August 15: "Wrens," Worrier and Fretter, Miracles Happen

Mary Oliver admires feathered diligence . . . 

Wrens

by:  Mary Oliver

here I go

into the wide gardens of

wastefields blue glass clear glass

and other rubbishes blinking from the

dust from the fox tracks among the

roots and risings of

buttercups joe pye honey

suckle the queen's

lace and her

blue sailors

the little wrens

have carried a hundred sticks into

an old rusted pail and now they are

singing in the curtains of leaves they are

fluttering down to the bog they are dipping

their darling heads down to wet

their whistles how happy they are to be

diligent at last

foolish birds

I'm not quite sure why Oliver thinks the wrens are foolish in this poem.  They could be foolish because they're drinking from the bog.  Or because they're happy.  Or because they're diligent and industrious at last, instead of frittering away their days and nights among the buttercups and Joe Pye weed.  If I were a betting person, though, I'd lay $20 on the diligence and industry thing.  Oliver strikes me as a person who, if she had wings, would have spent all of her waking hours flying from trees to lakes to fields of Queen Anne's lace.  She wouldn't have wasted her time with the work of worry.

Of course, I'm a worrier and fretter.  Most faithful disciples of this blog know that about me.  A good portion of my days are spent in a state of anxiety, trying to keep up with work and grading and blogging and poeting.  For instance, final grades for the summer semester were due by noon today.  So, like a diligent wren gathering sticks, I spent yesterday, all of last night, and this morning writing my final comments on papers, responding to student emails, and putting my math minor to work calculating grades.  In total, I've had about three hours of sleep in the last 48 hours.

I write this not because I'm looking for sympathy or amazement or disdain.  Far from it.  I write this because I think Mary Oliver would probably have shaken her head at me, as she does with the wrens, and said to herself, "Foolish saint."  And she would be right.

I haven't experienced a whole lot of Mary moments in the last two days.  Because I  haven't had the time to pay close attention to the world around me.  Instead, I was focused on computer screens and electronic essays, with not a whole lot of amazement to spare.  

Now, Mary taught at universities and colleges for almost 20 years.  She was very familiar with the inside of a classroom.  So, I'm sure that she experienced the grading crunch at certain times in her life.  That means that she probably had to take time out of her miracle chasing to pick up a red pen and sit with a stack of student writing.  In short, she was a foolish bird at times, too.

When I got home this afternoon, I took a nap.  Then I ate and watched the movie Inception.  After that, I got off the couch, picked up my iPhone, and stepped outside to flush a covey of wonder from the world.  I listened to the birds talking back and forth in the twilight.  Found some interesting trees and a rabbit or two in my backyard.  And saw the sunset.

Even when Saint Marty's tied up in knots with work and worry, miracles happen.  Right outside his window.