White Eyes ~ Mary Oliver

In winter
   all the singing is in
      the tops of the trees
         where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
   shoves and pushes
      among the branches
         Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
   but he's restless-
      he has an idea,
         and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
   as long as he stays awake
      But his big, round music, after all,
         is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.
   In the pine-crown
      he makes his nest,
         he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,
   I only imagine his glittering beak
      tucked in a white wing
         while the clouds-

which he has summoned
   from the north-
      which he has taught
         to be mild, and silent-

thicken, and begin to fall
   into the world below
      like stars, or the feathers
         of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
   that is asleep now, and silent-
      that has turned itself 
         into snow.

The Song of Solid and Spirit

Lauren Grams

Mrs. Erickson

AP Literature and Composition

3 May, 2013

The Song of Solid and Spirit

In Mary Oliver’s poem “White-Eyes”, the evolution of winter’s fullest display of grandeur is softened to the whispering dance of the mystical wind-bird, a conceit drawn orchestrally throughout the rhythmic and lulling piece to unveil with perfect measure a revelation of the inner workings of the season. The glory of the work is found in the stillness with which words cease to exist as inky runes demarcating the limitations of a concept, but rather transcend this dull duty and open one’s eyes to the boundless realities to which they are assigned. Specifically, the vivacity of the metaphor, the careful punctuation, and the musical ebb, flow, and crescendo serve to weave a written work utterly void of monotone dimensionality and brimming with the pregnant silence of winter’s chill. 

Oliver’s use of the wind-bird as the conceit in depicting the understated majesty of winter’s white assault on the earth breathes fresh life into what may otherwise be diminished to nothing more than a cyclic inevitability of nature. It is worth noting, although the concept of punctation will be addressed further on, that the introduction of the bird is intimately bound with wind; wind-bird. These words, swollen with prototypic associations, come together with a binding dash that serves to facilitate the mutual exchange of attributes between the two. The wind, a physical parallel to the metaphysical concept of a spirit, is now dwelling within the bird; while the bird, a living, wise, unpredictable miracle of life, is now within the wind. From this principle follows the rest of the work, which incubates the wind-bird as it grows in complexity of expression. It’s eyes are glassy white, frosted and breathless with anticipation of the mystery shrouded behind their icy crust, while the rest of its body pulses, “shoves and pushes” (Oliver 6) - “restless” (10). “[F]rom under his beating wings” (13) groans “big, round music... / ...too breathy to last” (15-16). Seemingly awoken by the initially mentioned singing, all of which is bound up “in the tops of the trees” (3), the wind-bird beats to life amidst the thin stillness encapsulating him. Winter’s snow, it seems, has recovered from paralytic dormancy and is heaving to action. But, yet inhibited by impotence imposed by external barriers that force the buoyancy from its hopeful lungs, “[s]o, it’s over / ...he’s done all he can” (17-20). Wind-bird now transcends the physical realm of his previous efforts, “makes his nest” (19), “...his glittering beak / tucked in a white wing” (22-23) and assuming the position of benevolent sage, who “summoned” (25) and “taught” (27) with the gentle instruction of wise one, and “that loves us” (33) with the quiet adoration of a nurturer. By depicting the cycle of the wind-bird from slumber to activity to ethereal abstraction, Oliver bestows upon winter characteristics on multiple levels of existence ranging from viscerally tangible to delightfully metaphysical, pressing a season known for its starkness into a category of overwhelming multi-facetted dimensionality. 

As briefly addressed above, Oliver’s innovative and purposeful use of punctuation adds to the overall development of both the conceit and the rhythm of the poem. Aside from the dash’s function in intertwining the abiotic and biotic forces of the wind and the bird into a creature of extra-dimensional complexity, dashes throughout the work also serve to create physical pauses and conceptual unity. In the third stanza, the dash at the end of the line, “but he’s restless-” (10) intersects the flow of the piece, forcing upon the reader an uncomfortable anxiety to overpass the stunt inhibiting their experience, much as the wind-bird is held back from the allure of sleep by the wriggling idea festering within his bosom. In this case, the dash creates a pause of a more violent nature than a more docile mark; unlike a coma, extra spacing, or an enjambment, the dash forcible halts the train of the idea, an object lesson in the experience of the wind-bird through vicarious understanding. In stanza 5, the dash in “the pine-crown” (18) works in a manner parallel to its introductory display. By merging the earthly concepts of the pine tree tops and the regal beauty of royalty’s crown, the lodging place of the wind-bird is elevated beyond both their manifest and latent implications, respectively, and constructs a nest situated outside the realm of concrete location. To unpack the metaphor, winter’s resting place is unlimited to physical strata of differentiated climate or temporal cycle, but in a place that straddles both its natural and supernatural manifestations. In stanzas 7 and 9, the dashes following the word ‘silent’ once more instill the work with the discernible barrier of the momentary silence of catching one’s breath, the soundless gasp of wind-bird’s frigid precipitation. Moreover, the repeated word-dash complex provides a structural closure to the circle of wind-bird’s experience as well as the bookends of silence between which the vibrancy of winter roils. 

The diction, the conceptual flow, and the syllabic composition of “White-Eyes” serves to culminate in a rhythm outside of traditional meter and more closely reflecting a musical crescendo. The first three stanzas are demarcated by short, staccato lines of limited length both in terms of individual wording and holistically. Stanza 4, with its shift to longer line lengths and more robust language, serves as the apex of the poem, while stanza 5 cuts it quickly to a halt with its return to brevity, a dichotomous contrast parallel to the drama in tension of many orchestral arrangements. The final four stanzas are characterized by more varied line and syllable length and more abstract language, which unite to form a resolution of sorts - the melodic ebb and flow ease away from both the punctuated buildup and the grand pinnacle with the grace of a soothing lullaby. This rhythm not only imbues the poem with an organic beat reflective of nature’s spontaneity, but also serves to echo the conceptual tract followed by wind-bird’s awakening, climax, and ascension. 

In the delicate frost of “White-Eyes”, Mary Oliver exercises rare mastery over reality, so as to depict the process of winter’s consumption of its predecessor without grappling with the bridling constraints of concrete language. Rather, both her words themselves and the manner in which they are choreographed upon the page serve as direct testaments to the beautiful phenomenon they encapsulate. The subtle profundity of the conceit of the wind-bird, the innocuous poignancy of punctuational tools, and the unconventional allegiance to musical themes come together to weave a tapestry that far exceeds its stated mandate and ventures brazenly out of the literal into the terrifyingly true. The swelling silence that so enraptures the wind-bird sets the stage with meticulously mute precision for “all the singing...in / the tops of the trees” (2-3), the singing of the solid and the spirit, the breeze and the owl, and the white-eyed wind-bird.

Works Cited

Oliver, Mary. "White-Eyes." Poetry 180 - A Poem a Day for American High Schools. Library of Congress, n.d. Web. 01 

          May 2013.