Poems After Kirsten Bomblies: The Alliterated Animal Alphabet, by Anne Osbourn

B is for Bear on a Barstool, by Kirsten Bomblies (USA) 2021

Bear on a Barstool 
 
A grizzly is sitting in a spotlight, 
looking at something that is missing. 
He is slumped, a sack of black fur, 
his long snouted black-nosed face gazing 
at the empty bar stool to his left. 
The weight of the universe is on his shoulders, 
shimming down through his fur black torso 
to the base of his spine, 
his tailbone pressed against the wooden seat, 
high on its four thin cross-linked legs. 
 
It is not clear whether this is a bar, 
this Hopper-like pen and inked scene. 
It really doesn’t matter – 
just two bar stools, one bear, a spotlight. 
It could be a stage, and he is waiting  
for someone to make an entrance. 
Whatever, this bear is looking for someone – 
at someone – who isn’t there, 
this precarious bear. 
 
The white space above the empty stool 
is the yin to his yang, 
the anti-matter of black. 
He could move to that stool 
like a missing piece of a jigsaw, 
but that would leave a void where he is right now. 
There is no practical solution to this problem, 
unless the artist can help him.

G is for Groundhogs and a Globe, by Kirsten Bomblies (USA) 2021

​Groundhogs and a Globe 
 
Gary is sitting on the North Pole, 
his front paws neatly positioned, 
side by side, just to the west of Ireland. 
He is looking majestic, nose in the air. 
 
Below him Graham is sitting tall, 
short-tailed, his snout against the equator. 
He appears to be scrutinising Côte d’Ivoire. 
Occasionally he looks up at Gary. 
 
Gary is sniffing the air. 
Graham wants to be up there too 
but there is no room, 
and the sides of the globe are high and smooth. 
 
Graham makes a salad of dandelion,  
coltsfoot, buttercups; 
places the plate on the desk, 
next to the base of the globe. 
 
Gary sniffles, slithers, slips, 
lands on the desk, 
gnashes the greens  
with his ivory teeth; 
 
and while he is eating, 
Graham starts to climb, 
reaches Egypt,  
his long claws rasping and sliding. 
 
The globe begins to spin, 
faster and faster, as he scrambles,  
jumping the arm on each pass, 
blue and land whirling to white. 
 
All Gary hears is a high-pitched whistle –  
then nothing.

I is for Ibis with an Inkwell, by Kirsten Bomblies (USA) 2021

​Ibis with an Inkwell 
 
My dear Itsuhiko, – 
 
Unless anything happens to change my plans, 
I propose to fly to Japan tomorrow. 
It has been a long time since  
we met in Uttar Pradesh, 
all those summers ago. 
 
I remember the day that  
you built me a nest in a saltwater marsh, 
a solid construction of carefully chosen sticks, 
lined with silvergrass and silken threads; 
how we nuzzled together at night. 
 
A lot has happened since then. 
I settled down with an antiquarian, 
surrounded by relics and rare books, 
including (you may be interested) 
Browning’s own copy of Pauline (Saunders and Ottley, 1833). 
 
My antiquarian, himself an antique, 
sadly passed away last winter. 
I put the collection on eBay, 
got enough to pay for a pond of my own 
in its own private wood. 
 
Life’s been good but, my dear, 
I always wondered what would have happened 
if the monsoon had not come that day, 
if you and I had not been washed away.  
 
My head is black from drinking the ink; 
I cry black tears when I write. 
I hope that you can read this; 
I hope that you are there. 
 
Until tomorrow, my dear Itsuhiko 
 

K is for Kite and a Kite, by Kirsten Bomblies (USA) 2021

Kite and a Kite 
 
Bridle and tail, 
lift and drag; 
she is tethered  
by an invisible hand. 
 
He is entranced 
by her abstraction, 
the familiarity  
of her form. 
 
She has his colours, 
yet is translucent; 
the sunlight shines  
through her wings.  
 
He flies below her, 
shadows her; 
is solid between her  
and the Earth. 
 
He watches her soar and glide, 
shifts in her ghostly shadow: 
the doubles and seconds 
of real things. 
 ​

N is for Newt on a Novel, by Kirsten Bomblies (USA) 2021

​Newt on a novel 
 
You know, this book is really not that good.  
 
It is not about l’amour du triton, 
affairs of the salamander, 
the rapture of the fast-flowing stream. 
 
It is not about how newts can regenerate  
arms, legs,  
even tears of the heart. 
 
It is not about exothermic love, 
or the bed of a river, 
the deep blue ocean, 
where newts are at one with each other. 
 
It is about a Kaiser Mountain Newt held captive, 
fed on blackworms, bloodworms, 
second instar banded crickets; 
 
his biography, from hatchling to eft; 
how he became a preacher of water; 
how the water vanished into the sky. 
 
The pages of the book are soaked, curling. 
 
Anne Osbourn

Anne Osbourn: "I am a plant scientist based in Norwich. I started writing poetry in 2004 when on sabbatical in the School of Literature and Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia as a National Endowment for Science, Technology and the Arts Dream Time Fellow. My poems have been published in poetry magazines and international science journals. My first poetry book Mock Orange (SPM Publications) was a winner in the 2018 Sentinel Poetry Book Competition. I am also the founder of the Science, Art and Writing Trust (www.sawtrust.org), an educational charity that uses science as a meeting place for interdisciplinary adventures.

​Kirsten Bomblies: "I am a professor in genetics and evolutionary plant biology based at the Swiss Federal Technical University (ETH) in Zürich Switzerland. I have been drawing my whole life. 1992-1996 I worked part time as an illustrator in palaeobotany and palaeontology to pay the bills while at university; this started my love affair with ink illustration. My fascination for combining human-associated objects with animals began fairly recently – while I lived in Norwich five years ago; the Alliterative Animal Alphabet followed as a two-year project, finished in 2020. Art is where I find respite from an intense daily life, which is why I generally reserve it as a hobby – to protect my love for it. "