Scarecrow Visits a Wheatfield in Auvers

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Wheatfield with Crows

Scarecrow Visits a Wheatfield in Auvers

The corvids claim he was a crow. A man,
but still a crow, who knew the faith of grain
and light, the atomic distinction
between stillness and the wind’s first
flutter, the shape of loneliness and dark
skies parted by song and wing. He was
a vanishing point, and all-seeing eye.
Or, perhaps, dare I say, one of my kind,
separated from his base, destined
to observe, to record in bold,
thick strokes the hues that words
can only negate. In each of his fields,
celebration blossoms. We see what lurks
beneath the surface—that boy
walking outside the frame, a cat
behind the church—conversation
beyond speech. And in the sky, our sky,
crows suspended in directionless glory,
flying to and from, in simplicity, black
on blue and gold, above the wheat, without end.

This poem is special to me, as it represents success, such as that exists in the poetry world, on multiple levels. I wrote it as part of a fundraiser for Brick Street Poetry, a local non-profit poetry organization, and I am in great debt to Kerfe Roig for providing the inspiration, and original title, “Scarecrow Visits Van Gogh’s Wheatfield in Auvers.” The poem popped out, rather magically, almost as you see it here, in perhaps an hour. Then a few months later, a miracle happened—it was accepted for publication in The Threepenny Review, one of my white whales, an unattainable, if ever there was. Threepenny is known for quick responses. My previous two submissions were rejected in one day and two days. I expected the same for this, and was pleasantly surprised to make it to day three. And then I received the acceptance! Eight months later it appeared in print, nestled next to a story by Wendell Berry (!), and among works by Charles Simic and Philip Lopate, among others. I am still pinching myself…

50 thoughts on “Scarecrow Visits a Wheatfield in Auvers”

  11. Marvelous! Both the poem and your account of its timeline.
    Your “in the sky, our sky, / crows suspended in directionless glory, / flying to and from, in simplicity” makes me want to be one of those free crows choosing to swoop down, sit on the scarecrow’s shoulder, offer camaraderie!

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  16. An inspired poem ✨️ when I lived in Paris (almost 20 years ago?!?!) I was either too broke or too busy working in a low paid job to travel out of the city, with the exception of a train trip to Auvers Sur Oise. It felt like a pilgrimage and a portal into Van Gogh’s world ❣️

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  18. Used to thinking of crows in poetry as part of the indigenous Southwest along with Coyote. Dare I mention Don Juan/Carlos Castenada. Startling to see the corvid consciousness perched in its European landscape. Very nice, surprising, delightful!

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  19. Scarecrow is already magic, so why not add a miracle to his portfolio? The poem is like flight itself, and of course makes me think of “Ka”… Congratulations and happiest of holidays, RO!

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  20. Beautiful poem. I’m hearing/seeing crows in rides around this end of the year and oddly warm city. I think they believe we understand their language–or at least they keep shouting at us ever more loudly, thinking we’re just hard of hearing.

    I think too of the other scarecrow poems I’ve read here over time–and of you, who stuffed and clothed them.

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  22. The lovely, mystical crow is my spirit creature. There was a protected wetland across from my last home, where the crows would gather, to sway in the top branches of the towering trees. As you probably know, crows can learn and recognize faces, among other things. Eventually, when I would return home from wherever, their cawing would begin, letting each other know that… there she is 🙂 I love your way with words. All poets are special, but there are some that simply have a magical way of creating descriptions in styles that speak, not from having been learned, but instead, are innate. Thanks for sharing.

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    • Thank you for your kind words! We are fortunate to live within the territory of three crows. Despite not being an early riser, I love hearing them greet sunrise, and watching them do their mysterious crow things. They certainly have made our lives richer!

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