It is to my great delight that my much loved Chinese Silky chickens are becoming famous, inspiring both poetry and portraiture.

The enigmatic Brisbane-based poet Paul Squires (of Gingatao and Puzzle Box infamy) started this chook veneration trend with his poem ‘Gabrielle Bryden listening to Oscar-Peterson’.

Then artist Benedicte Delachanel of the blog Carnet des dessins drew the most amazing pictures of my two finest hens – Pompadour (the silkie with the finest pom pom) and Snowy (the pure white hen). Here is a copy of the lovely creation by this talented artist.

Fellow blogger and artist extraordinaire Aletha Kuschan was slightly distressed to discover that her hamsters were being treated with discrimination, possibly because they are bouffant challenged, and that no poetry was being written about the little munchkins. Her poetic response to Mr Squires is worthy of note:

I am so jealous. I know about the difference between Anne Sophie Mutter’s carefully choreographed swaying and Didier Lockwood’s exuberant playing! Can I help it that I have ten hamsters? Okay, the chickens are very fine chinoiserie, and hamsters are not so poetic, but I’m not asking for a sonnet or anything, but maybe just a couple of couplets in iambic pentameter?

I am most pleased to inform you of a happy ending to this story as Benedicte deigned to draw the adorable hamsters and Aletha herself drew a beautiful picture of Blanca (the hamster with the mostest) and wrote a limerick about the beautiful beasty.

All is well that ends well. Here’s to chook and hamster veneration.

9 thoughts on “Fame for silkie chickens but hamsters sidelined!

  1. Sure is. If I write a kids book with silkies as characters than I know where to look for an illustrator. Hope you haven’t got swine flu!

  2. Hi Gabrielle,
    I am more at ease expressing myself with little doodles but I have no idea how to do it in a comment box…What can I say? Merci beaucoup.

  3. Well, here’s another poem dedicated to your fabulous chickens Gabrielle.

    A Clucky Muse
    A.S. Patric

    The kind of chicken
    that only takes seed from my hand
    runs sentences headless, bodiless into words
    flutters into pecked poems, roosts in hen-house heads
    flying just high enough for the majestic taste of flight

  4. What’s going on! Well that is just a fabulous poem Alec – thank you indeed – that last sentence is terrific.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s