At Round Pond
by: Mary Oliver
owl
make your little appearance now
owl dark bird bird of gloom
messenger reminder
of death
that can't be stopped
argued with leashed put out
like a red fire but
burns as it will
owl
I have not seen you now for
too long a time don't
hide away but come flowing and clacking
the slap of your wings
your death's head oh rise
out of the thick and shaggy pines when you
look down with your
golden eyes how everything
trembles
then settles
from mere incidence into
the lush of meaning
I've never really thought of an owl as a harbinger of death. Dark bird. Bird of gloom. Of course, Oliver doesn't dread the appearance of the owl. Nope. In fact, she seems to be missing the owl's presence in her life. She summons the owl out of the thick and shaggy pines to transform the world into something beyond the immediate. Into extravagant meaning.
So much of my days are taken up by the immediate, as with most adults. It's difficult to think deeply about anything when there's laundry to fold, grocery shopping to do, papers to grade, or dogs to walk. Most of my serious philosophizing about the meaning of life comes either early morning when I haven't yet dipped my toes into the pool of the day or late night when all I can think about is cold pillows and bad television. I honestly believe that, if Plato were alive today, he'd probably be working at McDonald's without a whole lot of people caring about his stupid cave.
Tonight, I led a virtual poetry workshop in celebration of poet Wendell Berry's 89th birthday. Now, if there's one thing I've learned it's that Berry despises the immediacy of the modern world. Facebook. Instagram. Twitter/X. All of these things are anathema to him. If I'm not mistaken, Berry still works on a manual typewriter and lives on a 50-acre Kentucky farm that he purchased in 1965. He's never owned a computer or cell phone, and he's become a kind of prophet of environmental stewardship.
Preparing for my Wendell Berry workshop, I spent a lot of time reading his poems and essays. Living with him, in a way. I admire the integrity of his existence. His refusal to compromise with the 21st century's technology and life. I don't think I could ever follow his example, but I celebrate that people like him exist. He's like John the Baptist calling out from the desert for everyone to prepare ye the way.
It's late now. I'm tired and trying to keep at bay the worries of the coming week. The owl is stalking my thoughts, ready to swoop down and pounce on them like field mice. Of course, I'm typing this blog post on my laptop, and, as soon as I'm done editing, I will publish it on the internet. There's immediacy for you. Instant gratification. Wendell Berry would hate it.
Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry have a lot in common. They both embrace the peace of wild things. As far as I can tell, they didn't really know each other or meet. But, in my mind, I see them wandering through a field at night, listening to the great bird of gloom hooting from the shaggy pines.
Mary turns to Wendell and says, "Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
Wendell answers, "Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery."
And the owl adds, "Who, who, who is hoping his one wild and precious life is stitched with gold tomorrow?"
Saint Marty, that's who.
Image courtesy of felt artist Jody Trost
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