🇬🇧 On the eye of the sparrowhawk, occasioned by my neighbour

On the eye of the sparrowhawk, occasioned by my neighbour

499.    My neighbour brings to my door
        Exquisite beings in his hands:
        Rhinobeetles, slow-worms,
        Fox skulls, a white cypress,
        And then, yesterday, a sparrowhawk.

500.    Enraged, heart-hammering hawk.
        I'm fixated by her one eye;
        Can we explain it, have we words?
        Or have we only images
        And wordless memories
        From the history of ancient kin? 

501.    Images, then:
        A round eye with an orange iris
        Encircles a black pupil.
        Two optical nerves in each eye
        Give double focus, double vision.
        The head slots into place on the neck.

502.    The eye turns, but never alters shape.
        It reflects light, it shines
        Always with the same strength.
        The eye doesn’t blink, it stares;
        No expression that we know of.

503.    The face has no movement.
        Most beautiful arranged feathers,
        Swooped back and streamlined.
        A splendid aerodynamic head,
        Aesthetically poised in our view;
        More sculpture than face.

504.    The head always carried high,
        She stares down from above.
        We see pride, perfection,
        Aloofness and arrogance.
        Everything we aspire to
        And will kills others for.

505.    No emotion we can understand,
        No appeasement we can see,
        No mercy we can receive;
        Only the visible will to kill.
        Hence, this awe and arousal,
        A sense of atavistic fear.

506.    Gorgeous bird of wild symmetry!
        The hand and eye of evolution *)
        Has created this bullseye image
        In the human imagination
        Of bloodthirst and status,
        Of violence, prey and power.

507.    Mei Yao Chen **) described the awe:
        The scent of meat, the hunt, the dive.
        The head crushed, the ripped prey,
        Viscera flung to the vultures
        Circling above the Buddha statue,
        Splattered in birdshit, a thousand years ago.

508.    We release the sparrowhawk.
        She swings up and out and away.
        We remain standing with the memory
        In our empty hands.
        Thoughtfully, I begin my poem,
        Me too, one early morning in spring.


*) In memory of William Blake (1757-1827, The Tyger, 1794.

**) In memory of Mei Yao Chen (1002-1060), influential and productive Chinese poet under the Song dynasty. Reference is made to the poem: A lonely falcon above the Buddha hall in the Monastary of Universal Cleansing (1044).