Reading

2 poems from Mary Oliver's Red Bird collection.

Red Bird

Red bird came all winter
firing up the landscape
as nothing else could.

Of course I love the sparrows,
those dun-colored darlings,
so hungry and so many.

I am a God-fearing feeder of birds.
I know He has many children,
not all of them bold in spirit.

Still, for whatever reason—
perhaps, because the winter is so long
and the sky so black-blue

or perhaps because the heart narrows
as often as it opens—
I am grateful

that red bird comes all winter
firing up the landscape
as nothing can do.

Invitation

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 thistle

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 the sheer delight and gratitude—
    believe us, they say,
       it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
    in this 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.

Mary Oliver: "Red Bird", "Invitation"