“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.”

Emma:

For most of us here in Cambridge, it is truly a rare occurrence to “have time / to linger / for just a little while”. Yet there is something compelling, something imploring about Oliver’s sloping lines that makes me want to do just that. Perhaps it is the sonorous invocation of “a musical battle,” or the simple vivacity of the natural world, but either way I find myself slowing down to drink in the poem’s words. It makes me realise that the poem is the very vessel through which we can achieve this state of presence and appreciation of the moment. It causes us to look inwardly by looking outwardly, a reflection upon how “it is a serious thing / just to be alive.” I hope the poem inspires you to try and take time out of “your busy / and very important day”. Or maybe, by reading this, you already have.

Eimear:

Goldfinches represent Christ, salvation, hope, wealth, prosperity – the list really does go on. But I refuse to engage in a symbolic reading of this lovely little poem; instead what I found was a message of persistence. Perhaps because it is January and I have forgotten what a hazy summer’s day feels like and the specific colour of blue that comes along with it. Because, if there was ever a message for the bleak mid winter it would be that “it is a serious thing / just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in the broken world.” As my mum would say: “Do not wish your life away.” Do not wish it were March, or July, or two years from now. Savour the numbness resting on the tip of your nose, savour the chapped lips and scalding them on too-hot tea. Perhaps you do not have to change your life. Perhaps you just need to remember that there are hot chocolates and thick socks to enjoy now and snow drops and lighter evenings to look forward to later.