先日NHK BSで、ニューヨークのバードワッチャーたちの番組を見ました。 都心のセントラルパークに、限り知れない数の珍しい、美しい鳥たちが生息しているということです。望遠鏡を肩にかけ、カメラを手にグループで、その可愛らしい身振りや敏速な動きに思わず見とれて、都会暮らしのストレスを忘れ一瞬の癒しを得ているようです。
鳥たちの色鮮やかな映像の心地よい余韻を楽しんでいるうちに
昔詠んだ詩の一節を思い出しました。
「・・・降るなよ豪雨、
・・・吹くなよ暴風、
・・・静寂を破るなよ・・・」
「懸巣の授籃」という中西悟堂の長い詩の最後の一節から抜粋
したものです。中西悟堂（１８９５－１９８４）は日本野鳥の会創設者であると同時に歌人、詩人、随筆家等々幅広いタレントを遺憾なく発揮した、並外れた人物です。改めてその作品に触れ、エッセイを読んでその多才ぶりとスケールの大きさに驚嘆しました。
その長い詩に克明にそして切々と詠まれているのは、雛たちの神聖な褥となっている椀型の枝や苔で作られた榛の枝の巣、餌を運ぶ親鳥の切ない愛、それを見守る筆者の熱い想い等です。
それを傍らからそっと見守っている, 居ても立っても居られない様な焦燥感と喜び。私も昔そんな感慨を味わったことがあります。
家の軒にふと見つけた鳥の巣。その中にひしめき合って真っ赤な口を精一杯に開けている雛と、餌を与えにせっせと通う親鳥。それを見た時の温かい感動は、後にも先にもあまり経験したことがありません。
何十年前の感動が再び甦ってきてまた懐かしい想い出に浸る機会を得ました。親子の強い絆、雛たちの切磋琢磨、唯その一事になり切っている様等々に触れて、日常の中にふっと非日常の思いがいたるそんな出来事だったように思います。
悟堂氏のようにまさに鳥と屋内で共存し同じ目線で暮らすというのは難しいとしても、庭を訪れる鳥たちの醸し出すエネルギーに触発され、また無邪気な仕種に癒される、そういう場面に少しでも多く遭遇出来たならと思っています。
雛たちの褥（しとね）/Beds for the Chicks
The other day on NHK BS channel I watched a program on the birders in New York. A number of rare beautiful birds seem to be nesting in Central Park in the hub of the city.
A group of people with telescopes hung from their shoulders or cameras in their hands are unexpectedly captivated by their cute gestures or brisk movements. It must give the New Yorkers a momental healing in their stresssful urban living.
While drowned in the remaining sensation of the images of the colorful birds, a stanza of a poem read a long time ago dawned upon me:"...Let there be no torrential rain...
...Let not the storm blow up...
...Silence is not to be broken..."
A part of the last stanza of the long poem "Kakesu no Juran/Japanese Jay's Nest" by Godo Nakanishi(1895-1984) is quoted here.
He was the founder of Japan Wild Bird Society as well as a poet, a tanka poet, an essayinst etc.; He was an extraordinary figure fully displaying such numerous talents. I appreciated his poems and essays again and was totally astonished by his versatility and large caliber.
Closely and ardently expressed in the poem are a bowl-shaped nest on the branch of a hazel tree made of twigs and moss which was the sacred bed of the fledgelings, the almost heartrending love of their parent birds shuttling to feed their chicks, and the hot affection of the poet watching them.
It is every day of the three weeks in June until the chicks leave the nest that he wishfully repeats saying,"...Don't rain,
...Don't blow,...
...Don't break...".
Following the great movements of nature, they are born, fledge out and some day perish, which he intently watches close by and feel fidgety and restless as well as joyful.
I myself once went through the deep emotion like this when I happened to find a nest under the eaves of my house. The chicks were crowded in their nest with their beaks wide open in red to the utmost and their parent birds were frequenting their nest to feed them.
Never had or have I experienced such warm sensations before or after that incident of peeking in their nest. The emotion of decades ago came back into my mind to let me indulge in the sweet memories.
It seemed to be such an instant that an unusual sentiments arise in the routine, touched by the parent-and-child bond, friendly rivalry of the fledgelings, and their attitude of giving up themselves to one single thing.
It looks hard to coexist at home with birds and live on a level with them as Godo did. However, I would like to place myself in as many occasions as possible like being moved by the energy of the birds perching in my garden or healed by their innocent motions.
