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Lyn Lifshin Three Hitchcock Poems | |
That Living Room The Birds Like a Joseph Cornell box someone might label “terror.” The once neat carefully arranged curtains now have feathers caught in their weave as if one bird in the fireplace wasn’t enough, like a lover’s one time infidelity. Then the rush of birds down the chimney and into the room. Talons like flung mean words. A cage, a box of fear, shattered tea cups. Portraits on the wall askew as the world seems when you find out and then the news like more dead birds falling and you’re trapped in a cage of all you can’t shut out |
On the Morning I Could Be Tippi Hedren In the Birds the crows have already pecked thru garbage bags, left bracelets of orange peels and crusts. Nothing doesn't feel dangerous. The gulls skitter to my wrists. I used to be glib, had a sense of humor, loved walking in black heels, jaunty, assured. I didn't hate birds but I didn't love them. I let my sister feed pigeons, until her window filled with lice. I gave her my java temple bird in its cage. I've had my share of domineering men, bossy, sure they knew what was right for me, told me how to dress, what color my hair should be. But there is something in this day of least light, as hovering, as scary as a lumbering hulk throwing himself against me. It's in the air and the sky is darker, the birds. It's not just crows but sparrows and jays. They are louder than I've ever heard them. If I shut my eyes I feel them, something terrible, in agony, shaking on the attic floor. |
Hitchcock's Circles
Not just him, a symphony of circles but the hole in the roof in The Birds, in the eye sockets, in the mouth shaped in terror. All his black holes, voids. The circle head of the flashlight, the hole in the fence. Was it a hole of emptiness? Or the O sounds in Psycho or Vertigo and Rear Window? The O of the Erotica symphony played in the background? Menacing circles going berserk? The crazy merry go rounds? Or the phono- graph in Psycho? That center hole of a circular disk, the circular label on some circular table. Suddenly signs, like the black shadows of the birds circling. Not surprising that Hitchcock said he was frightened of eggs, that white round thing without any holes. Have you seen anything more revolting than an egg yolk breaking and spilling its yellow liquid? he said, blood is jolly, red. But egg yolk is yellow, revolting. I’ve never tasted it. |