The Saturday poem, Mary Oliver
The regular Saturday slot is back from its New year break and we are 'O' on shelf 2 which is for Mary Oliver
who is a living American poet.Though born in Ohio, she is very much associated with Cape Cod where she has lived for many years.
In fact the traditions of Whitman and Dickinson and Frost can all be traced in her work,but hers is a unique voice too - founded on her close look at the sea, the sea birds, the coastal moods.Her work always reminds me these days of eglantine_br who is another New England coast observer of light and shade and beauty.
These poems date from a collection called 'Thirst' published in 2006 the year after the death of her partner of more than 40 years, Molly Cook. For Mary Oliver that grief experience led her to embrace Christian belief as a way she found to make sense of grief as something one can - just possibly - experience as part of spiritual progress.
Mary Oliver(right) with her partner, the photographer Molly Cook, who died in 2005.
Two tiny poems and one larger one under the cut today - Praying, The Uses of Sorrow and Heavy
Praying
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
---------------------
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this,too,was a gift
---------------------------
Heavy
That time
I thought I could not
get any closer to grief
without dying.
I went closer
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still I was bent,
and my laughter
as the poet said
'
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel
( brave even among lions)
" Its not the weight you carry
but how you carry it-
books,bricks, grief-
its all in the way
you embracei it, balance it ,carry it
when you cannot, and would not
put it down.
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and then,
out of my startled mouth?
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?
------------------------
who is a living American poet.Though born in Ohio, she is very much associated with Cape Cod where she has lived for many years.
In fact the traditions of Whitman and Dickinson and Frost can all be traced in her work,but hers is a unique voice too - founded on her close look at the sea, the sea birds, the coastal moods.Her work always reminds me these days of eglantine_br who is another New England coast observer of light and shade and beauty.
These poems date from a collection called 'Thirst' published in 2006 the year after the death of her partner of more than 40 years, Molly Cook. For Mary Oliver that grief experience led her to embrace Christian belief as a way she found to make sense of grief as something one can - just possibly - experience as part of spiritual progress.
Mary Oliver(right) with her partner, the photographer Molly Cook, who died in 2005.
Two tiny poems and one larger one under the cut today - Praying, The Uses of Sorrow and Heavy
Praying
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
---------------------
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this,too,was a gift
---------------------------
Heavy
That time
I thought I could not
get any closer to grief
without dying.
I went closer
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still I was bent,
and my laughter
as the poet said
'
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel
( brave even among lions)
" Its not the weight you carry
but how you carry it-
books,bricks, grief-
its all in the way
you embracei it, balance it ,carry it
when you cannot, and would not
put it down.
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and then,
out of my startled mouth?
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?
------------------------