D: You know when you go to a museum with a friend and it’s understood that you don’t have to stand side by side in front of every canvas? You can move at different speeds, occupy different corners, get separated, and it’s fine and relaxing because somehow when it’s time to leave, you’ll find each other. My favorite type of writing is like that, where it drifts in and out of different rooms, and sometimes ideas get lost or sentences sort of wander or drop off and the meanings and senses of things get separated, but it doesn’t matter. Like how after the museum, you can walk for a few blocks with your friend in silence, not pressed to speak.

∆ Bookforum talks with Durga Chew-Bose by Sarah Nicole Prickett, April 13, 2017

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.

Why we love this poem: Particularly nowadays, it may feel like there’s an infinite supply of distractions. Oliver’s suggestion is a call to listen, particularly to the things you take for granted. If we pause for an instant, even for something as inconsequential as a couple of birds singing, we may discover unexpected joy.