Common Sense	Common Sense Archive

Many years back, at a time I was a wee tot, I had a transformative experience. I was three or four years old, living with my family in Rocky River, Ohio, my homeland. It was an April day, that first truly warm and gorgeous spring day. I opened the screen door, which went from our kitchen into the backyard. This is when it happened-- think Dorothy Gale opening the front door of the tempest-tossed house once it crashed down in Munchkinland. As I entered the back yard, I watched the birds darting about, singing to themselves and to each other. Some chased winged insects. It occurred to me in a flash that this wonderful scenario was in no way centered on my ego, nor even my existence; it was a thing of beauty in and of itself, completely independent of me, except in my role as spectator. The birds had an empire of their own. I was so struck by this sudden awareness, I ran inside and tugged at the hem of my mother's skirt-- she was busy in the kitchen-- and I, highly agitated, blurted out: "Mommy! Mommy! The birdies is tweetin'!"

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My wisdom was not original nor particularly profound-- my dear, I was only three or four-- but it was mine nonetheless. And I think I have always been grateful to the birdies for this seminal and important insight-- that no one of us is that important in the Big Picture, and that the ego-centric world we each create is a tiny and useless thing-- heading to the world-view of Thoreau long before I knew it, and hating the ascendant world of the Entertainment Mavens, wherein egocentrism is the total spin.

I went on with my life as a tot, among family, into school, into High Skool, the scariest terrain, and only after that, back to the knowledge of the birdies, the un-ego.

Then there are the birdies themselves. I am not a birder, and have trouble identifying most avian species. I am a city boy, and see only those birdies that easily cohabit with the people-- though I recall a dinner in the backyard of my brother's home one summer night. I was sitting next to some luscious flowering plant and this exquisite periwinkle-blue hummingbird, smaller than a cigarette, flew in near me to enjoy the bounty of the bloom. I was completely taken. The birdies have been around far longer than our odd species and may be the descendants or cousins of the big-guy dinosaurs. No one seems to actually know from where came the birdies.

Yet, the birdies don't always command the respect they may deserve. "Bird-brain" is a phrase in our language with a negative connotation. I recall that the late poet Allen Ginsberg has a poem called "Bird Brain." In it he makes fun of the people he dislikes-- CIA-types, Generals, Politicians, etc.-- and he uses the term "bird-brain" as a broad brush to demean them-- actually, Allen used a similar effect with better results in "The Ballad of the Skeletons," which you will find in his posthumous book Death & Fame: Last Poems 1993-1997. Allen, whom I have always admired in a general cultural way, even recorded "Bird Brain" with some hip New York City band that was fashionable at the moment. I have heard the recording-- back when it was issued on an LP in the early 80s.

It is embarrassing. The poet Edward Field once noted, "Allen Ginsberg took up a lot of space." And I know it's hard, if you go downtown, like AG did, to avoid the vibrant youth culture on your doorstep. But might it just be possible that AG pandered to that culture just a wee bit too much?

At any rate, if Allen got the birdies wrong, and created a sensation with his "Bird Brain" poem/performance piece, can you trust him it all? Brigid Brophy, in writing about Virginia Woolf, noted that Woolf, in one of her novels, has a character opening a champagne bottle with a corkscrew! Brophy then wondered if a writer can get something so basic so wrong, is she trustworthy on the more weighty matters of ethics, sensibility, and judgment? Can we extend the same question to Allen Ginsberg?

Yes, the birdies have small brains. Those small brains do by them quite well. Humans suffer the problem of the large brain. What has it done for us? Are we so wonderful? Why do we have this big brain, children born with these huge heads, so large some women giving birth can't get the fatheads out the hole? Our big brains and opposable thumbs have given us "civilization," yes, the paintings in the Vatican, if such be your measure, a gesture to the art queans, or, more likely, to my evaluation, a species that builds pens to feed, fatten, and then slaughter other animals for our gluttony, leading to colon cancer. It's always touching that various tribes in the human race think there must a be a God out there who will take care of, look after us, etc. More ego-centric wish-fulfillment.

I think it's more in the line of a lesson from the other species, in gay life particularly, some being like the robin, some the blue jay, some the swallow, some, alas-- each theater has its clean-up crew-- the vulture. Tweet, gobble, and be gone. Words to the wise. **

Author Profile:  Mitzel
	Mitzel was a founding member of the Fag Rag collective, and has been a Guide columnist since 1986. He manages Calamus Books near Boston's South Station.
	Email:	mitzel@calamusbooks.com
	Website:	calamusbooks.com