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THE ARK AND THE ALPHABET An Animal Collection By NATHALIA CRANE And LEONARD FEENEY NEW YORK THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1939 TO OUR LADY AND THE ANGELS [Note: only poems by
Leonard Feeney are included in this online edition.] Nathalia Crane and I offer this
collection of animal poems, and we hope it will please children as well as
grown-ups, and vice versa. We two are the poets, and divide the work evenly.
In deciding a form for the book, we thought it best to preserve that
traditional, almost mystical custom children have of associating the zoo with
the alphabet. Upon looking
through our published verse, we found we had nearly half an alphabet between
us. The rest of the required letters were chosen by lot, each of us having a
choice of subject under the letter drawn. There is no joint authorship in any
individual poem. It was agreed, however, that the animal must play the lead
in the poem, and not be merely a supernumerary referred to in passing. This is a children’s
book, but the childhood to which we cater is not to be measured in terms of
sun time, whether standard or daylight saving. It is to be measured in terms
of heart time, which is the greater and deeper childhood. Where an animal
fell easily and naturally into a nursery jingle, there we put him. Where he
stood apart and amazed and challenged us with his mystery, there we left him. I could not and dared not
try to match my collaborator in the brilliance of her insight or the ready devices
of invention and expression which seem always at her command. So, all the
fascinating exhibits are hers. Mine are the lesser, the dumber specimens. But
it takes all sorts of animals to fill an alphabet as to fill an ark. Upon assigning each obedient
beast or bird to his appropriate cage, we found we had some left over. These
are displayed in a special side-show at the end of the book. No extra charge
for viewing them on your way out. L.
F. LETTER ANIMAL A THE
AHU B THE
BEE C THE
CRICKET E THE EWE F THE
FAUN H THE
HUMMINGBIRD I THE
IBEX K THE KITE L THE
LION N THE
NIGHTHAWK P THE
PIGEONS Q THE
QUAY S THE
SPARROW V THE
VIPER X THE X Y THE
YAK EXTRAS THE PEACOCK THE JACKDAW THE SPIDER, THE MOTH, AND THE MOUSE I
saw a donkey at a fair When
sounds and songs were in the air; But
he no note interpreted Of
what the people sang or said. Hitched
by a halter to a rail He
twitched his ears and twirled his tail; In
every lineament and line He
was completely asinine. Though
I had heard in local halls Some
eulogies on animals, I
thought it would be utter blindness To
show him any sort of kindness. It
seemed to me that God had meant To
make him unintelligent, And
wanted us to keep our places, I
in my clothes, he in his traces. And
so I turned my mind to things Like
banners, balls, balloons and rings, For
which I had to pay my share And
went on purpose to a fair. But
down the midways while I went On
all the pageantry intent, I
stopped, and started to remember A
little stable in December, Battered
by wind and swathed in snow, Nearly
two thousand years ago, When
one poor creature like to this Saw
Mary give her Child a kiss. So
back I sauntered to the rail, And
stared at him from head to tail, And
gave his cheek a little pat, Or
two, — and let it go at that. The
little ewe will eye you, Leading
her lamb to nurse. The
little ewe will spy you, And
try to terrify you, And cast at you a curse; And
then will want to woo you, Come
running halfway to you, Then pause, and then reverse, And
never quite construe you For better or for worse. On
my way to the coops, On my way from the pens, As
I was going over From the pigs to the hens, I
met a small object Of not any use, A
poor little pin-feathered Baby-girl goose, Who
was on her way back From the hens to the pigs, And
was paddling in puddles And treading on twigs, And
who left me enchanted From then till I die With
the pretty gold picture She put in my eye. However
brave you brag you are, I
should avoid the jaguar, Especially
his meal-time mood. A
funeral is his favorite food. Let
distance be your best defense, Unless
you have a preference For
anticlimax in the claws, A
pulse that perpetrates a pause When
undertaker and embalmer Report
they never found you calmer. Over
the purple crags, Over the snowy waste; Not
tailed with trailing rags, Not paper, board, and paste: — Over
the raging ford, Over the twirling mill; Not
tethered to a cord, Not tugged by a human will: — He
soared into the sun! He vanished in the blue! A
bird and a boy in one, Himself was the kite he flew! I
never kill a caught mouse Nor
drown him in a pail. I
always extricate him And lift him by the tail, And
carefully release him Into the hollow wall, Because
I do admire a mouse Who is not sceptical; Who
keeps his faith in odors That terminate in cheese, And
will not rob his little nose Of all its certainties. I
loathe an apprehensive mouse Whose phobia for traps Reduces
life’s philosophy To “maybe” and “perhaps”; Who
holds that truth is relative, Who disbelieves in smell, And
spreads despair in micedom And turns it into Hell. Give
me a trustful little mouse Who chisels in and out, And
grinds his way to surety And chews away a doubt, And
turns my house to splinters To satisfy his soul, And
breaks his gallant little neck Exploring in a hole. The
ostrich is a broody beast Who
hides the most of him the least. The
ostrich really is a riddle, And
chiefly ostrich in the middle. His
negligible legs and eyes One
dare not ever criticize. For
every teasing he endures He
pours his tears among the sewers. He
thinks, perhaps, below the sand Some
little folk will understand. He
cannot make a cerebration That
is hot half humiliation. And,
therefore, I am prone to praise The
ostrich, and to try to raise His
courage, confidence, morale, By
telling him he should recall He
was the only bird to give Language
its longest adjective. For,
little boys who sulk and whimper And
hide their heads and start to simper, And
little girls who pout and pine, Become
struthiopavonine! And
maybe would not get so glum, If
they were told what they become. Rabbit’s
eyes are pink, And
they are, I think, Less
to watch with than to wink With:
they are ornamental: Sight
in them is incidental. All
sensation goes In
through rabbit’s ears and nose. Rabbit
runs around With
jump and rebound, Sniffing
every sound, Listening
to the light Falling
on the clover. Rabbit
wants to be afraid: He
delights in fright, And
is soft all over. He
is lovable and white, Unmistakably
was made Out
of man some tenderness to take, Just
for pity’s sake. The
melancholy turkey cock, Of
every bird the laughing-stock, Stands
bewildered beside the barn Endeavoring to gobble a yard of yarn, And
folds his foliage like a fan, And
pecks at popcorn in a pan, And
wobbles and winks and wonders why, For
all his feathers, he cannot fly, Hysterically
hiccuping A
little song he cannot sing. When
Deuteronomy’s fantastic horse That grew a lion’s tail, a goat’s beard, And
flashed a tusk uptilted like a boar’s, Was outlawed by savants, the children
sneered, And lo! the
Revelation reappeared. In
fourfold fettle back he pranced one night, Ready to gore and lash and neigh and butt, When
games were spread beneath the candle-light, And papa cried: “What letter have you
got?” And mama answered: “U”; and we knew what! Out
in the bay arose a whale; And
in a flash from surf to sight, From
far-off wave to steamer-rail, A
whale a millionth of its size Was
matrixed in a beam of light, And
wriggled nimbly through my eyes — Then
plunging wildly in my brain Became
enormous once again. Somewhere
a whale is still in motion, Lashing
an ocean in a motion; He
dives through breaker, brine and billow, Locked
in a skull upon my pillow. How
such a wondrous whale can be Remains
a mammoth mystery; But
I must let him splash and spout Till
deep sleep dries his image out. Little
Unknowns in the waters, Little Unknowns in the breeze, O
ultra-violet daughters Of light: Let X equal these! Beauties
too infinitesimal To cope with the glare of an eye; Daintiness
too decimal For a Muse to identify. Dragons
engulfed in a fungus A lyrical lens would amaze; O
never to rise up among us In a photograph or a phrase! Because
our Paradisal pioneers Enraged
the jungles, filled the groves with fears, Vicarious
shadows of a guilt must fall Upon
the zebra at the end of all; And
he, a liveried prisoner, pay a debt He
cannot quite remember, or forget. But
in celestial alphabets reversed, The
last will find forgiveness with the first. An
ahu proven innocent of fright Will
fold a paroled zebra drenched in white. EXTRAS . . . Snails
obey the Holy Will
of God slowly. THE
MOTH
The
little muslin moth, Whose
food is flame and cloth, Flitting
in rapid flight From
linen-chest to light, In
its intense desire To
be dissolved in fire, Many
manoeuvres made Around
by red lamp-shade That
so enchanted me — To
it I faithfully Promise
appropriate praise In
my verse, one of these days, As
soon as I can get And
put on paper down, Some
nimble epithet And
little noiseless noun. THE BEE
God
to some Sticky
stuff Not
yet alive In
a hive, Said,
“Come! Hum! Glorify
Me! Be
My bee And
buzz. As
I bid!” And
sure enough, It
was! And
it did! THE
SHEEP
Oh,
you should have seen the miracle I saw when I was in Wales, Where
myriads of sheep go munching up And lunching down the dales; And
they graze along the meadow march, And nibble around the mill, Cross
the bridges over the brook, Bleat and eat and fill Their
bellies full of blossoms; Then lie awhile and sleep. Then
slowly up the slope again, And slowly down the steep, Their
little mouths meandering on, Bit by bite they pull, Inch
by inch, the sweet grass While all the beautiful Valleys
of Wye from stream to sky Are turning into wool. |
