Two Blackbirds

First, by Wallace Stevens:

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens

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I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.



Now, William Dickenson Cohen:

A BLACKBIRD LOOKING THIRTEEN WAYS
(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)

I.
Among mountains of white
I move
like nothing else.

II.
Equidistant am I
from my reflections
in stereo.

III.
My wings are too tired
to interrupt this dance.

IV.
I am one, Alone.
In company,
everyone is one
but me.

V.
My song is silent.
Its echoes are loud.

VI.
There are reasons
I fly to and fro
painting and unpainting
an icy picture.
They are reasons
I do not care to reveal.

VII.
I walk among shapely trees.
No one notices,
the leaves are too busy
admiring the sun.

VIII.
I know what is within
is shared by all creatures.
Only I know, however,
to translate
my knowledge into song.

IX.
The ripples
on the surface of the sky
are sliced to pieces
by my beating wings.

X.
The clamor caused
by my flight
is a bright
green deafening noise.

XI.
Even in my absence,
I am omnipresent
in the shadows of ghosts.


XII.
I fly with all motion.
When movement ceases,
so shall I.


XIII.
I will always be content
to sit and watch
the dark whitening of the sky,
the pale burial of the earth.
I will always be content.