Poetry Sunday: It Is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of the best known and best loved American poets of the 19th century, and though he wrote more than a hundred years ago, many of his poems seem just as current and fresh today. That would include this one, "It Is Not Always May." I have featured it before here on Poetry Sunday, but it struck me as particularly pertinent last week as I searched for a poem to highlight. "Carpe diem," the poet urges us in so many words because, as we all learn to our regret, youth is fleeting and cannot be recalled:

 "Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
 For oh, it is not always May!

It Is Not Always May

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. (Spanish proverb)

The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
  The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
  The bluebird prophesying Spring. 
So blue yon winding river flows,
  It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
  The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves,
  That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;--
   There are no birds in last year's nest! 
All things rejoice in youth and love,
   The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
   The melting tenderness of night. 
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
   Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
   For oh, it is not always May! 
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
   To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
  There are no birds in last year's nest! 

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This week in birds - #676

 A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:

The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is the Palm Warbler. This warbler is unusual in a couple of ways. First, the sexes are nearly identical unlike most warblers that are sexually dimorphic. Secondly, most warblers spend the majority of their time in trees and shrubs but the Palm Warbler is quite happy on the ground as well. And when on the ground, they can be seen walking or running rather than hopping in the manner of other warblers. Like other birds, they are vulnerable to habitat loss and hazards during migration. They are insect eaters, although in fall and winter they may take seeds and berries to supplement their diet. During nesting season, they can be found in the southern part of eastern Canada and along the adjoining parts of the United States. Their population is currently increasing and their status is of least concern.

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Would damming the Bering Strait help to save the climate? 

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Scorpions are unusual in several ways, including the fact that they have metal in their tails.

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Sumatran orangutans are learning to use human-made wildlife bridges across the trees.

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We have long known that the Maya kept dogs, but what part did they play in Mayan culture? 

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Here are ten warblers that the American Bird Conservancy is working to conserve.

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A biologist snapped the first-ever photo of newly hatched giant salamanders in the wild.

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It seems that spiders don't like noisy neighbors any more than we do.

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I used to watch several gardening shows on television, but most of them are gone now. Here are some that might draw me back in.

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Note to readers: If you are not currently a "follower" of the blog, I invite you to become one. I would like to see an increase in that number under "Thanks for Following" on the right. Thank you! 

Memories

 

Twenty-two years ago, when my mother died, my staff gifted me with this hydrangea. 

Every year when it blooms it reminds me of her and of them and especially of their kindness.

It has never failed to bloom and its beauty is undimmed by the years. As are my memories of my mother...

Poetry Sunday: April by Alicia Ostriker

Before we say goodbye to the month, let's take one last look at April as experienced through different eyes. At least as poet Alicia Ostriker imagines it. 

April

by Alicia Ostriker

The optimists among us
taking heart because it is spring

skip along

attending their meetings

signing their e-mail petitions

marching with their satiric signs

singing their we shall overcome songs

posting their pungent twitters and blogs

believing in a better world

for no good reason

I envy them

said the old woman

The seasons go round they

go round and around

said the tulip

dancing among her friends

in their brown bed in the sun

in the April breeze

under a maple canopy

that was also dancing

only with greater motions

casting greater shadows

and the grass

hardly stirring

What a concerto

of good stinks said the dog

trotting along Riverside Drive

in the early spring afternoon

sniffing this way and that

how gratifying the cellos of the river

the tubas of the traffic

the trombones

of the leafing elms with the legato

of my rivals’ piss at their feet

and the leftover meat and grease

singing along in all the wastebaskets

This week in birds - #675

 A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:

This is the well-named Three-wattled Bellbird, a bird of the middle and upper canopies of humid forests in Central America. Their numbers are decreasing and their conservation status is considered vulnerable. It is the American Bird Conservancy's featured Bird of the Week.

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The mystery of the "Golden Blob" that was retrieved from the ocean near Alaska in 2023 has at last been solved. It seems it was part of an anemone.

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The air strikes against Iran have created oil spills that can be seen from space.

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Speaker Mike Johnson was all set to call for a vote on legislation to gut the Endangered Species Act but bipartisan opposition forced him stop.  At least for now.

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Butterflies are in decline all across the continent. A study of the Western Monarch shows why.

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In the past, wildfires tended to die down at night, but no more. Climate change has apparently been the cause of their continuing to burn through the night.

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Scientists found that cocaine pollution seemed to cause salmon to swim farther. 

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Research indicates that Neanderthal kids grew faster than their human peers. But scientists now believe that a lack of genetic diversity may have contributed to the species' ultimate demise.

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Environmental groups are suing to block British oil giant BP from drilling in the deep waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

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We lost a giant this week. Desmond Morris, the zoologist who wrote "The Naked Ape" which outlined our genetic connection with apes, has died. He was 98 years old.

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Here are some of the major discoveries found in North America's legendary boneyard, the Hell Creek Formation.

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A vast number of ground-nesting bees were found in a cemetery in Ithaca, New York, in 2023.

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Evidence suggests that our species is still evolving.

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Monarch butterflies have reached as far north as Iowa, New Jersey, and Indiana in their spring migration from Mexico and Central America.

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New discoveries in Guatemala offer evidence that the Maya rejected divine kingship in their time of trouble and transition. 

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A papyrus excerpt from "The Iliad" has been found inside the wrappings of a 1,600-year-old Egyptian mummy. 

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Bruce, a Kea parrot without a beak, has still managed to stay atop the pecking order in his group.

Poetry Sunday: The Layers by Stanley Kunitz

I love this poem by Stanley Kunitz that I discovered this week. It seems to perfectly describe my life, and maybe the lives of all of us who have lived - ahem - for a few decades. See if you can recognize yourself in its lines. 

The Layers

by Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.