Taking some time off this past week, I slipped into a used bookstore with a half-price sale. Sounds vintage or even classic, right? In any case, such a place with such a sale is a nearly irresistible invitation to imbibe for this bookaholic.
Having browsed the shelves of various categories, I came upon a 1961 copy of John Ciardi’s In the Stoneworks. While this collection of Ciardi’s poetry was new to me, I have read some of his work before, and I was pleased to explore more of this voice from the past which remains ever fresh.
In particular, “The Bird in Whatever Name” caught my attention for its attention to a bird of distinction that remains all but anonymous, while simultaneously representing the wildness and vitality of a world pulsing with paradox, whether we know it and name it—or not.
