perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here, making the woods ring far and wide.  Henry David Thoreau

I’m convinced most Americans today are too far removed from nature to appreciate the wildness in nearby patches of woods and lakes.  So many of us are wired to gadgets which hasten our ever-shortening attention span. Development infringes upon the natural spaces that used to abound around us.

When was the last time you walked out into a place of pure solitude?    The last time I went out into the woods, there were hikers, plane noises overhead, the annoying hum of a tractor in a far off field.  Perhaps that is why I’m drawn to Walden Pond again and again – not the actual pond –  but the book Thoreau wrote.  Perhaps Thoreau’s words still have meaning because his rich descriptions transport me to places that I know exist somewhere in this world but maybe not anywhere I can get to that easily.

Today I reworked a poem based on inspiration from the quote above.  ‘His looning’ – those words called me – spoke to language and the use of or lack of it.  If you want to read more about common loons and hear the eerie sounds Thoreau may have heard, please check on the link provided.

The Body of Language

 The wail of midnight loon,

Wolf-like–

Primal sounds bared

Crawl past hollow lake

As if slung beast

Unleashed–

Begins its looning.

Maniacal – wild – primal

Mnemonics  without words

Ancient dialects of blood, of ritual, of lust–

A tremulous vibrato

Laughter as it turns to tears

Cries drown in unfamiliar dialects

As dawn wakes–

Lips, tongues–

Dripping with heaviest dew.

An Exercise   Read a passage from Thoreau or listen to the various calls of the loon.  What speaks to you?  Write in cursive by hand in an outdoor place.  Listen for birds.  Of what do they speak?

Comments are welcome on my draft.  Feel free to share your ideas or thoughts.

Poem © by ntcollins 2013

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About Taylor Collins

Taylor writes in fragments - journals incessantly – the sea a recurring theme. She blogs and works on three writing projects at the moment. She was selected to read a twitter poem, written during National Poetry month, for the “Tell Me More” NPR program in 2011. A day diary was selected for publication in Water Cooler Diaries published in 2008 (De Capo Press). She recently completed a small chapbook, a 12-part poem entitled Flame. Taylor receives “real” rejection letters now – a sure sign her work is being read. She paints and writes in her studio/gallery -- Parke Green Galleries located on the site where the US Constitution was first ratified. She spends time thinking when deep thoughts surface. Taylor leads a rather dry life on the ocean she's tossed about on. Be sure to visit her if you're ever in the state that started our nation. Cheers!

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