The artist and the raven

A copy of this poem was handed to me in the Tulugak Bar last Saturday night. The person identified himself as A. Tulugaarjuk, a relative of the recently deceased.

I feel it is in the public interest, and to honour the memory of a distinguished raven that this poem should be made available to the people and ravens of Nunavut.

Sincerely,
Another Tulugak

The artist and the raven

A moral tale

A raven walked upon the land
By the light of the setting sun.
She looked for a place to rest her bones,
Knowing her days were done.

An ominous figure before her sat,
(Ominous, that is for a bird)
Gazing with a blank and meaningful gaze,
As artists do, at a turd.

“Oops,” thought the Raven, “This could be trouble,
For they always offer you crumbs.
I’ll take my chance with my broken wing,
Then hang around with human bums.”

“Come with me,” the artist said.
“Don’t worry, I know what to do.”
“What are my options?” the Raven asked.
But the answer he already knew.

With flashing lights and paper trails,
The gentlemen seized the bird.
They killed it dead, filled out the forms,
And that’s how it all occurred.

Now gentle reader, don’t be harsh,
Don’t judge that this is absurd.
The major error the gentlemen made,
They went and got the wrong bird!

Ravens are ravens and men are men,
And I swear I never did met,
A raven that posed as an artist,
Or a man with black feathers and beak.

A. Tulugaarjuk
Iqaluit