featured photo is a painting by Franz Marc, “Birds” (1914)
I Wondered if I Had Been a Bird by Jade Nicole Beals for May Ziadeh (b. 1886 - 1941) I was very disturbed when what I’d found logical what could explain all this is that I could’ve been a bird before this. A canary, your canary, specifically, and how did all this start? By re-reading what you wrote about your own canary bird who had a mark of beauty on his nose you’d named “Mimi,” and I instantly recalled the tiny dot on my own nose mostly because I had been ashamed of it when I was a teenager, and it was a perfectly dark tiny dot that I had actually forgot. I looked in the mirror to find it there, faded and very subtle now. I asked myself, why wouldn’t I want to have been a bird? Do I have something against birds? No, because I’ve felt I’ve always been human, and because I wanted to be sexy, a bird to me isn’t sexy, despite the phrase, “rump-feathers,” but then again, I am a woman now and you were a woman, and are still. I cried then because that little canary was clearly the best person in your life… When I told my mom most of this on the phone, after a pause, she said, “What color is a canary? They’re yellow, right?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “Ohh, that’s very pretty.” and we began to talk peacefully about other things. May, was I your bird singing you songs without words that made you smile and forget the sadness of the world? Did you speak to me in French, in Arabic, or both, and is that why I’d known some Arabic words almost instantly upon hearing them, and recognized no words quickly read, but your name? Is that why I felt I remembered what it looked like outside the windows of your home, and the shapes of them, and the shapes and colors of the trees, in the country, Lebanon you’d lived then, and where I’d never been in my own lifetime? Forget this. I would rather have been that bird, even if you’d found that bird a little bit dumb and amusing, but you’d loved him and loved to spoil him and spoke to him. Maybe he lived in a pretty golden cage, to which, someone else held the key, feeding on seeds, fruits, and overheard poetry. I’d rather be that bird than a king or a celebrity with words that set your heart to song and also tore your world and snuffed out your own flame, but maybe they’d all just liked the sounds and scents all that rending made. May, I cried because I felt you might’ve just thrown me away before you embarked on the ship to arrive in Egypt with your family. Did you leave me flying free, a little bright yellow canary, lost in the forests of Lebanon, longing for you and home and you? Had I died before you? Sometimes I wish to see you. We both are women now anyway. Yet I’d rather keep you safe in heaven with patience in my lifetime than if I’d had the choice to shake you from eternal peace just for my own wish to see you— That wouldn’t do. May, I give away flowers from the earth pressed in the pages of a book. I remember reading about the first flower you gave away, and it sounded to me like the girl had trampled it under her foot on her way— Had I followed the scent of that flower of which no shoe could eschew the fragrance of that crushed flower that lead me again to you? I don’t care what I cannot remember or for what I have no proof: as I eat my cereal with almond milk, the scent of the sweetened wheat flakes makes me laugh inwardly as I remember this whole story of a bird, and I don’t Care whether the bird was me then or not: I’m satisfied, with love that chose to lace the words that formed this poem that fell from my lips into whichever language, into whichever hands, it happened to fall. —Jade Nicole Beals Apr. 7, 2022 * The ringtone I didn't purposely put in—my mom was calling on the phone, to thank me about a gift I'd sent her in the mail that just arrived then, and so it was the perfect way to end this poem! I also found the painting this morning by Franz Marc to accompany my poem, which I had written and completed last night. * From May Ziadeh’s Will I Transcribed from Documentary I’d Found Months After I’d First Read Her Poetry: 3 Oct. 1935 I am writing today Thursday, the 3rd of October; I’ve checked my printed papers and have discovered that many of them have been stolen. They’ve left me several letters that were attached to newspapers containing articles and letters—they are useless without the context. I love you Egypt. I love you the East; my soul is yours. I love the West as well. I love humanity in its true meaning. I have compassion for its mistakes and pain. And I believe in God. I hope that someone will be fair to me after my death and extract from my humble writings the spirit of sincerity, honesty, friendship, and enthusiasm, for all that is good and beautiful, because it is so, and not out of a desire to benefit from it. —May Ziadeh (1935) Back story: From Sky to Earth and Earth to Sky, So Little Distance
7 responses to ““I Wondered if I Had Been a Bird””
This is so beautiful Jade!! ❤️ Beautifully written and beautifully told. The sound of your voice is very soothing. I love the ringtone at the end! 😊
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Thank you Mom! 😊💕✍️🎤
But thank you for the ringtone!
😅🎶💕
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Haha . You’re welcome! 😊🎶❤️
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Thank you for sharing this. You are very talented!! Take care and have a wonderful Easter!!
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Thank you Aunt Carlene! and Happy Easter to you as well!!! 💕💕😊😊
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P.S. Oops 😀 You might not be my aunt named Carlene 😀 either way Thank you for reading and Happy Easter!!
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[…] later, again, but I never saw a bird crash after that. I’d wondered if it had heard my poem, ”I Wondered if I Had Been a Bird” if it saw my tail-feathers but you know, I am not a yellow canary, and at least not currently. […]
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