Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy
and
very important day
for
the goldfinches
that
have gathered
in
a field of thistles
for
a musical battle,
to
see who can sing
the
highest note,
or
the lowest,
or
the most expressive of mirth,
or
the most tender?
Their
strong, blunt beaks
drink
the air
as
they strive
melodiously
not
for your sake
and
not for mine
and
not for the sake of winning
but
for sheer delight and gratitude—
believe
us, they say,
it
is a serious thing
just
to be alive
on
this fresh morning
in
the broken world.
I
beg of you,
do
not walk by
without
pausing
to
attend to this
rather
ridiculous performance.
It
could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be
what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You
must change your life
--by Mary Oliver
The goldfinches in this poem are probably American Goldfinches (photo above), seen in the eastern United States among other places. They are different (ornithologists insist) from the goldfinches in Europe, where in medieval times (according to poet W.S. Merwin) they were symbols of eternal life.
The American goldfinch was a familiar and always happy sight in the western Pennsylvania of my childhood, and is still a visitor to my sister Kathy's backyard there. So I've lamented the obvious absence of the bright red cardinals and bright yellow goldfinches here on the far North Coast of California. But it turns out we have a species of goldfinches that at least pass through on the Arcata flyway: the Lawrence goldfinch (photo below), a smaller bird that resembles the larger siskins in coloration. So without knowing it, I have seen flocks of these goldfinches briefly visiting our backyard and pecking at seeds before they move on to their mountain habitats.
Still I miss the bold gold and black of the goldfinches I knew, though I can't say I saw more than one or two at a time, and so missed this collective song, though I too am alive in this broken world.
