Starlings in Winter (a poem by Mary Oliver)

Hey everyone,

I love December. I love the sound of the word! I love looking forward to the ​first snowfall​. I love the streets getting one then two then seven then twenty houses with ​Christmas lights glowing​. I love ​getting buried under piles of heavy blankets on a cold night​. I love ​wishing strangers happy holidays​.

And since I became a birder five years ago I certainly love the December birds. Many birds leave Toronto but many stay, too: ​Northern Cardinals​, ​Blue Jays​, ​Black-capped Chickadees​, ​Cooper's Hawks​, and, of course, ​European Starlings​.

Starlings are one of those birds that when you first start noticing them you suddenly start seeing everywhere. Puddles. Telephone wires. Brick holes in buildings. In dazzling murmurations over the highway.

European Starling via ​Birdfact​

I found this beautiful poem about Starlings from (who else!) Mary Oliver. Pair it with ​'Why Birds Matter' by Jonathan Franzen​ or ​'The Sun' by Mary Oliver​ or my article ​8 reasons why it's time to become a birdwatcher​.

---

Starlings in Winter

By ​Mary Oliver​

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

they are acrobats in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;

they float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard. I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.

"Leisure" — A poem by W. H. Davies

Hey everyone,

I hope you're finding a little bit of space this August.

I recently turned back to this 112-year-old poem called "Leisure" from W. H. Davies. I originally put it into The Happiness Equation and still find it a helpful prod to make sure I'm making time to make time.

I hope you find this helps you to take a moment to just stand and stare.

Neil

PS. If you know somebody who'd like my every-other-Wednesday Neil.blog Kinder Surprise email they can sign up right here.

Leisure

Written by W. H. Davies 

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Mother to Son by Langston Hughes

Written by Langston Hughes | Full poem here

I stumbled across this poem the other day and it struck me so I thought I’d share it.

Poem:

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

Written by Mary Oliver | Full poem here

Mary Oliver poems fill my heart with little doses of awe and appreciation. This one is no exception.

Poem:

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed
or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

Dust If You Must by Rose Milligan

Hey everyone,

My kids finish school for the holidays in two days and everything's feeling busy. I stumbled across this old poem from Rose Milligan to help remind me what's important. Take a moment to let something fall off your holiday list today and instead just enjoy a moment of connection or love.

Neil

PS. If you insist on loading up for the holidays I recommend checking out my (pandemic written) ​Holiday Gift Guide​. And, you know, nothing wrong with pulling off the spectacular ​Super Present Power Shop​, either.

---

Dust If You Must by Rose Milligan

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

---

Another way I keep focused on what matters is the Okinawan concept of ​ikigai​.

Not sure how to get everything done so you can spend time with your family this holiday season? ​Check out my tips​ on how to cut meeting time (and any other to-do!) in half.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

The Sun by Mary Oliver

Written by Mary Oliver | Full poem here

Mary Oliver poems fill my heart with little doses of awe and appreciation. This one is no exception.

Poem:

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

What You Missed That Day You Were Absent From Fourth Grade by Brad Modlin

Written by Brad Modlin | Full poem here

Thank you to reader Christine O’Leary who pointed me to this little poem by Brad Modlin, Chair of Creative Writing at the University of Nebraska and author of the poetry collection Everyone At This Party Has Two Names. This is one of those “read it again right after you read it” poems for me. I found it helped zoom out and above a lot of the “have tos” and “should dos” in life and focus a little more on what really matters.

Poem:

Mrs. Nelson explained how to stand still and listen
to the wind, how to find meaning in pumping gas,

how peeling potatoes can be a form of prayer. She took
questions on how not to feel lost in the dark

After lunch she distributed worksheets
that covered ways to remember your grandfather’s

voice. Then the class discussed falling asleep
without feeling you had forgotten to do something else—

something important—and how to believe
the house you wake in is your home. This prompted

Mrs. Nelson to draw a chalkboard diagram detailing
how to chant the Psalms during cigarette breaks,

and how not to squirm for sound when your own thoughts
are all you hear; also, that you have enough.

The English lesson was that I am
is a complete sentence.

And just before the afternoon bell, she made the math equation
look easy. The one that proves that hundreds of questions,

and feeling cold, and all those nights spent looking
for whatever it was you lost, and one person

add up to something.

From Everyone at This Party Has Two Names - Southeast Missouri State University Press, 2016.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

"Be Drunk" by Charles Baudelaire

Written by Charles Baudelaire (link to original poem here)

Context:

James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, introduced me to this poem when he had me read the Charles Baudelaire poetry collection Paris Spleen before our chat on 3 Books. It stuck with me as a way to twist expectations -- maybe clickbait before clickbait -- and demonstrates so much power in such few words.

Poem:

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

By the Well of Living and Seeing, Part II, Section 28: “During the Second World War” by Charles Reznikoff

Written by Charles Reznikoff (link to original poem here)

Context:

I am in love when simplicity packs a punch. I find some speakers like Brené Brown pull this off in short personal stories. This poem struck me the same way. Thank you to George Saunders and Poetry Foundation.

Poem:

During the Second World War, I was going home one night
along a street I seldom used. All the stores were closed
except one—a small fruit store.
An old Italian was inside to wait on customers.
As I was paying him I saw that he was sad.
“You are sad,” I said. “What is troubling you?”
“Yes,” he said, “I am sad.” Then he added
in the same monotone, not looking at me:
“My son left for the front today and I’ll never see him again.”
“Don’t say that!” I said. “Of course, you will!”
“No,” he answered. “I’ll never see him again.”

Afterwards, when the war was over,
I found myself once more in that street
and again it was late at night, dark and lonely;
and again I saw the old man alone in the store.
I bought some apples and looked closely at him:
his thin wrinkled face was grim
but not particularly sad. “How about your son?” I said.
“Did he come back from the war?” “Yes,” he answered.
“He was not wounded?” “No. He is all right.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Fine!”
He took the bag of apples from my hands and groping inside
took out one that had begun to rot
and put in a good one instead.
“He came back at Christmas,” he added.
“How wonderful! That was wonderful!”
“Yes,” he said gently, “it was wonderful.”
He took the bag of apples from my hands again
and took out one of the smaller apples and put in a large one.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'Maximus, to himself' by Charles Olson

Written by Charles Olson (link to original poem here)

Context:

I discovered this poem while preparing for my interview with the incredible Debbie Millman, the visionary artist and thinker who hosts Design Matters. It was hugely formative for her - in fact she chose a poetry anthology by Hayden Carrut in which it is published as one of her most formative books for 3 Books for that very reason - and does a beautiful reading of it for us during our conversation. I found this poem incredibly rich, layered, and deep. I'm sure I don't understand half of it but the bits I did manage to catch really lingered.

This poem was published as part of The Maximus Poems collection, written by Charles Olson in 1983 and published by the University of California Press.

Poem:

I have had to learn the simplest things

last. Which made for difficulties.

Even at sea I was slow, to get the hand out, or to cross   

a wet deck.

The sea was not, finally, my trade.

But even my trade, at it, I stood estranged

from that which was most familiar. Was delayed,

and not content with the man’s argument

that such postponement   

is now the nature of

obedience,

               that we are all late

               in a slow time,

               that we grow up many

               And the single   

               is not easily

               known

It could be, though the sharpness (the achiote)   

I note in others,

makes more sense

than my own distances. The agilities

  they show daily

               who do the world’s   

               businesses

               And who do nature’s   

               as I have no sense   

               I have done either

I have made dialogues,

have discussed ancient texts,

have thrown what light I could, offered   

what pleasures

doceat allows

But the known?

This, I have had to be given,

a life, love, and from one man   

the world.

Tokens.

               But sitting here

               I look out as a wind   

               and water man, testing   

               And missing

               some proof

I know the quarters

of the weather, where it comes from,   

where it goes. But the stem of me,   

this I took from their welcome,

or their rejection, of me

And my arrogance

               was neither diminished   

               nor increased,

               by the communication

2

It is undone business

I speak of, this morning,   

with the sea

stretching out

from my feet

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'You Learn' by Jorge Luis Borges

Written by Anonymous (link to original poem here)

Context:

The poem "Apriendendo" is believed to have been written in the 1940s in Spanish and later translated into English in the late 1960s. There is some controversy surrounding authorship. It has been most widely attributed to Jorge Luis Borges, but in the 1970s, others stepped up to claim it as theirs: Yamira Hernandez, Veronica Shoffstall and Judith Evans. It is also known with different titles: "Come the Dawn" and "After a While". Whoever the author is, the sentiments conveyed are beautiful and it is a potent reminder to make sure we continue to make time for what truly matters.

Poem:

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning.

And company doesn’t mean security…

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t promises, and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child. And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, and you really do have worth, and you learn and learn…with every good-bye you learn.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'Blessing for the New Year' by Kayleen Asbo

Written by Kayleen Asbo (link to poem here)

Context:

My wife Leslie forwarded this poem to me after she received it from Dr. Laura Markham. If you don't know Laura, her book Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids is one of our bibles. I also went down to Brooklyn to interview her on 3 Books. She's a treasure trove of wisdom! And this poem by Kayleen Asbo below is one perfect example.

Poem:

As the hours of darkness begin to slowly wane from the winter sky,
So too may the fearful places of your heart unclench their grasp on your life
As the presence of light begins to grow with greater sureness with each passing day
May your own courage blossom to open more brightly to truth and love.

Let this be the year that you turn off the television and silence the talk radio chatter
in order to pick up the writing pen, the paintbrush,
and watch the candle slowly burn.

May this be the year that you delight
in seeing how much joy you can extravagantly spread.
May you discover just how much beauty you can recklessly shower
upon this thirsty world.

May this be the year that you tune both the dusty piano in the corner
and the inner listening of your care-worn heart
So that both can play in harmony with the chorus of creation.

May you break the invisible yardstick of impossible expectations
and learn that just as you are,
you are enough.
May this be the year that you cease trying to march to an imagined ideal
and instead, wrap your arms around the messy wonder your life really is,
hold it close
and do the tango.

Let this be the year you befriend your soul in its radical particularity,
not forsaking it yet again for the bland demands and cravings of the masses.
Instead, may you elope with the wildness of your own true calling,
marry your soul to its deepest longings and invite the hungry world to the
wedding feast.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'To Laugh Much and Often' by Bessie Anderson Stanley

Written by Bessie Anderson Stanley (link to poem here)

Context:

A lovely little snippet of poetry from Bessie Anderson Stanley, often incorrectly attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Thank you to my reader Laura Berenstain for sending it to me.

Poem:

To laugh often and much;

to win the respect of the intelligent people

and the affection of children;

to earn the appreciation of honest critics

and endure the betrayal of false friends;

to appreciate beauty;

to find the best in others;

to leave the world a bit better

whether by a healthy child, a garden patch,

or a redeemed social condition;

to know that one life has breathed easier

because you lived here.

This is to have succeeded.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'If—' by Rudyard Kipling

Written by Rudyard Kipling (link to poem here)

Context:

I used Rudyard Kipling’s famous 1895 poem in my book The Happiness Equation and it’s still one of my favorites.

Poem:

If you can keep your head when all about you   

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'On Children' by Khalil Gibran

Written by Khalil Gibran (Link to poem here)

Context:

We are all just baton passers at the end of the day, from the lives forever before us to the lives forever after us. I often find myself dizzy just thinking about it and gave the world's first ever TED Listen poking at the idea. This Kahlil Gibran poem from The Prophet speaks to the broader energy we all share and spoke to me as a father of young children, too.

Poem:

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the Archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.

'When Death Comes' by Mary Oliver

Written by Mary Oliver (Link to poem here)

Context:

Do you have blurry days? Way too fast days? Way too shallow days? Me too. Often! We all do. And sometimes on those blurry, fast, shallow days it's worth taking a minute to pause and meditate on the wondrous beauty that is life itself so that we might remember to always steer ourselves a little closer to being 'a bride married to amazement.' This poem appeared in the collection New and Selected Poems by Mary Oliver. It was published in 1992 and won the National Book Award.

Poem:

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn;

when death comes and takes all the bright coins

from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity,

wondering:

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and

real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world

Sign Up for a Dose of Inspiration:

Every other week, I send an email out with one of my favorite speeches, essays or poems. No ads, no sponsors, no spam, and nothing for sale. Just a dose of inspiration or beauty!

Click here to sign up.