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katiegilley's review
5.0
Some things, say the wise ones who know everything,
are not living. I say,
you live your life your way and leave me alone.
This collection by Mary Oliver, published in 2005, was perfect for slow reading, just before scooting down into my bed.
Now he left his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise –
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,
for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.
What a thought to fall asleep to! When I think of Mary Oliver, I think of hope, gratitude, and joy, which is exactly where I want to be putting my focus.
are not living. I say,
you live your life your way and leave me alone.
This collection by Mary Oliver, published in 2005, was perfect for slow reading, just before scooting down into my bed.
Now he left his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise –
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,
for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.
What a thought to fall asleep to! When I think of Mary Oliver, I think of hope, gratitude, and joy, which is exactly where I want to be putting my focus.
savaging's review
3.0
When Mary Oliver becomes unbearable to me I imagine two things:
1) That the revolution has already happened, and ALL of us are free to roam New England shorelines and write about pebbles and birds without thinking of the war and horror and exploitation happening elsewhere.
2) Even still, deep down Mary Oliver is ruminating, desperately, panicked, over cancer and parasites and gangrene, and she writes only words of beauty and happiness because that counter-balances her muddling soul.
Two leaps of the imagination, but how else am I supposed to get through poetry as cheery and faithful as this? Though all the same there are some bits delicious all on their own, like this ending of the poem about the whelk egg casing ("Something"):
"The egg case of the whelk
sits on my shelf in front of, as it happens, Blake.
Sometimes I dream
that everything in the world is here, in my room,
in a great closet, named and orderly,
and I am here too, in front of it,
hardly able to see for the flash and the brightness--
and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing;
and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees."
1) That the revolution has already happened, and ALL of us are free to roam New England shorelines and write about pebbles and birds without thinking of the war and horror and exploitation happening elsewhere.
2) Even still, deep down Mary Oliver is ruminating, desperately, panicked, over cancer and parasites and gangrene, and she writes only words of beauty and happiness because that counter-balances her muddling soul.
Two leaps of the imagination, but how else am I supposed to get through poetry as cheery and faithful as this? Though all the same there are some bits delicious all on their own, like this ending of the poem about the whelk egg casing ("Something"):
"The egg case of the whelk
sits on my shelf in front of, as it happens, Blake.
Sometimes I dream
that everything in the world is here, in my room,
in a great closet, named and orderly,
and I am here too, in front of it,
hardly able to see for the flash and the brightness--
and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing;
and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees."
thehappybookwyrm's review
Oh the feminine urge to abandon everything and run into the wilderness.
michblue52's review
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
4.0
I saw the eclipse and had to read poetry.
roseleaf24's review
5.0
I won a poetry pack in the summer reading program at my local library, and this book was included. What a delight it is has been to add a bit of poetry to my mornings. I loved these delicate, precise examinations of nature, some with a piece of faith in them as well. My favorite in this collection is "The Lover of Earth Cannot Help Herself," which is this lovely verse about walking through the fields in summer, with all the beautiful, pollen-drenched flowers in bloom, that she closes with a stanza about her allergies reacting. I so appreciated that touch of real life that bright me back in to this experience of nature that my own allergies were about to make me feel excluded from.
chloekg's review
5.0
Her work is soft contrast to anything blunt and frantic. Her little sharing of moments expands to edgelessness. Reading one poem at a time on my morning commute, this collection reminded me to breathe in subtlety, to appreciate the earlier and earlier sunrise as winter moves gently closer to spring. Mary Oliver's got a bit of the Sufi soul and its longing search for tremoring.
aeclinger's review
5.0
Checked this out on a whim this morning and devoured it throughout the day.
Top five favs from this volume:
This World
Snow Geese
The Dovekie
The Old Poets of China
Mindful
Top five favs from this volume:
This World
Snow Geese
The Dovekie
The Old Poets of China
Mindful