"catbird" poems
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
What do birds see?
perhaps more than we can know
and what of their dreams?
are they full of worms
and juicy slugs?
are there also nightmares
of predators and windstorms
destroying all they've built?
given a choice
I'd probably be a robin
waking in that well built nest
shared with eggshell blue
waiting for the warmth
the return
of the reddish feathered breast
or perhaps a catbird
is closer to my truth
a wordy bird
behind the black bead of an eye
taking it all in
confident
Arizona will be there
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
I’m sitting above some soil,
Is this my backyard?
No, my neighborhood is
Many miles from here.
Scores of sounds
Jump down
At different decibels
To my excited ears.
A Mexican Sun bronzes arms,
And the sky continues to stay clear.
Am I grateful for the sky?
I am grateful for the sky.
Trees plus breeze
Equals a faint whisper
Amid muggy heat.
I wish I could translate each leaf,
For the forest keeps
A language of her own.
I would like to leave my mark on this earth -
More lastingly than the Red River Maple tree,
Who leaves only a passing shadow on the ground.
And my favorite twisted Acacia talks about how long
it's been around, but I’m not so naïve,
So it's noise dies down.
Just long enough
To hear my thoughts
Echo, and echo,
And stop somewhere.
Sweat beads drip down
Onto a parched porch.
Soon, the moisture is gone,
And a taciturn timber terrace
Smiles as if to say;
“I am the Sahara. I am dry.”
Shifting my gaze
Back to nature,
I center my senses,
On these different woods,
Which breathe without fences.
A gray catbird picks away at the ground,
Searching for some nourishment.
An Inca Dove ***** by noisily,
For stealth has never been his game.
A cardinal flits across the landscape,
Not staying long enough for me
To fully appreciate his crimson splendor.
A motor car rumbles by,
But soon the forest’s natural
Symphony drowns that sound.
A strand of a spider’s web
Drifts by, stealing my eyes,
For moments.
Signs of spring, of summer, of September,
Live in this place. I wonder if
My yard is blooming, too.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:46 AM UTC
Here I am
Walking softly through a lake of shale
Slipping down a hill
Tripping the pieces against each other
Tearing my feet up
Reaching scraping and stratching arms and legs
Over the berry bushes
Stretching for a few ****** drops of **** sweet juice
Wetting my lips and staining my fingers
Robins and bluejays flying overhead, a soft grey bird
Shyly quietly watching
Watching the fracas of the bejeweled and gaudy birds
And their screeching cries
Watching and listening with quiet fearful timidity
Much like me
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
bohemian rhapsody parades
amidst greensward moored
erupting profusely toward cerulean skies
ushered with invisible rip cord
this Earthling self assigned to an (elder)
box office catbird seat - hoard
ding a secluded nook
upon premises of Highland (highly adored)
Manor Apartments nestled
within bucolic (cost wise, a ford
double) Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
(40.2562° N, 75.4638° W) explored,
sans (founded in 1684)
pleasantly assaultive stimuli
conducted brake upon metaphysical ratiocination,
where sunshine poured
upon variegated mother nature
arrangement, viz spectacular
vernal suite scored
a top ten hit orchestrating
exquisite (August) May day presentation,
which mutely roared
bedazzling this sensate
being overwriting gourd
fully stocked, when brittle
winter snowy firmament forced accord,
asper overlaying habitat
palimpsest akin to (sic) ward
before an a may zing exuberant poly
chromatic onset splashed vibrant
brilliantly colored palette, toward
this captive observer,
where choral symphony courtesy of flora
and fauna sensational
encore performance
(day at the) opera captivated ensured
fixated this tethered primate royally
impressed and allured
by aural and visual
regalia fit for a lord
and tailor, while solar orbitz
directed by Helios,
whose journey across
deep purple celestial sea deplored
noiselessly casting lengthened shadows
signaling luminous hued dusk
chariots of fire earthly dome ceiling ablaze
pearl jam disappearance,
when daylight blinks adieu
til the morrow, when dawn
betakes the reins to reign cosmos chose
zing emergent rays announcing
morning haz broken
nudging, prodding, rousing from doze
well rested body electric,
where energy flows
as attested from me noggin glows
nsync, sans panoply
of soundgarden crescendo propose
zing ideal material sharing circadian rhythm
thru the time stream yours truly rows.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
Top notch legal scholar Erin Go Braw
(less concerned about being fair versus
abominable, irrevocable, and execrable
unforgivable oversight most holy "M" & *****
cabinet of high priests,
sans spelling chieftains ready to claw
your person to bits,
and they presage remote clemency
which decision told, when Jeff Sessions
decides final punishment to draw
now, (see excerpted lines
visited with glaring flaw
"Benediction For Lord Apple Macintosh"
where ...bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks, required a secret char),...
intimates a "hee haw"
and rock'm n sock'm pull no punches
square at yar triangular jaw
YES, on account misspelling,
whence Grammarian Jude Law
at the least aims (to topple a prospective
title of eminence grise), banning access
to such undeserved
catbird seat, sans Rhetorical perch
laughing while ja plaintively call for maw
**** Oxford English Dictionary - but naw
can do, and hence paw
mister trumpeting
"FAKE" wordsmith raw
flesh will turn into....
unreadable print until closing text
that elaborates how holiness felt vexed.
To ye (a freshly minted scalawag),
these 20/20 eyes bulged agog
while steaming with invective
at what attempted
to pass as sacred poetic blog
when thee (Matthew Scott Harris),
now pronounced, an illiterate,
immoderate, and inveterate å!@#$%∑
with a severe cerebral clog
(meaning prefrontal lobotomy
not out of the question),
you m~r mangy whelp of a she dog
(my humble apologies to canines),
less deserving than being
whipped near death's doorstep flog
after henchmen (strongly
resembling Alaskan BullWorms
guarding this royal hutch,
herein Cupertino, California.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
The season is a marathon and that one, more than most.
The travel was exhausting with two trips out to the coast.
Mickey was the favored son to wear Ruth’s home run Crown
But a ****** abscess in his thigh had taken Mantle down.
Roger Maris was exhausted if the truth were to be told.
He raced Ruth’s ghost all summer; now the air was turning cold.
With the **** down with an injury, the tension only grew,
as the calendar turned another page and at bats dwindled too.
No pitcher wished to be the one to yield that needed hit,
even if it would be marked down with an asterisk.
The count ran two and “OH’ with Barber in the catbird seat
Tracy Stallard toed the rubber as the catcher called for heat.
Some moments are forever, though, sadly, far too few.
Roger turned upon the ball; towards right field it flew.
It landed in the lower deck as Roger rounded third
It proved to be the winning run as the Yankees blanked the Birds.
I have the photo on my wall as Roger dropped the bat;
the consummate professional, no showboating or act.
He defined grace under pressure; he showed what must be done.
The shadows reach out towards the mound when you hit Sixty-One.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
the doomed are the blessed
free of the worry of fate
or misfortune
the doomed dance
in bars
when no music is playing
the doomed are...
never lonely
and everyone is more beautiful
the eyes smile
the legs are long
(almost always a waitress)
the doomed
know what they want
*** and love and mystery
the pleasure of the morning after kiss
they know dying
isn't any way to be living
humanity is doomed
I'm doomed
we're all doomed
aren't YOU?
blame it on the moon
shame on Eve
we are the catbird in the bushes buying time
a moment of sunlight fading in the grass
Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 1:25 PM UTC
*Our finches carry on without government
Robins are free , song filled and independent
The autumn trees ne'er proclaim a 'leader'
A catbird tends to it's affairs without a throng
of 'believers'
The homing pigeons squawk at my propensity for guitar , pen and paper , raw penchant for melody , song and fable
My friends are a shut door , a curtain pulled closed , a light switch clicked to off , a compulsion for sweet silence , a star in the western horizon
Blazed and glazed at night am I
Getting right with Randolph at twilight* ..
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC