Nature

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To the Bear in a Neighbor’s Tree (A Poem)

October 13, 2009

I never post new poems on my website. But this piece came through me this morning, and I want to offer it up to our grieving community.

To the Bear in a Neighbor’s Tree

How quickly we become accustomed to the light,
blinking through discomfort, standing upright,
when our claws break, we fashion tools, use
them, and then just as easily put them down.

We discover clumps of hair on the ground,
and see our lack of fur as a great improvement,
stamping and shivering, we like a cold wind!
When our night vision fades, we stumble a dance.

Now, we have lost you too, primeval cousin,
lost the instinct that might have guided us
in shooing you back where you came from.
We can no longer smell what is on the wind.

You sat all day in a tree, learning our gestures.
You waved at the crowds and considered making a speech.
When you became too much like us, we brought you down,
and hauled your massive blackness into the night.

The truth is that we lost you long ago, long before
our friends loaded up their guns. Look how far
we have come! Our fingers fit the triggers.
And still we remember not to look in an animal’s eyes.

I looked, and became frozen on my couch.
I blinked into the sunlight, and you were gone.
The black spot in the tree is no longer you.
It is the place that you have burned into my mind.

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By Robert Peake | Posted in Grief Recovery, Poetry | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, Ojai | Comments (10)

Poem Online at “A Change in the Wind”

October 12, 2009

One of my poems made its debut today on “A Change in the Wind,” Kit Stolz’s excellent blog about climate change. Kit frames the issues at the heart of this poem beautifully. I am pleased to have it put out in this way to his thoughtful readership.

It is also an incredibly timely, and circuitous, reminder (from The Muse, to me, to Kit, back to me today) of the importance of relating to nature on its own terms. In light of the recent wildlife tragedy in my own front yard, I find an odd comfort in rereading this piece that came through me, one day, quietly, into this strange world of ours.

Thanks, Kit, for giving quarter to this poem.

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By Robert Peake | Posted in Poetry, Publications | Also tagged Conservation, Kit Stolz | Comments (0)

The Bear

October 11, 2009

When my English wife first came to this country, she was eager see North American wildlife. “I want to see a raccoon,” she said. Soon after, we found ourselves in Yosemite, watching a family of raccoons collecting and munching stray Cheetos, orange paws aglow in the moonlight. “I want to see a sea otter.” At the Monterrey Bay Aquarium, we watched sea otters float on their backs like canoes and smash open abalone on the rocks. “I want to see a bear!” she grinned.

I paused, remembering my father’s story of having been nose-to-nose with a grizzly bear, separated only by mosquito netting–the story he told on Boy Scout camp outs that kept us awake in our tents all night. “No,” I replied, “No, honey, you don’t. You want to see a bear in a photograph. You want to see a bear on a nature documentary. You don’t ever want to see a real, live bear up close.”

Photo by Erin Ellwood

When I heard our neighbor exclaim, “Call animal control!” late Friday night, I assumed raccoons had found their trash. I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning, we discovered several police vehicles parked on our street, and a crowd gathering on our front lawn. In the night, a several-hundred-pound Black Bear had scaled our neighbor’s back fence, bounded down the gravel footpath between our houses and, confused by the people and lights, followed his instincts up a large pine tree across the street.

People came to take pictures. People brought their small children, and hoisted them up on their shoulders to get a better view. Eventually, the police cordoned off the street, and still people gathered along the line of yellow police tape to catch a glimpse of the bear. From our living room couch, the cat and I sat and watched him–napping on a branch, shifting his considerable weight, hugging the trunk of the tree. At one point, he seemed to be waving, fanning the air with paws the size of my head. I got to watch the bear, closely and safely, for a long time. And I fell in love.

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