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    The White Bird
    The White Bird
    The White Bird
    Ebook118 pages30 minutes

    The White Bird

    By William Bernhardt

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    About this ebook

    Readers can open any page in this book at random and realize that William Bernhardt is a poet of the rarest kind - one who can communicate grace, humanity, and shared experience without the obscurity and obfuscation that sometimes causes people to avoid modern poetry. His everyman approach and direct language draws in readers who might normally never give a poem a second glance.

    Drawing inspiration from forebears such as Billy Collins and Robert Frost, Bernhardt creates a unique voice that is at once accessible and profound.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBabylon Books
    Release dateOct 1, 2017
    ISBN9780999342060
    The White Bird
    Author

    William Bernhardt

    William Bernhardt (b. 1960), a former attorney, is a bestselling thriller author. Born in Oklahoma, he began writing as a child, submitting a poem about the Oklahoma Land Run to Highlights—and receiving his first rejection letter—when he was eleven years old. Twenty years later, he had his first success, with the publication of Primary Justice (1991), the first novel in the long-running Ben Kincaid series. The success of Primary Justice marked Bernhardt as a promising young talent, and he followed the book with seventeen more mysteries starring the idealistic defense attorney, including Murder One (2001) and Hate Crime (2004). Bernhardt’s other novels include Double Jeopardy (1995) and The Midnight Before Christmas (1998), a holiday-themed thriller. In 1999, Bernhardt founded Bernhardt Books (formerly HAWK Publishing Group) as a way to help boost the careers of struggling young writers. In addition to writing and publishing, Bernhardt teaches writing workshops around the country. He currently lives with his family in Oklahoma. 

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      Book preview

      The White Bird - William Bernhardt

      Scratches

      This is how it begins:

      scratches on signs, on blocks

      on a white page. Then the

      scratches start to dance. They

      recombinate, they collect sounds

      they call your name.

      Like so much in childhood

      they are ciphers, full of secrets

      but once you learn the dance

      the mysteries of this world

      and more, are revealed.

      You learn to read.

      You learn:

      manners from Goldilocks

      curiosity from George

      gluttony from Peter

      nonsense from Alice.

      You set sail with Jim Hawkins, raft with Huck

      and row with Mole.

      Love is eternal, Catherine tells you

      But so is madness, says the first Mrs. Rochester.

      Jeeves helps you laugh

      poetry helps you cry

      Atticus shows you how to do both, with courage.

      Not only have the scratches shaped the world

      they have shaped your world.

      They have taught you how to see.

      Now you need never be afraid.

      Now you will never be alone.

      In the darkest night

      in the deepest solitude

      the scratches will call to you.

      You will open the covers.

      They will reach out their arms and say,

      You thought you were the only one?

      The Professor

      In the beginning there was the Word

      and the Word became my life.

      When I left Pittsburgh as a boy

      I had no idea what it meant

      to read, to write, to teach

      to compete

      but I learned.

      I wrote a love poem to woo my lady

      and she agreed she would be mine

      if I would give up writing poetry.

      I go to class armed with my quotations, my books

      and my bow tie

      but I spend the summers writing

      four books in forty years.

      What does it matter if anyone has read them

      or even reviewed them?

      They are good books

      and I have poured the strength and soul

      of so many summers into them.

      Haven’t I earned a little recognition?

      Haven’t I at least earned a footnote

      in the dissertation

      of the next young man from Pittsburgh?

      Blessings

      After he carves the turkey I

      lead the group giving thanks

      like an acceptance speech

      at the Oscars.

      I’d like to thank TLF for

      teaching me how to love

      in the back seat of my father’s white Cadillac

      Harry, for teaching me strength

      Mother, for teaching me how to dress

      don’t I look sharp in my Armani tux

      with the stud instead of a bow tie?

      I’d like to thank Joe Blades for

      liking my stories even

      the stupid ones

      and all the little people

      who are actually huge

      Readers out in Readerland

      who make it all possible

      by reading my books even

      the stupid ones

      and that librarian who first shoved a book

      into my myopic view

      I’d like to thank everyone who lends my life spice

      you know who you are

      I want to thank—Wait! Don’t

      start the music yet

      I’m not finished.

      --the carver, for teaching me

      who I didn’t want to be

      Alice, for teaching me

      who I did want to be

      Ralph, for reminding me who I was.

      A groundswell of applause begins

      but I bat it down with my hands.

      Most of all, I want to thank

      the people gathered around this table

      we are all hurting

      but at least today we are all hurting together.

      Mystery Story

      Every now and again I catch

      a glimpse of myself

      we all do it

      a fleeting

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