holly tsun haggarty
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pepper-birds
because, on that winter day, when the cold stretched tight across the town, and the snow grit crunched under our boots and the skyline towed us upward – because, on that winter day, when your cap lurched at an angle across your brow, and your woolen ear wings flapped, and your eyelids twitched, and your nose tip perched against mine, and your chin feathers tickled me, and your lips tasted like salted ice – because, on that winter day, you whistled, atop a hill, into the wind, the sky wrinkled and shook starlings out of its folds till the air was sprinkled with peppery soot, and my heart sneezed wide open. |
boneshine
they called me boneshine i dove into the sun like a flaming arrow i spun on the point of a spire that was bygone before i blasted into that trickglass window the only notpicture glass of the whole stronghold one wing dangling the other muscling out my wingjoint all i could do was circle clockwise on the front steps where a choir of cooing doves offered grace by way of breadcrumbs day by day twoleggers limped in to that house and sailed out cured could that fly for me i did wonder as my bones set in awful twists and my flock up and left and the loudmouths pointed look a beggarbird we are all of us broken says the man who sweeps the steps as he scoops me inside to the warmth and i could stay here forever perched on the scapular of a stonewhite birdie ohsong soaring around me like boneshine |
aviatrix
if asked, i don’t say i study angels.
i don’t say:
“after my mother passed, she appeared to me in a dream. i couldn’t tell if she had wings, because she was behind me, but her voice had lost its tobacco-gravel, its bark and gasp. she trilled with silvery lightness—oh i knew she was an angel.”
i don’t say:
“after dad stroked out on the ice in the middle of a hockey game, and was lying in the hospital on life support, a robin came to our front yard, pausing his worm-picking and cocking his head at us whenever we stepped out the door. and he’d jump up to the windowsill and tap on the glass. we think dad just wanted us to know that he was fine for us to let him go, because after the funeral we never saw that bird again.”
i don’t say:
“gabriels, i call them. they come whether or not i feed them. they’ll be gone for weeks and then suddenly the jays are back, lighting on a tree, following my moves, squawking—and every time i know something has happened, something big, and i’d better pay attention.”
i don’t say:
“could be cherubin or seraphim, military archangels, shoulder-sitting guardians, tree toppers or garden guests. but what i collect are clear glass. i line them up along the windowsill and i sit my easy chair and watch the light flash off their crystalline forms.”
i don’t say:
“i saw an angel in the forest. her wings were soft furry evergreen. she was haloed by the morning sun, and in her outstretched limb, she held a bird, just fledging into flight.” i don’t say i study angels. i don’t say that, actually, angels have no bodies; wings are how we imagine their passage from heaven to earth. no one will buy that; it just won’t fly.
i just say i study birds. if i say i study birds, people nod and imagine me standing at my window with binoculars. checking crowns and wings and breasts. watching takeoffs and landings. habitats and prevalence. counting, classifying, coding. bird stories can find their way to higher ed. there are so many stories. some fabulous, some foolish, some tender, some wise. birds have feathers and wings and perch up high to sing. and if it turns out that birds bring solace and lift, momentous messages, transcendent truths, well...
if asked, i don’t say i study angels.
i don’t say:
“after my mother passed, she appeared to me in a dream. i couldn’t tell if she had wings, because she was behind me, but her voice had lost its tobacco-gravel, its bark and gasp. she trilled with silvery lightness—oh i knew she was an angel.”
i don’t say:
“after dad stroked out on the ice in the middle of a hockey game, and was lying in the hospital on life support, a robin came to our front yard, pausing his worm-picking and cocking his head at us whenever we stepped out the door. and he’d jump up to the windowsill and tap on the glass. we think dad just wanted us to know that he was fine for us to let him go, because after the funeral we never saw that bird again.”
i don’t say:
“gabriels, i call them. they come whether or not i feed them. they’ll be gone for weeks and then suddenly the jays are back, lighting on a tree, following my moves, squawking—and every time i know something has happened, something big, and i’d better pay attention.”
i don’t say:
“could be cherubin or seraphim, military archangels, shoulder-sitting guardians, tree toppers or garden guests. but what i collect are clear glass. i line them up along the windowsill and i sit my easy chair and watch the light flash off their crystalline forms.”
i don’t say:
“i saw an angel in the forest. her wings were soft furry evergreen. she was haloed by the morning sun, and in her outstretched limb, she held a bird, just fledging into flight.” i don’t say i study angels. i don’t say that, actually, angels have no bodies; wings are how we imagine their passage from heaven to earth. no one will buy that; it just won’t fly.
i just say i study birds. if i say i study birds, people nod and imagine me standing at my window with binoculars. checking crowns and wings and breasts. watching takeoffs and landings. habitats and prevalence. counting, classifying, coding. bird stories can find their way to higher ed. there are so many stories. some fabulous, some foolish, some tender, some wise. birds have feathers and wings and perch up high to sing. and if it turns out that birds bring solace and lift, momentous messages, transcendent truths, well...
artist statement
as scholars we study phenomena, but (as husserl discerns) phenomena have their own intentionality. the marvels may escape our gaze. what can we do? see that we are a part of what we watch. interpret from relationship. try metaphors to fly across the clefts of meaning. try again. seek he(art).
holly tsun haggarty
holly tsun haggarty phd is a scholartist, a searcher and re-searcher. she engages the arts as a method of philosophy, drawing from her relational experiences in our lifeworld to study its myriad phenomena. she is particularly interested in belief and how it directs what we know and how we act.