By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.
His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse is so slow we think him dead.
He loops in crazy figures half the night.
Among the trees that face the corner light.
But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:
For something is amiss or out of place
When mice with wings can wear a human face.
[ ~ The Bat, Theodore Roethke ~
]
Bats are an ancient Asian symbol of immortality. At
All Hallows Eve, bats remind us that even though nature
seems to die now, it will return.
One night the King of the Bats invited the moon for a feast. Ms. Moon was cool and lovely and the Bat King admired her because he tended to stay out all night, like herself. He generously offered her a great piece of fish on an intricately cast, large silver tray.
The silver tray caught Moon's eye.
"Oh, how beautiful," Moon cooed, "can I keep it?"
The bat was shocked at Moon's boldness and said, "No... please ask for anything else."
Any time the bat invited Moon to his feast, he served her many delicious dishes. Always she desired to keep the silver tray for herself; always the bat king refused.
One night , Moon stole his tray and took it home. King bat could do nothing because bats are not strong.
Ever since that time, bats hang upside down with their bottoms toward the moon, to show her their contempt. And, of course, Ms. Moon hung the tray in her home. Look for the silvery disc at full moon in the nighttime sky. [ ~ A folktale from Africa ~ ]
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A bat is born naked and blind and pale.
His mother makes a pocket of her tail and catches him.
He clings to her long fur by his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And then the mother dances through the night doubling and looping, soaring,
somersaulting --
Her baby hangs on underneath.
All night, in happiness, she hunts and flies.
Her high sharp cries like shining needlepoints of sound go out into the night
and, echoing back, tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is, how big it is, which way it's going:
She lives by hearing.
The mother eats the moths and gnats she catches in full flight;
in full flight
The mother drinks the water of the pond she skims across.
Her baby hangs on tight.
Her baby drinks the milk she makes him in moonlight or starlight, in mid-air.
Their single shadow, printed on the moon or fluttering across the stars, whirls on all night; at daybreak the tired mother flaps home to her rafter.
The others are all there.
They hang themselves up by their toes, they wrap themselves in their brown wings.
Bunched upside-down, they sleep in air. Their sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their quick sharp faces are dull and slow and mild.
All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,
She folds her wings about her sleeping child.
[ ~
Bats, Randall Jarrell ~ ]
In Mexico, we honeymooned, my first
Time viewing the Pacific. Sunset dressed
A disenchanted evening as we dared
To peer across where barrenness can't be
As bearable as when, relieved by rocks,
Distinctive curving greens, one sure thing there
Reminds us our world hasn't been erased.
The moon stayed in. There's nothing light tonight.
Stiff bristled fear dug tracks in my scalp till
We plug extension cords in lamps, parade
Out on an Acapulco balcony
Like bridesmaids, hoping for some bats, their red
Machinery of appetite alive
This hour, ready to devour my edge
Of desolation. Batwings flap, a sound
Like crisp applause, but, spotting lights below,
Some hide a tiny face in their arms like
Shy children. It's so black, infernal all
Around, when this nocturnal choir rides.
Through wind, they speak to me, the antidote
To barrenness, forever pushing on
Despite the vast uncaring, steadying,
As if wings were things that released my day.
[ ~ Vespertilio ,
LindaAnn Loschiavo ~
]
How Bats Came to Be:
A North American Anishanabe Tale from the Eastern Forests
One morning that should have begun with sunrise remained completely dark. The world became cold, and the animals began to search for the sun. Clever little brown squirrel found the weak and pale sun trapped high in the branches of the tallest tree.
"I'll get you out," Squirrel said, and she began to chew the branches away from the sun. But the sun was so hot, it burned her tail away.
"I can't help you -- it's too hot here," Squirrel groaned.
But Sun pleaded, "Please, just a bit longer. Help me, little sister!"
Squirrel got closer and chewed away more branches, and Sun rose higher in the tree. The brightness was so intense, Squirrel's eyes began to be blinded.
"I can't go on, " she said. "I can hardly see."
"Just a bit longer," Sun begged. "You can do it!"
As Squirrel moved even closer, and gnawed the last branch free, Sun broke loose and rose into the sky. The animals cheered and the world became warm again. But little Squirrel was not happy. Her brown fur was burnt off, her body was black from the fire, and her eyes were so dazzled that she could barely see.
Sun felt very sorry for her: she had sacrificed so much to save him. Tenderly Sun asked Squirrel what he could do for her.
"Well, I always wanted to fly," she admitted.
Radiant Sun smiled down at Squirrel. "You will be able to fly even better than the birds! From now on, you will fly at night, since my light will always be too strong for you. Your nose will be so sensitive that you'll be able to smell your baby from hundreds of other such babies. Your echo voice will be so advanced that you will be able to find food in the darkest night. Your ears will be so strong that you will be able to hear everything all around you."
Squirrel excitedly dove off the branch , spread her new, leathery wings, and flew into the night.
And with that she became the first bat ever in the world.
[ ~ Adapted from Keepers of the Night
by Michael
Caduto & Joseph Bruchac ~ ]
Your bat tales are welcome here.
Send poems, stories, folklore, scientific tidbits, or anything else
on bats.
If you're not the author, please mention the original source.
Never disturb a hibernating bat!
Bats load up on all the calories they need to winter
over. Just a few minutes it takes for a bat to wake up early from hibernation
can burn all of its energy and it would surely starve.
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2,500 hundred years ago a Japanese artisan was inspired by the incredible jointed folds of bat wings to create the first folding fans.
Bat, Bat, come under my hat
And I'll give you a slice of bacon,
And when I bake,
I'll give you a cake... if I'm not mistaken.
[ ~ United States, traditional ~ ]
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