During my search of poetry vivid with imagery and of solo voice, I came across a poem entitled "Owl Pellet," written by Erica Funkhouser. Immediate identification and memory rankled within me, for I examined owl pellets while hiking many a time. Here is the first stanza:
Owl Pellet
I was crossing the field -- that is all --
longing for nothing more than a color,
when I found the owl's pellet
coiled in the grass.
Beneath the glistening veil of mucus,
a mass of conflicting ingredients:
squirrel fur, rabbit hip,
feather of flicker and jay.
Farther in, I came upon crow quills
splintered and wrapped into balls,
tidy parcels of polished bone,
a frog's spotted fingers.
What appeals to me in this first stanza is the use of first person. This narrator allows the reader to experience the poem first hand. The simple desire of color hooks the reader. Nearly everyone seeks color, especially if gray skies or feelings have been prevalent in one's life. Ironically the color is found in decay. Additionally, somehow the season of summer is introduced. Perhaps the distinct description of the "conflicting ingredients" reminds a reader of left-over spring housecleaning, or the simple act of identifying each of the ingredients like one would do before discarding used items to the trash or garage sale. Owls are one of the most thrifty of birds when it comes to physical needs being met and then disgorging the useless.
Another poetic feature is the poet's sparse and precise use of descriptive imagery. This includes little bits and pieces of various animal, reptile, and bird parts, such as feathers, bones, quills, and fingers that are all splintered and tightly balled up. This provides readers with a literal fact about owls, but also readers might think of how much is crammed into their lives that could or should be discarded. The chilling images give a clear picture of an owl's diet as well as provide a comparative metaphor to one's own life.
The poet expands the metaphor to the human desire to explore. Yes, the pellet's contents are gross and how they become wrapped in mucus even more gross. However, the human still pursues the contents. Seemingly, one explores most of life's encounters with the anticipation of discovery. Here is part of the third stanza, where the poet introduces the initial explorations of sexual intimacy.
It is never too late for rhapsody.
A kiss says nothing compared to this.
Joined hands? Sweat on the belly?
Lips, genitals -- all of them edible.
Owl Pellet
I was crossing the field -- that is all --
longing for nothing more than a color,
when I found the owl's pellet
coiled in the grass.
Beneath the glistening veil of mucus,
a mass of conflicting ingredients:
squirrel fur, rabbit hip,
feather of flicker and jay.
Farther in, I came upon crow quills
splintered and wrapped into balls,
tidy parcels of polished bone,
a frog's spotted fingers.
What appeals to me in this first stanza is the use of first person. This narrator allows the reader to experience the poem first hand. The simple desire of color hooks the reader. Nearly everyone seeks color, especially if gray skies or feelings have been prevalent in one's life. Ironically the color is found in decay. Additionally, somehow the season of summer is introduced. Perhaps the distinct description of the "conflicting ingredients" reminds a reader of left-over spring housecleaning, or the simple act of identifying each of the ingredients like one would do before discarding used items to the trash or garage sale. Owls are one of the most thrifty of birds when it comes to physical needs being met and then disgorging the useless.
Another poetic feature is the poet's sparse and precise use of descriptive imagery. This includes little bits and pieces of various animal, reptile, and bird parts, such as feathers, bones, quills, and fingers that are all splintered and tightly balled up. This provides readers with a literal fact about owls, but also readers might think of how much is crammed into their lives that could or should be discarded. The chilling images give a clear picture of an owl's diet as well as provide a comparative metaphor to one's own life.
The poet expands the metaphor to the human desire to explore. Yes, the pellet's contents are gross and how they become wrapped in mucus even more gross. However, the human still pursues the contents. Seemingly, one explores most of life's encounters with the anticipation of discovery. Here is part of the third stanza, where the poet introduces the initial explorations of sexual intimacy.
It is never too late for rhapsody.
A kiss says nothing compared to this.
Joined hands? Sweat on the belly?
Lips, genitals -- all of them edible.
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