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Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

DANCING WITH DINOSAURS, by                 Poet's Biography

Carter Revard’s "Dancing with Dinosaurs" is an intricate meditation on evolution, survival, and the deep interconnections between ancient and present life. The poem weaves together scientific history, mythic transformation, and personal cultural heritage to trace the lineage of birds from their dinosaur ancestors to their enduring presence in ceremonial dance. By blending geological time with human tradition, Revard creates a vision of continuity, where past and present coexist in a shared rhythm of motion and song.

The first section of the poem unfolds as a cosmic origin story, moving fluidly from prehistoric earth to the migration of birds across vast distances. The opening line—“Before we came to earth, before the birds had come, they were dinosaurs”—immediately situates the poem in a deep temporal framework. The phrase “before we came to earth” implies not just human existence, but a larger spiritual or mythic arrival, as if life itself is something that enters the world rather than simply emerging from it. This perspective merges scientific understanding with Indigenous storytelling traditions, where transformation and ancestry are integral to identity.

The evolutionary leap from dinosaurs to birds is presented not as a mechanistic process but as an idea—“their feathers were a bright idea that came this way.” This personification of evolution suggests that nature itself is creative, intentional, and responsive. The poem then narrows its focus to two small creatures, witnesses to the end of the dinosaur era. These “two tiny creatures weighing two ounces each” represent resilience and adaptation in contrast to the violent, doomed “monsters” that “tear each other and disappear.” Their quiet observation signals a shift in power—survival will no longer belong to the massive, the fearsome, but to those who can adapt, those who will transform.

Revard’s imagery then follows these proto-birds through their epic migration, spanning eons and continents. As Pangaea begins to break apart, they look southward, watching the formation of the Atlantic Ocean. The poem’s movement through geological history is seamless—these creatures witness the forces that shape the earth itself while they ride the wind. Their journey is framed in sweeping, cinematic detail: they "spread / small wings to flutter out above surf-spray," soaring to immense altitudes, navigating darkness and moonlight, gliding past the "pink and snowy beaches of Bermuda" before turning southward on the Trade Winds. The description of “steel Leviathans with their mimic pines that call them down to rest and die” introduces a modern intrusion—ships on the ocean, false islands in a perilous journey. The birds must navigate both natural and human-made threats, emphasizing their endurance through time.

When they finally descend to the "surf of Venezuela," they are no longer mere birds—they have "become the Male and Female Singers, having put on their feathers and survived." This moment marks their true transformation, as they are now not just creatures of instinct but beings of song, symbols of resilience and endurance. Their journey mirrors a spiritual migration, an arrival into a new form of existence where their voices will carry forward their history.

The second section of the poem shifts into a deeply personal, ceremonial space, linking the migration of these ancient birds to the speaker’s own cultural inheritance. The speaker recalls being named a Thunder person and being told that this identity comes from a being "of whom you may make your body that you may live to see old age." This passage suggests a sacred connection between human survival and the life of birds, where existence itself is dependent on the wisdom and endurance of the natural world. The ceremonial dance, with its drumming and gourd rattles, is both a physical and spiritual continuation of this lineage.

Revard carefully contrasts the eagle feathers—symbols of honor that the speaker has not yet earned—with the "small birds only" whose feathers are woven into the gourd. These small birds, not the powerful eagles, are the ones whose lives have ensured continuity, whose spirits remain in the dance. The speaker acknowledges that their song and flight, learned long before humans arrived, have shaped the world’s rhythms. The dance becomes a way of honoring both the past and the future—"for each of us who dance" and for the "little girl being brought in, becoming one of us." The transmission of identity, survival, and cultural belonging is framed as a living inheritance, passed down just as the birds’ song and migration patterns have endured across time.

The poem’s closing lines are a powerful affirmation of continuity: “now they will sing and we are dancing with them, here.” The act of dancing is not merely symbolic but an active participation in the same forces that have shaped life since the age of dinosaurs. The speaker and the dancers do not merely observe or remember the past—they join it. The small birds, once dinosaurs, are now present in the dance, their song woven into human ceremony, their ancient journey still alive in the movement of people honoring their presence.

Revard’s "Dancing with Dinosaurs" masterfully collapses time, merging evolutionary history with human ritual to emphasize the interconnectedness of all life. The poem suggests that survival is not just about physical endurance but about transformation, about learning how to move with the rhythms of the earth rather than against them. Through its sweeping imagery and ceremonial conclusion, the poem affirms that the past is never truly lost—whether in the migration of birds, the traditions of a people, or the songs and dances that keep history alive, all life moves forward together, carried on the wings of those who came before.


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