Caged Birds

So...

These are three poems that all speak of the song of a caged bird, but they do so in very different ways. I love the contrast between them. I know they were written under different conditions and with different intentions but still they use the same analogy. I just find that interesting. :P

Paul Laurence Dunbar writes of the racial prejudices that thrived at the time. Reading this, I think of the old negro spirituals that are so beloved now.

Sympathy

Paul Laurence Dunbar

I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!

When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;

When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,

And the river flows like a stream of glass;

When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,

And the faint perfume from its chalice steals --

I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing

Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;

For he must fly back to his perch and cling

When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;

And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars

And they pulse again with a keener sting --

I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,

When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, --

When he beats his bars and he would be free;

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,

But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--

I know why the caged bird sings!

Maya Angelou wrote a similar poem on the same subject, drawing her title from Dunbar's poem.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back

Of the wind and floats downstream

Till the current ends and dips his wing

In the orange suns rays

And dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see through his bars of rage

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

Of things unknown but longed for still

And his tune is heard on the distant hill for

The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

And the trade winds soft through

The sighing trees

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright

Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with

A fearful trill of things unknown

But longed for still and his

Tune is heard on the distant hill

For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Madame Guyon was imprisoned for heresy from 1695 -1703 (she was a mystic who promoted theological Quietism, the idea that one could reach a state of sinless perfection and unity with God -absorption into the divine.) She wrote a lot during her imprisonment including this poem which can be found under various titles. In English - A Prisoner's Song, or A Little Bird I Am.It took me forever to find the original French version (for those of you who read French poetry. :P). I finally found it titled by its first line: Grand Dieu, Pour Ton Plaisir. LOL No wonder I couldn't find it - it's nowhere close to the english. I did manage to read it with a little help from a translator. :D I think I like it better in English, but I'll put it in French first. Nowhere could I find who translated it...I suppose that information has been lost which is sad. Translating poetry into poetry is quite an undertaking and deserves credit. Cowper translated many of her poems; maybe he did this one too. It has become a hymn in English which I found credited to Louisa May Alcott. IDK. I just know I love this poem. It reminds me of the word doulos that we've been hearing so often of late. We are glad to be slaves of our gracious and loving master.

Grand Dieu, Pour Ton Plaisir

Madame Guyon

Grand Dieu, pour ton plaisir

Je suis dans une cage;

Ecoute mon ramage;

C'est-là mon seul désir:

J'aime mon esclavage,

Grand Dieu, pour ton plaisir.

Je chante tout le jour,

Seigneur, c'est pour te plaire;

Mon extréme misère

Augmente mon amour:

N'ayant point d'autre affaire,

Je chante tout le jour.

Tu l'entends, mon Seigneur,

Cet amoureux langage,

Ignoré du faux sage,

Goûté du chaste cœur,

L'amour a son ramage:

Tu l'entends, mon Seigneur.

Je vis en liberté,

Quoique dans l'esclavage:

L'Amour Pur met au large

Le cœur, la volonté:

Dans ma petite cage

Je vis en liberté.

Divine volonté,

Que J'adore et que j'aime!

Plus ma peine est extréme,

Plus j'ai de liberté.

Tous biens sont en toi-méme,

Divine volonté.

De ton petit oiseau

Reçois, je te conjure,

Le gazouillant murmure.

Plus tendre qu'il n'est beau;

Et sois la nourriture

De ton petit oiseau.

A Little Bird I Am

Madame Guyon

A little bird I am,

Shut in my cage I sit and sing

To Him who placed me there;

Well pleased a prisoner to be,

Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do:

I sing the whole day long;

And he whom I most love to please

Doth listen to my song:

He caught and bound my wandering wing;

But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear,

A heart to love and bless;

And though my notes were e're so rude,

Thou wouldst not hear the less;

Because thou knowest as they fall,

That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round;

Abroad I cannot fly;

But though my wing is closely bound,

My heart's at liberty;

My prison walls cannot control

The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh, it is good to soar

These bolts and bars above,

To Him Whose purpose I adore,

Whose providence I love;

And in Thy mighty will to find

The joy, the freedom of the mind.