“He imitates the world he drove away…”
I knew Rilla was enjoying The Bat-Poet, but I didn’t realize how much until this afternoon, as we neared the end of the book. She turned to me with furrowed brow and said, “When we finish, will we be able to read it again?”
“You mean right away?”
“Yes.”
I told her sure we could, and she heaved a mighty sigh of relief.
I’ve noticed that the older girls can’t help but be drawn into the story if they pass through the room where Rilla and I are reading. It’s a soft and gentle tale, rather quiet, with velvety-rich language. Oh, I just love Randall Jarrell. His mockingbird and chipmunk have such personality, and the introspective, yearning bat is a kindred spirit—really. He composes poems. He longs to be able to pour forth a magical, uplifting song like the mockingbird’s, but he can’t sing. He finds himself fitting observations into words and phrases, lyrical and perceptive lines of poetry. But oh, how he doubts himself. The mockingbird’s cool, clinical analysis—“It was clever of you to have that last line two feet short”—leaves him bewildered and longing for an audience who is moved by his words. When, after hearing the bat’s poem about an owl, the chipmunk shivers and vows to go underground before dark from now on, the little bat is deeply gratified: he knows his words have had an impact.
His poems move and shiver me, too—
All day long the mockingbird has owned the yard.
As light first woke the world, the sparrows trooped
Onto the seedy lawn: the mockingbird
Chased them off shrieking. Hour by hour, fighting hard
To make the world his own, he swooped
On thrushes, thrashers, jays, and chickadees—
At noon he drove away a big black cat.Now, in the moonlight, he sits here and sings.
A thrush is singing, then a thrasher, then a jay—
Then, all at once, a cat begins meowing.
A mockingbird can sound like anything.
He imitates the world he drove away
So well that for a minute, in the moonlight,
Which one’s the mockingbird? Which one’s the world?
I know that mockingbird.
I know that bat, too.
Related post: Rose petal, rock, leaf, bat
Melissa says:
The Bat-Poet is one of our favourite books here too. Randall Jarrell is just as awesome as a poet can be.
On July 6, 2011 at 4:37 pm
Kimberlee Conway Ireton says:
We read the Bat-Poet for the first time a few weeks ago. My kids and I particularly loved the bat’s poems. Whenever we read one, my son (he’s seven) asked me to reread it.
Since we read and enjoyed it so much, we checked out Randall Jarrell’s The Gingerbread Rabbit, which was a fun read (the Garth Williams illustrations are fabulous), but it couldn’t compare to the Bat-Poet. A truly beautiful book. Thanks again for the recommendation.
On July 6, 2011 at 7:55 pm
adie says:
You and Rulla make me want to read that book so much.
On July 6, 2011 at 8:03 pm
adie says:
Sorry. Wasn’t watching while I typed. I meant Rilla, of course. >blush<
On July 6, 2011 at 8:03 pm
Cyndi says:
That clinched it, going straight to the library website and requesting this treasure! Thanks for another moving, irresistible book share. You are sure a master of those 🙂
On July 6, 2011 at 8:24 pm
tanita says:
What a gorgeous and lyrical sort of book! When I was a kid, I couldn’t express how those kinds of books made me feel – the closest I could get was “sleepy. But in a good way.” Truly, that still stands. The language lulls.
On July 6, 2011 at 11:33 pm
Hannah says:
That’s a delicious poem.
On July 7, 2011 at 4:32 am