Dark Emperor and Other Poems of the Night

by Joyce Sidman

  Dark Emperor & Other Poems of the Night

  Joyce Sidman

  * * *

  Dark Emperor & Other Poems of the Night

  * * *

  Written by Joyce Sidman

  * * *

  Illustrated by Rick Allen

  * * *

  Houghton Mifflin Books for Children

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Boston New York 2010

  * * *

  To Gabe, my brave woodsman, who knows the night.—J.S.

  For Herself, and those other few too dear to name.—R.N.A.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Joyce Sidman

  Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Rick Allen

  The artist wishes to acknowledge our Kenspeckle assistant and colleague Janelle Miller,

  without whose invaluable help he might still be staring at a pile of blank blocks in irresolute despair.

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,

  write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Houghton Mifflin Books for Children is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in Hightower and The Sans.

  The prints in this book were made by the process of relief printing. A drawing or sketch is transferred onto a block of wood or,

  in this instance, a sheet of linoleum mounted on wood, and the drawing is then cut and carved away using a variety of tools.

  The areas left uncut are covered with ink and printed on paper by hand or on a press; a number of blocks can be cut and then

  successively printed in different colors, with the different blocks being "registered" or aligned to create a multicolored print.

  The prints for Dark Emperor were each printed from at least three blocks (and in some instances as many as six) and then hand-

  colored with a strongly pigmented watercolor called gouache. There are definitely faster methods of making a picture,

  but few more enjoyable in a backwards sort of way.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sidman, Joyce.

  Dark emperor and other poems of the night / written by Joyce Sidman ; illustrated by Rick Allen.

  p. cm. ISBN 978-0-547-15228-8

  1. Night—Juvenile poetry. 2. Children's poetry, American. I. Title.

  PS3569.I295D37 2010 811'.54—dc22 2009049696

  Manufactured in Singapore

  TWP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500220973

  * * *

  Contents

  [>] WELCOME TO THE NIGHT

  [>] SNAIL AT MOONRISE

  [>] LOVE POEM OF THE PRIMROSE MOTH

  [>] DARK EMPEROR

  [>] OAK AFTER DARK

  [>] NIGHT-SPIDER'S ADVICE

  [>] I AM A BABY PORCUPETTE

  [>] CRICKET SPEAKS

  [>] THE MUSHROOMS COME

  [>] BALLAD OF THE WANDERING EFT

  [>] BAT WRAPS UP

  [>] MOON'S LAMENT

  [>] GLOSSARY

  Welcome to the Night

  To all of you who crawl and creep,

  who buzz and chirp and hoot and peep,

  who wake at dusk and throw off sleep:

  Welcome to the night.

  To you who make the forest sing,

  who dip and dodge on silent wing,

  who flutter, hover, clasp, and cling:

  Welcome to the night!

  Come feel the cool and shadowed breeze,

  come smell your way among the trees,

  come touch rough bark and leathered leaves:

  Welcome to the night.

  The night's a sea of dappled dark,

  the night's a feast of sound and spark,

  the night's a wild, enchanted park.

  Welcome to the night!

  As night falls, the nocturnal world wakes. Mice begin to stir, moths flutter into the starlight, and deer step out from hidden places to roam and forage. Having rested all day in a hollow tree, the raccoon lumbers down at dusk to search for food. Curious, intelligent, and omnivorous, the raccoon has nimble front paws that are good for digging, climbing, and prying open almost anything. Its well-developed sense of touch—almost unparalleled in the mammal world—serves it well in the darkness. Making its unhurried way across the forest, the raccoon forages by feel—inside a log (for insects), down a hole (for eggs), even underwater (for frogs or crayfish).

  Snail at Moonrise

  Each night, Snail

  unhooks himself from earth,

  climbs a slick trail of silver

  up, up

  the horizon of log,

  up stems of leaves

  to their dewy tips,

  seeking

  with his tiny sandpaper tongue

  morsels of green

  to mix in his dark, moist body

  and spin

  into whorls of light.

  Shell-maker

  Moon-maker

  gleaming silver-bright.

  Each night:

  darkness

  into

  light.

  Night is cooler, wetter, and (in some ways) safer for many animals. Woodland snails, for example, have moist, sluglike bodies that are in constant danger of drying out. During the day, they hide in damp places under logs and stones, but at night they emerge to search for food, riding on a cushion of slime, which protects them from sharp objects. They do not chew, but rather scrape plant material into their mouths with a tongue that is covered by rows of tiny teeth. Young snails add a layer to their shells each night. While they feed, their bodies produce a special material that hardens at the lip of the shell, extending and widening its perfectly spiral shape.

  Love Poem of the Primrose Moth

  Evening unfolds like a primrose,

  pale and scented.

  The moon, a primrose:

  two faces glowing.

  Which is sweeter: night flight

  or the nectar of a primrose?

  I have only one true love:

  it is the primrose.

  At dawn, I fold my sherbet-colored wings

  and become

  a primrose.

  Since it's difficult to see in the dark, night creatures use other senses to move through their world: smell, touch, hearing—even taste. The plumelike antennae of night-flying moths actually "smell" the air, guiding moths to both mates and food. The dainty primrose moth—barely half an inch long—is drawn to the smell of one particular flower: the evening primrose, the petals of which open at dusk. Primrose moth caterpillars feed only on evening primrose leaves, and adult moths stay near this night-blooming flower, sipping its nectar and pollinating it in the process. During the day, they cling to its stems, perfectly camouflaged: the exact rosy-yellow color of an evening primrose bud.

  Dark Emperor

  Perched missile,

  almost invisible, you

  preen silent feathers,

  swivel your sleek satellite

  dish of head. What fills the

  cool moons of your mesmerizing

  eyes? What waves of sound

  funnel toward those waiting

  ears? What symphonies of

  squeaks and skitters, darts

  and rustles, swell the vast,

  breathing darkness of your

  realm? O Dark Emperor

  of hooked face and

  hungry eye: turn that

  awful beak away

  from me;

  disregard

&nbs
p; the tiny hiccup

  of my heart

  as I flee.

  Nocturnal animals have specially adapted senses for hunting. Whereas raccoons use extrasensitive paws to feel for prey, great horned owls have huge eyes and extraordinary hearing; their wide, flat faces channel sound toward two large ear cavities on the sides of their head. They can also swivel their head more than halfway in either direction, although not all the way around. As night falls, the great horned owl moves from its deep-woods roost to a high perch near the forest's edge. With eyes and ears a hundred times more sensitive than a human's, it scouts for anything from salamanders to mice to rabbits. Like other owls', its feathers are soft-edged, so it can fly silently and pounce without warning on unsuspecting prey.

  Oak After Dark

  As nighttime rustles at my knee,

  I stand in silent gravity

  and quietly continue chores

  of feeding leaves and sealing pores.

  While beetles whisper in my bark,

  while warblers roost in branches dark,

  I stretch my roots into the hill

  and slowly, slowly, drink my fill.

  A thousand crickets scream my name,

  yet I remain the same, the same.

  I do not rest, I do not sleep,

  and all my promises I keep:

  to stand while all the seasons fly,

  to anchor earth,

  to touch the sky.

  Although they don't look it, trees—like most plants—are constantly busy. All day, they change sunlight into food through a process called photosynthesis. They grow new branches, and give off oxygen and moisture. Their leaves are nibbled, twigs broken, and bark attacked by insects and fungi. Nighttime—when food production shuts down—is the time for recovery and repair. The roots of oaks and other trees take in extra water at night to make up for daytime's loss, and distribute it—along with food the leaves have made—through a complex system of "veins." Trees also grow new roots at night, and repair themselves by sealing off wound sites and strengthening newly formed leaves.

  Night-Spider's Advice

  Build a frame

  and stick to it,

  I always say.

  Life's a circle.

  Just keep going around.

  Do your work, then

  sit back and see

  what falls in your lap.

  Eat your triumphs,

  eat your mistakes:

  that way your belly

  will always be full.

  Use what you have.

  Rest when you need to.

  Dawn will come soon enough.

  Someone has to remake

  the world each night.

  It might as well be you.

  Many insects are busy after dark: hunting for food, attracting mates, or laying eggs. Some spiders are nocturnal, too. The orb spider builds a new spiral-shaped web each night, often in the same spot and using the same anchor threads. Web silk—an incredibly strong, elastic thread—is formed as a liquid inside the spider's body and pulled out from six "spinnerets" in its abdomen. Each spinneret produces a different kind of silk: some strong, some silky, some for making egg sacs. When web-making, the spider first lays down spoke threads, which will serve as walkways. Then it weaves a spiral of sticky silk to snag night insects such as flies, moths, and mosquitoes. Toward dawn, after a night of hunting, most orb spiders eat their damaged webs, which provide nutrients for a fresh batch of silk.

  I Am a Baby Porcupette

  I am a baby porcupette.

  My paws are small; my nose is wet.

  And as I nurse against my mom,

  we mew and coo a soft duet.

  I am a baby porcupette.

  I cannot climb up branches yet.

  While Mom sleeps in the trees, I curl

  beneath a log till sun has set.

  I am a baby porcupette.

  I nibble in the nighttime wet:

  a sprig of leaves, a tuft of grass,

  in hidden spots I won't forget.

  I am a baby porcupette.

  My fur is soft; my eyes are jet.

  But I can deal with any threat:

  I raise my quills

  and pirouette.

  Nocturnal animal babies must learn the ways of the night from their parents in order to survive. A baby porcupine—called a porcupette—spends the day hidden under a stone or log while its mother sleeps on a branch above. When evening falls, the mother comes down to greet her baby, and the two "sing" to each other while the porcupette nurses. As the mother forages, she leads her baby to delicacies such as raspberry leaves or tender twigs. The porcupette also practices climbing on small logs, to prepare for a life in the trees. If danger approaches, he instinctively whirls around and lashes out with a tail already filled with quills. Within four months, the porcupette has become a full-grown porcupine, ready to wander the nighttime woods on his own.

  Cricket Speaks

  All day

  I wandered through

  the quiet,

  napping and gnawing.

  Waiting for the

  first chirp,

  the quickening voices,

  the raucous scrape

  of wing against wing.

  Now

  it is midnight,

  the trilling hour,

  and all I want

  is to feel the thick heat

  on the hard case of my body

  and sing,

  sing,

  till the branches tremble

  and life

  swells

  to a single

  searing,

  unstoppable

  sound.

  Night in the woods is noisy. Tree frogs chirp, owls hoot, and bears rustle through the underbrush. One of the loudest and longest-lasting sounds is the call of the male cricket. Crickets' wings are not for flying, but rather for making music. One wing has a "file"—with serrated teeth like a comb—which is rubbed against a hard "scraper" on the other wing to attract a mate. The resulting sound is called stridulation, and in the late summer and early autumn, it can swell to deafening levels—peaking at about midnight, then diminishing toward morning. Amazingly, female crickets (who don't stridulate, but make only soft sounds) have the ability to pick out a mate from all those calls, based on the length and strength of his song. Crickets are more active in warm weather; in fact, in 1897, a scientist named A. E. Dolbear worked out a formula to calculate outside temperature based on how fast a tree cricket trills!

  The Mushrooms Come

  From moss and loam

  the mushrooms come.

  From bark on trees,

  from crumbling logs,

  from musty leaves,

  the mushrooms come.

  From vast pale networks

  underground

  they shoulder up

  without a sound;

  they spread their damp

  umbrella tops

  and loose their spores

  with silent pops.

  Unbuttoning the forest floor,

  the mushrooms come,

  the mushrooms come.

  Like noses pink

  in midnight air,

  like giants' ears,

  like elfin hair,

  like ancient cities

  built on cliffs,

  the mushrooms come,

  the mushrooms come.

  Mushrooms are not plants; they belong to their own kingdom, Fungi. Plants need sunlight to grow and make energy, but mushrooms do not—they live on decaying matter such as rotting logs, stumps, and leaves. They grow beneath the surface in a tangled mass of rootlike hairs. When temperature and moisture conditions are just right—often at night—some of these "hairs" begin to swell and push their way out of soil or bark, appearing as the visible part of a mushroom. One mushroom can produce up to two billion spores (reproductive cells), which pop from the closely packed gills beneath the mushroom's cap and drift out over the forest floor. Mushrooms pr
ovide food for insects and animals alike, and many have fantastical names based on their appearance, such as tree ears, worm coral, and inky cap. Some—like the death cap or destroying angel—are poisonous to humans.

  Ballad of the Wandering Eft

  Come all you young efts,

  so brave and so bold,

  and don the bright colors

  of scarlet and gold.

  Step out from your puddles

  to breathe the sweet air

  and wander the woodlands

  with hardly a care.

  For it's wild and it's windy

  way out in the woods,

  where the moss grows like candy

  and the hunting is good,

  where the rain falls from heaven

  and mud's underfoot.

  It's wild and it's windy

  way out in the woods.

  In the moonlight you'll journey;

  through the day you will roam;

  you'll crawl over tree roots

  and wade through the loam.

  You'll rove till you're weary,

  then return to the pond,

  where you'll dream of your life

  as an eft vagabond.

  For it's wild and it's windy

  way out in the woods,

  where the moss grows like candy

  and the hunting is good,

  where the rain falls from heaven

  and mud's underfoot.

  It's wild and it's windy

  way out in the woods.

  Some woodland creatures are active both day and night. Red efts—like other newts and salamanders—must keep their skin moist to survive, so they roam mostly at night when it is damp. But often, after a summer rain, efts will venture into the wet daytime woods to hunt small grubs and insects. Their bright orange-red color protects them; it warns predators (such as bullfrogs or raccoons) of the toxic chemicals in their skin. Red efts are actually the land-dwelling stage of the red-spotted newt. Newts are born in the water, and, after two to four years as a land-roving eft, they fade to an olive green color, return to the water, and grow gills once again. Their roaming days are over.