Neruda’s Sixteen Finches
By Shey Marque | 1 February 2015
It’s difficult to see the glass ceiling because it’s made of glass. Virtually invisible. What we need is for more birds to fly above it and shit all over it, so we can see it properly. ― Caitlin Moran
Insanity. Great affection. Hand in hand. If your love is for animalia then this is the sign a sign that you will be judged (can it be?) It’s only Hector Malot thinking out loud inside your head. Not so loud! Neruda hears humming a fragile mind is more creative. I see her travel with sixteen finches and a violin or two no less with a husband or two all fit side by side on a rack. And her stance strong not at all unladylike (captive) she holds all the wild beasts gather ‘round her (lucky charm) like Orpheus sweetened by sixteen notes oh brother! just for a lark Neruda seeds an idea to be unshelled tasted spitting husks of insanity to the finches fine feathers not a sign that the bird can sing no humming please nor a fiddle by name alone befickled of reputation. (I’ve overheard it said) only a man or a lesbian could stroke those curves make it sing so (like a beast) make the maker redundant. And behind his hand, hinted in the dark you know how she might as well smoke enormous cigars drink stout play golf (insane I hear) a rodent humming rat-catching fetching finches teach them all that as well sixteen years of age. Watch how the world would play (make believe) if not for Neruda or the great painters. Hang the answer in the Halles see the birdie in the picture a goldfinch go look for the sign! Bellini is there copying a feminine figure onto canvas curves out of the frame (read an artist’s eye) a violin and a woman bleed together a medieval beast mixed from the same oil. No need for such humming gentlemen (we’re English). Remember that the beak holds no more (significance) than the feather. Sshh The picture is speaking (a beast) of grace sixteen bunches of erase-me-nots. Even the devil’s fiddler had an answer insanity of sorts imitations of a donkey swatch of horse hair this is the sign in defence of she who would not be silenced (insulted) those finches perched high on a single string (to whom do they belong?) Yes, the witches will dance on the grass underneath the walnut tree (despite) hubbub of howling insane humming like tinnitus a tribe of warriors in your ear! Give it time and you will see the sign (think back) how the fiddler fitted right into the crowd of sixteen revellers (swooners) black of dress, of hair, of eye, of bird. The beast cries out mad wicked folly liberates finches and ladies (Victoria is not amused). One by one he creates a star in the midst convenes a meeting of the weird sisters. Sister do not consent to be sung only in the manner they wish (understand) you alone can cause your wooden lung to sing it real listen (Nicolo’s) little bell beast of kind reply for this is the sign hear your goldfinch twitter at the tip of the steeple. Strike the violin sixteen times in staccato study in Italy (or France) call home any place where the Master prizes talent above all humming stride forward through time insanity has a magnificent portal (with gilded cornices) twelve foot mirrors. I will foster a fine bowing arm (fine beau on my arm) keep sixteen finches and a humming bird sign of a beast. My violin of tender years kissed by the old fiddler as if an ancient Cremona at auction. Delicious insanity! Witch be near me. Mirror me on the path of Neruda.