{"id":15490057,"date":"2007-12-22T21:41:00","date_gmt":"2007-12-22T21:41:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/2007\/12\/22\/Poets-org-Poetry-Poems-Bios-More-Song\/"},"modified":"2008-01-14T08:50:55","modified_gmt":"2008-01-14T08:50:55","slug":"poets-org-poetry-poems-bios-more-song","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/?p=15490057","title":{"rendered":"Poets.org &#8211; Poetry, Poems, Bios &amp;More &#8211; Song"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class='sustuff'>Stumbleupon Review of : <a href='http:\/\/www.poets.org\/viewmedia.php\/prmMID\/15238'>http:\/\/www.poets.org\/viewmedia.php\/prmMID\/15238<\/a><a href='http:\/\/www.stumbleupon.com\/url\/www.poets.org\/viewmedia.php\/prmMID\/15238'><img src='http:\/\/bunty.tv\/images\/smallstumble.png'><\/a><\/div>\n<p><\/p>\n<div align=\"center\"><img src=\"http:\/\/img89.imageshack.us\/img89\/7799\/pc195790ol0.jpg\" \/><\/div>\n<ul style=\" width : 500px; margin : 10px 5px; padding : 15px; color : #ca8; text-align : justify; float : right;\"><b>Song<\/b><\/p>\n<p>Listen: there was a goat&#8217;s head hanging by ropes in a tree.<br \/>\nAll night it hung there and sang. And those who heard it<br \/>\nFelt a hurt in their hearts and thought they were hearing<br \/>\nThe song of a night bird. They sat up in their beds, and then<br \/>\nThey lay back down again. In the night wind, the goat&#8217;s head<br \/>\nSwayed back and forth, and from far off it shone faintly<br \/>\nThe way the moonlight shone on the train track miles away<br \/>\nBeside which the goat&#8217;s headless body lay. Some boys<br \/>\nHad hacked its head off. It was harder work than they had imagined.<br \/>\nThe goat cried like a man and struggled hard. But they<br \/>\nFinished the job. They hung the bleeding head by the school<br \/>\nAnd then ran off into the darkness that seems to hide everything.<br \/>\nThe head hung in the tree. The body lay by the tracks.<br \/>\nThe head called to the body. The body to the head.<br \/>\nThey missed each other. The missing grew large between them,<br \/>\nUntil it pulled the heart right out of the body, until<br \/>\nThe drawn heart flew toward the head, flew as a bird flies<br \/>\nBack to its cage and the familiar perch from which it trills.<br \/>\nThen the heart sang in the head, softly at first and then louder,<br \/>\nSang long and low until the morning light came up over<br \/>\nThe school and over the tree, and then the singing stopped&#8230;.<br \/>\nThe goat had belonged to a small girl. She named<br \/>\nThe goat Broken Thorn Sweet Blackberry, named it after<br \/>\nThe night&#8217;s bush of stars, because the goat&#8217;s silky hair<br \/>\nWas dark as well water, because it had eyes like wild fruit.<br \/>\nThe girl lived near a high railroad track. At night<br \/>\nShe heard the trains passing, the sweet sound of the train&#8217;s horn<br \/>\nPouring softly over her bed, and each morning she woke<br \/>\nTo give the bleating goat his pail of warm milk. She sang<br \/>\nHim songs about girls with ropes and cooks in boats.<br \/>\nShe brushed him with a stiff brush. She dreamed daily<br \/>\nThat he grew bigger, and he did. She thought her dreaming<br \/>\nMade it so. But one night the girl didn&#8217;t hear the train&#8217;s horn,<br \/>\nAnd the next morning she woke to an empty yard. The goat<br \/>\nWas gone. Everything looked strange. It was as if a storm<br \/>\nHad passed through while she slept, wind and stones, rain<br \/>\nStripping the branches of fruit. She knew that someone<br \/>\nHad stolen the goat and that he had come to harm. She called<br \/>\nTo him. All morning and into the afternoon, she called<br \/>\nAnd called. She walked and walked. In her chest a bad feeling<br \/>\nLike the feeling of the stones gouging the soft undersides<br \/>\nOf her bare feet. Then somebody found the goat&#8217;s body<br \/>\nBy the high tracks, the flies already filling their soft bottles<br \/>\nAt the goat&#8217;s torn neck. Then somebody found the head<br \/>\nHanging in a tree by the school. They hurried to take<br \/>\nThese things away so that the girl would not see them.<br \/>\nThey hurried to raise money to buy the girl another goat.<br \/>\nThey hurried to find the boys who had done this, to hear<br \/>\nThem say it was a joke, a joke, it was nothing but a joke&#8230;.<br \/>\nBut listen: here is the point. The boys thought to have<br \/>\nTheir fun and be done with it. It was harder work than they<br \/>\nHad imagined, this silly sacrifice, but they finished the job,<br \/>\nWhistling as they washed their large hands in the dark.<br \/>\nWhat they didn&#8217;t know was that the goat&#8217;s head was already<br \/>\nSinging behind them in the tree. What they didn&#8217;t know<br \/>\nWas that the goat&#8217;s head would go on singing, just for them,<br \/>\nLong after the ropes were down, and that they would learn to listen,<br \/>\nPail after pail, stroke after patient stroke. They would<br \/>\nWake in the night thinking they heard the wind in the trees<br \/>\nOr a night bird, but their hearts beating harder. There<br \/>\nWould be a whistle, a hum, a high murmur, and, at last, a song,<br \/>\nThe low song a lost boy sings remembering his mother&#8217;s call.<br \/>\nNot a cruel song, no, no, not cruel at all. This song<br \/>\nIs sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.<\/p>\n<p>&#8211;Brigit Pegeen Kelly<\/ul>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Stumbleupon Review of : http:\/\/www.poets.org\/viewmedia.php\/prmMID\/15238 Song Listen: there was a goat&#8217;s head hanging by ropes in a tree. All night it hung there and sang. And those who heard it Felt a hurt in their hearts and thought they were &hellip; <a href=\"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/?p=15490057\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":""},"categories":[1488],"tags":[3377,1067816,305],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15490057"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15490057"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15490057\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15490057"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15490057"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/su.blog.bunty.tv\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15490057"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}