Carel Fabritius: Arrowhead Union High School- Special Ekphrastic Showcase

The Goldfinch, by Carel Fabritius (Netherlands) 1654

Editor's Note: 
The Ekphrastic Review is always pleased to publish the ekphrastic work of creative writing students at Arrowhead Union High School, thanks to an ongoing partnership with teachers Liz Jorgensen & Terri Carnell. It is wonderful and exciting to see the amazing talent and work of students invited into ekphrasis.

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​
Little Songbird, Where Have You Gone?
 
Sweet little songbird,
where have you gone?
 
The trees miss your laughter,
and your melody at dawn.
 
Charming little songbird,
where have you gone?
 
We miss your wings of gold,
and your lovely little song. 
 
Pretty little songbird,
where have you gone?
 
Has the air gotten so dirty,
that you’ve left alone?
 
Gentle little songbird,
come back where you belong,
 
We’ll clean the rivers and clear the air,
Plant flowers and trees tall and strong,
The world yearns for your presence,
Since the day you’ve been gone.
 
Marina Chen
 
**
 
Golden Echoes 
 
In a golden cage, a fleeting song,
Perched on the edge where shadows belong.
Feathers gleam in the morning light,
A fragile beauty, a captive flight.
 
Eyes that hold the endless sky,
Dreams of freedom, a silent cry.
Wings that long to touch the breeze,
Bound by chains, a soul that pleads.
 
The brushstrokes whisper tales untold,
Of a bird once free, now bought and sold.
Yet in its gaze, a spark of fire,
A heart that beats with wild desire.
 
Oh, goldfinch, in your painted plight,
You remind us all of the boundless flight.
In your stillness, a world confined,
A symbol of the dreams we bind.
 
Amanda Shaw
 
**
 
Temporary
 
All I've asked is for you to hold me,
Not as a hostage, but as a guest, 
So I may sing out of pleasure and admiration. 
Now I sing, for it is all I can do.
 
I asked for you to adorn me with the gold of my wing, 
But a brass shackle tethers me as if I'm some clock sitting idle, 
Standing as a day goes by without care.
 
I suppose I am a clock, counting down
The hours until you're bored of me, a temporary entertainer.
 
My final freedom will be a shoebox, barren and buried.
 
Mona Geisler
 
**
 
Trapped 
 
I used to fly high in the sky
The beauty of the world made me cry.
Bright blue would stretch so far
I thought it could touch the star.
The smell of freshly cut grass and morning dew
These were the reasons I flew.
 
I've been stuck on a chain for days
I can't even remember the old ways.
Now all I see is this dull colour
No more sun or new land to discover.
I sit here on display
Watching as time slips away.
 
I don’t get fed much
And when I do it's just a touch.
Does he know I’m alive?
I fear I may not survive.
When I think of the yellow sun
I realize I am done.
 
Now, I stare off into space
With no emotion on my face.
All I feel is numb
Waiting for my time to come.
I sit and wait till I die,
Because why would I even try?
 
Mikayla Kaminski
 
**
 
The Days of the Goldfinches
 
The birds swam in the air, Arthur’s consciousness focused solely on looking through the sun’s glare and wind’s brush to uncover the patterns behind their flight.
            
Behind it all, a harsh voice interrupted the chaotic peace. “Arthur, you get in here right now! Just because you’ve started middle school doesn’t mean you’re too good for my dinner!”
 
The thought of going inside crossed Arthur’s mind. But while his mother’s wrath was a sight to behold, the promise of the birds suppressed any fear of punishment.
 
“But mom! The birds are about to go to bed. They won’t be out any longer!”
 
“And still my dinner is getting colder by the second!”
 
“Fine.”
 
As Arthur trudged inside, he noticed a flock of goldfinches separate from the chaos of feathers. Instead of frolicking, they perched together, staring at Arthur. Before he could take a second look, a force on his collar knocked him off his feet and dragged him inside.
 
…
 
Even from his dorm window, there seemed to be some mystical pattern underneath the birds’ flight. With the binoculars Arthur received as a graduation gift, the birds seemed closer to him than ever before, individual feathers now visible in crisp detail.
 
Despite the daily insistence from his roommate to stop looking outside, Arthur still enjoyed watching the birds fly. He had chosen dorm number 713 specifically for its direct view into the nearby woods.
 
While most of his friends thought the woods were haunted, to Arthur they seemed magical. There was no other explanation for the quantity of life that seemed born from its branches. On some windy days, Arthur swore he made eye contact with a flock of goldfinches – goldfinches which acted differently from the other birds, staying perched in the wind that blew the others away.
​
…
 
“Put it up a little higher!” shouted Diane.
 
“I’m trying my love! Maybe if you held that ladder a little more steady!” Arthur replied to his wife, feeder in hand. 
 
They had already placed a camera across from this location. Now all they needed was a feeder to attract the birds. 
 
“I think I’ve got it, I’m coming down now!”
 
“Try not to fall you clumsy fool!”
 
“I’m the luckiest man in the world” Arthur thought, descending the ladder into the embrace of his wife. 
 
“I can’t wait to see these birds!” exclaimed Diane, as enamored with the flying wildlife as Arthur. “Maybe we’ll even see those goldfinches you keeping going on about!”
 
Arthur smiled. Diane was the only one who listened to his stories. Everyone else suggested he go to the hospital.
 
The couple had made a hobby (some might call it an obsession) of bird watching together, going so far as to install cameras and feeders all around their property in order to observe as many birds as possible. 
 
Arthur remembered roping his kids into birdwatching, giving each of them their own pair of binoculars on their first birthday. He saw that smile reflected on Diane’s face, staring back at him. Looking into his wife’s eyes, Arthur felt the happiest emotions in his life. Everything was perfect, surrounded by the creatures and people he loved.
 
…
 
Alone in the living room, Arthur watched out the window. The few remaining birds swooped in and out of the trees, diving and turning like a flock of synchronized swimmers. The patterns they formed in the air begged to be seen, longed to be understood. But there was no one there to interpret them. 
 
The magic of the birds had disappeared years ago. They disappeared with Diane. The bird feeders followed suit, then many of the birds, then the glimpses of the goldfinches, and then much of Arthur’s happiness. It was replaced with grief. But even that disappeared – along with the other feelings inside Arthur’s heart.
 
All that remained was an old man, sitting in his house, staring at a carved stone placed on the edge of the yard. The image of the stone was inscribed in Arthur’s mind. A solemn reminder of who he’d become. Unbreakable. Unbearable. But when he blinked, Arthur noticed a slight change.
 
“A goldfinch?”
 
Moving faster than he had in years, Arthur rushed outside. To his surprise, the bird hopped right into his hands. Memories flashed before his eyes, escaping years of forgetfulness, now remembering the happy times he had. All of the times he glimpsed the goldfinches before. 
 
Yes. These were the good days. The days of happiness. The days of the goldfinches. That’s what Arthur still wanted. That’s why he took the bird inside, wanting to view the docile creature and relive his happiness for more than an instant. He chained the bird to an old feeder, forcing the goldfinch to remain close. 
 
Closing his eyes, Arthur thought, “Now the memories will remain. Now happiness will be nearby.”
 
But when the sun came streaming back into Arthur’s eyes, the goldfinch was perched on the feeder, rapidly consuming the bird feed, chain hanging to the ground. 

Arthur panicked. The bird was about to fly away. The memories were about to escape. The happiness would be no more. Hands outstretched, a foot away from containing the goldfinch forever, the bird turned and looked Arthur in the eyes. Daring him. Almost as if questioning him. “Do you think that’s how this works? Does this really end with you having me forever?”
 
The intensity of the bird’s gaze paused Arthur for a second. But this wasn’t a normal bird. 
 
It was a goldfinch. It was one of the birds that had been with him for his whole life. And now it was about to disappear. Just like everything else.
 
A tear streaming down his face, Arthur whispered what had been true for several years. Something he had known. Something he had refused to admit.
 
“The days of the goldfinches. They’re over.”
 
Matthew Baumann

**
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The Goldfinch, by Carel Fabritius (Netherlands) 1654

Perched in timeless grace, a chained gem of yellow and black, perched, yet never to take flight. Your feathers, a vibrant contrast against a muted background, captivate the eye. You are a captive soul upon a wall, but your beauty knows no bounds.

Eyes sharp, a glint of life within the tiny frame, a spirit unbound in essence, though held fast by human hands. Silent witness to centuries past, you cling to your perch, an eternal sentinel in oil and brush.

Your delicate form, each feather a stroke of Fabritius' hand, captures a fleeting moment, a whisper of nature frozen in time. Goldfinch, you are both here and not, a paradox of freedom and restraint, bound yet vivid, alive.

Your gaze is a steady beacon, a reminder of beauty within confinement, a song unsung yet deeply felt. In your stillness, you speak of resilience, of the unseen bonds that tie us all to places and moments, memories, and art. Your resilience is a source of inspiration, a testament to the enduring nature of life and art.

Oh, goldfinch, delicate and robust, a masterpiece of life and art, you soar within your frame's limits, a symbol of endurance. Your beauty, though confined, is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the face of restraint, freedom can be found. You are forever perched, yet ever free.

Signe Warwick

**

Bitter Water
 
Splat. Fat droplets of rain fell from the cracked ceiling, landing in a growing puddle on the ground. Splat. The puddle, the result of a particularly heavy storm and a poorly constructed building, slowly creeped across the dull concrete floor. Splat. Soon, the bitter, cold water would crawl to the door of the cell and slowly eat away at the rusted bars, and maybe one day, the water would gnaw and pick and gorge on the metal until it was brittle and snapped and broken, nothing but a corroded mound of scraps and bones and crumbs. Until then, the inmate would perch pitifully in his dim, icy cell and stare at the eroding limestone walls, waiting, listening for each raindrop to bring him closer to freedom. Splat. Splat. Splat.
 
When the inmate was first captured, he had carried himself with an air of pride, delicately adorned with gold and elegantly dressed in shades of crimson and pearl and mahogany. Once, he sang hymns from the heavens and flitted through fields of sweet poppies and marigolds, lit only by the tranquil light from the setting sun. He would bathe in springs of porcelain and marble, meticulously combing and preening through every inch of his body until all the dust and debris had been washed away. On wet and stormy days like these, he would nest soundly in his bed, warm and downy and hidden in the arms of a wise elderberry tree, sheltered from the vicious howling rain. 
 
But those were merely memories, long forgotten in the prison, a labyrinth of pale, haunting limestone and wretched steel bars. He had lost count of how many restless days, months, and years he had spent in the cell, not knowing if he was aggrieved or agitated, bored or disoriented. He had no reason to sing, nor reason to fly. Only the sullen prison guards would entertain his hollow cries, occasionally offering dry, dreary food and dreadfully tepid water. Each time he moved, a thin, silver chain rattled at his feet. It was mocking him. It was a taunting reminder of his world ripped apart, one seam at a time, until all that was left was a frayed thread, a thread of cracked limestone and rotting metal and tasteless rations. Nonetheless, he waited for those knives of rain to cut through his cage.
 
Perhaps it was the thought of murky, thick layers of gray storm clouds rolling through the sky that brought him hope. Or the distant sounds of waves crashing against weathered rocks along the shore. His home, however distant and unreachable it felt, was within reach. He knew that beyond the limestone walls and old metal and concrete, there were sweet raindrops and soft grasses and lush beds of mosses and flowers and clover. So he stared beyond those walls and waited. He stood patiently, watching, waiting for his cell to erode, and he listened carefully, counting each bitter droplet of rain that fell through the ceiling, waiting for them to feast on those metal bars. 
 
Splat. Splat. Splat.
 
Marina Chen
​
**

Left Behind
 
Dutch Republic, 1654
 
“I’m sorry Finn, there’s nothing I can do to help you. You’re going to have to sell the bird. I’m sure you’ll get a few guilders for it”
 
“For the last time it's a European Goldfinch and you know I can’t do that. He’s all I got in this wicked world.”
 
After the death of his older brother, the last of his family, Finn was left alone in the world with only his pet bird Berry to keep him company.
 
Finn had always had problems with money but now, without any help from his older brother, he struggled more than ever before. 
 
“Good luck Finn, I wish you the best.”
 
Each day, Finn walked with Berry on his shoulder four miles to a nearby river where he’d fish and collect oysters, crabs, and clams to sell on the market. As Finn was doing his regular day to day business, Berry would imitate Finn’s sounds and motions to try to make him laugh. However, as Finn was aging the task was becoming more difficult with each passing day. 
 
“Berry, you know I love you. Your beautiful brown and black feathers and cute little face. You’re the only one that’s stuck around all these years. But, I can’t, I- I can’t live like this anymore.”
 
For Finn, as strong and brave as he was, sometimes the loneliness, the grief, the problems would just be too much. Truthfully, the only thing keeping Finn from suicide was the very thought of leaving Berry all alone, as his family and friends had left him. 
 
When Finn was 12, his father had left the family to move to Switzerland with his mistress. Alone to care for four children, Finn's mother tried her best, but her sadness quickly turned into depressive thoughts and soon after depression, plaguing the helpless loving mother into a permanent state of anger and bitterness. Finn’s older sisters quickly moved out seeking better lives for themselves. 2 years later their mother would take her own life.
 
Together the 2 brothers worked to better their lives. Hendrik, the older of the two brothers, helped Finn learn the basics of life and how to support himself. They built a house from the ground up, created a garden, worked a small shop, and together fished and collected various sea animals to sell on the market. Life wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy but it was enough for the both of them as long as they had each other.
 
Finn had always loved birds, from a young age he was fascinated by the various different species, but his favourite had always been the European goldfinch because of its unique red face. For Finn’s 25th birthday, Hendrik, had saved three weeks' worth of his salary as a shopkeeper, to buy it for him. Berry, they called him, after their great grandpa, a war hero well known in their small village. They also built Berry a little bluish-gray bird house where they tie him to it when they’d have to leave home and couldn’t bring him along.
 
In 1652, Hendrik was drafted to fight in the Anglo-Dutch War and died a year later a war hero, just like his great grandpa. According to records, Hendrik had charged into a platoon to distract them long enough for his men to escape certain death.
 
Finn was devastated that the only person left in his life was now gone. 
 
“Finn, are you in there? It's your neighbour, I saw your bird moving around like crazy at the window, are you there?”
 
Finn was not there. As much as he loved Berry, he couldn’t continue, couldn’t bear to live the life he was living and took his life two nights before leaving Berry all alone wondering why Finn had left him. 
 
All alone with no one. Left to sit on his little bird house staring into the abyss waiting for his owner who will never return…
 
Mihai Buznea