Mary Oliver

[lonndubh]

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled-
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?

A rose being dismantled by the wind is a very fine image, and I like the suggestion of finding equivalent beauty in a helpless love for someone gone.

Diane I also liked that poem Heavy and yes that is a very fine image-
the very thought of a beautifully dreamed crimson rose being dismantled
by the wind is heartbreaking

[indy]

Some of my favorite Oliver lines are these from the beginning of "Wild Geese":

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Just now as I was typing this and wondering if I should include the rest of the poem, a flock of wild geese flew by overhead, honking, on their way to somewhere before the snow comes in . Okay, whole poem it is:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

[lonndubh]

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

[Diane]

I mentioned Wild Geese to someone a couple of days ago, Indy:-)

L, nice painting and description.

There are a couple of ragged roses still hanging on in my garden:

Happy Christmas!!

[Judy]

That's strange ... someone mentioned this poem to me a few days ago

I really like it too ... it's gentle.

Happy Christmas to you all !

[indy]

L. thank you for the painting. Yes, some of my favorite things!

Diane, those ragged roses are gorgeous.

Judy, it seems "Wild Geese" was in the air.

Happy New Year to all of you!

[lonndubh]

What is the greatest gift?

Could it be the world itself — the oceans, the meadowlark,
the patience of the trees in the wind?
Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?

Something else — something else entirely
holds me in thrall.
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a life — courteous, intelligent —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a soul — your own, no one else's —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours
more than my own.

[Diane]

That's a beautiful poem, L.

Here right now the trees are turning their bodies into pillars of light, so I just have to post...


In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

[lonndubh]

Hi Diane
thanks for the reminder of this great poem

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

pretty strong stuff there
But easier said than done
How to let go of someone
that life depended on
Is easier said than done

[Diane]

Therein lies the rub, L!

Here's a favourite about longing, featuring the hummingbird, copied from Evidence:



Empty Branch at the Orchard

To have loved
is everything.
I loved, once,

a hummingbird
who came every afternoon-
the freedom-loving male-

who flew by himself
to sample
the sweets of the garden,

to sit
on a high, leafless branch
with his red throat gleaming.

And then, he came no more.
And I'm still waiting for him,
ten years later,

to come back,
and he will, or he will not.
There is a certain commitment

that each of us is given,
that has to do
with another world,

if there is one.
I remember you, hummingbird.
I think of you every day

even as I am still here,
soaked in colour, waiting
year after honey-rich year.


----

[lonndubh]

[quote="]There is a certain commitment

that each of us is given,
that has to do
with another world,

if there is one[/quote]

I wonder ?

[Diane]

Hello, L:-) Maybe your wonder(ing) is the door. I admire that poem for its simplicity and feel of acceptance. Even longing is full of colour. Maybe longing is especially full of colour. I read only yesterday that Van Gogh said that the night is even more richly-coloured than the day. You just have to look at it closely enough.

Have a lovely day.

[lonndubh]

Hello, L:-) Maybe your wonder(ing) is the door. I admire that poem for its simplicity and feel of acceptance. Even longing is full of colour. Maybe longing is especially full of colour. I read only yesterday that Van Gogh said that the night is even more richly-coloured than the day. You just have to look at it closely enough.

Have a lovely day.

Hi Diane
I was wondering about these lines

"There is a certain commitment
that each of us is given,
that has to do
with another world,
if there is one"

And now I know why --
I much rather the poem without them

[Diane]

Hello Oliver. Are you real or just here to advertise something? In any case, what a fantastic Mary Oliver poem you have posted. It makes drowning in music feel like a wild and irresistible fulfilment. The final two words could be an accusation or a query as to whether it is or was only a dream. Very satisfying to read over and again. Thanks.

***I removed the links Oliver has added to all his messages. He will be deleted he if turns out to be a spammer / Jarkko ***

[lonndubh]

Ah well, anyway, whether or not
it was late summer, or even
in our part of the world, it is all
only a dream, I did not
turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running
like that.

Did you?

Great poem Oliver regardless of what you may or may not be selling.
I particularly love the sense of resignation to whatever it was -daydream or night dream .

Ah well, anyway,