The wisdom of Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver intrigues me with her simple wisdom that goes right to the heart of things. She writes about the things that matter in life. There is no way that you can read her words without being affected by them, without some part of you knowing that you've been touched by the truth. And having been touched by the truth, that you know that you must abide by it. Here are some of her words of wisdom in the form of quotes and poems........

·         Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

·         Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

·         Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

·         Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

•   To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

·         Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

·         The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.

·         You can have the other words-chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity. I'll take grace. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'll take it.

·         Still, what I want in my life

is to be willing

to be dazzled—

to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even

to float a little

above this difficult world.

·         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

·         When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

One of those poems that you just recognize intuitively as truth

The Journey

by Mary Oliver


One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice – - -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations – - -
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.

But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do – - – determined to save
the only life you could save.

A very good poem--The Second Coming--by William Butler Yeats

The Second Coming



Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.




Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Why is it that I think that this poem by William Butler Yeats becomes more relevant for our world for each year that passes? Is it because I am getting older that I am beginning to really see the anarchy in the world and the blatant disregard for the life around us--be it human, animal, bird, fish or insect? We are polluting our planet with pesticides that are killing the bees and butterflies. Without the bees to pollinate crops, there will be fewer types of the fruits and vegetables that we at present take for granted. It will affect food production on a global scale. This is one problem. Another problem is that these pesticides are finding their way into our drinking water, and they will cause more damage to all life that way in the form of increased cancer risk and other health problems. We don't need these chemicals inside us, nor do animals, fish, birds and insects. The things we do in this life and the way we behave toward the life around us affect the lives around us. We are not the inhabitants of an island; everything we do and say has an effect on the life around us. We need to wake up and really 'see' that fact. If we see it, then it becomes a no-brainer that we need to take care of the life on this planet, for ourselves and future generations. I am glad to see that there are movements in society that are focusing on locally-grown organic farm products. I am also glad to see that many people want to know where their meat and produce come from and how they were treated before they were made available to consumers. Every bit of knowledge helps us to grow and to evolve into a society that is not preoccupied with making huge profits at the expense of our planet's future. Because we need to ask ourselves, as Yeats did--what is the beast that is moving slowly toward Bethlehem to be born? And what will happen to mankind when it is born?

A beautiful poem by Wallace Stevens

Apropos my previous post--a visitor outside my office window that just happened to be a lovely blackbird--I am posting one of my favorite poems about blackbirds, by Wallace Stevens. I am sure you will enjoy it as much as I do. 

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

I

Among twenty snowy mountains,

The only moving thing

Was the eye of the blackbird.

II

I was of three minds,

Like a tree

In which there are three blackbirds.

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.

It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV

A man and a woman

Are one.

A man and a woman and a blackbird

Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,

The beauty of inflections

Or the beauty of innuendoes,

The blackbird whistling

Or just after.

VI

Icicles filled the long window

With barbaric glass.

The shadow of the blackbird

Crossed it, to and fro.

The mood

Traced in the shadow

An indecipherable cause.

VII

O thin men of Haddam,

Why do you imagine golden birds?

Do you not see how the blackbird

Walks around the feet

Of the women about you?

VIII

I know noble accents

And lucid, inescapable rhythms;

But I know, too,

That the blackbird is involved

In what I know.

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,

It marked the edge

Of one of many circles.

X

At the sight of blackbirds

Flying in a green light,

Even the bawds of euphony

Would cry out sharply.

XI

He rode over Connecticut

In a glass coach.

Once, a fear pierced him,

In that he mistook

The shadow of his equipage

For blackbirds.

XII

The river is moving.

The blackbird must be flying.

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.

It was snowing

And it was going to snow.

The blackbird sat

In the cedar-limbs.

A summer poem by Mary Oliver

I love this poem........

The Summer Day 

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

Come summer with your gentle breeze

This is my new poem--Come summer with your gentle breeze--part of a new collection that I am working on and that I hope to publish later this year or early next year.

Come season of life-giving balm

Warmth and peacefulness

Come summer with your gentle breeze

Whispering through the trees

Children playing out of doors

Windows open to streets below

Harkens back to childhood days

Of barefoot romps and non-stop play

Come blessed season of few needs

Save sunshine and easy days

A good life without many things

To clutter peace that summer brings

A stroll along a flowing river

A pleasant walk, a cycle trip

Such are summer’s many pleasures

Such are summer’s many treasures

Copyright 2014

Paula M. De Angelis 

My new poem---Beyond this world there lies another

Beyond this world there lies another

Beyond this world there lies another

Peopled by shades that walk among the trees

Elysian Fields the beckoning meadows

The gathering dark the gentle breeze

Stand as in a trance, entranced

On the shore Charon awaits

With his humble ferryboat

Lights upon the water dance

The trip across the river Styx

Who waits upon the shore afar?

For those aboard to disembark

Stumbling blindly in the dark

Who guards the gates of Hades

Cerberus with his three heads

A devilish trinity of sorts

To gather in the souls that dread

Once the ferry crosses over

To the shore of no return

Once the gates behind souls close

Open others at key’s turn

Entry to the netherworld

Place of light, hole of dark

Fate of souls whose lives unraveled

Eternal rest the disembarked

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copyright 2014

Paula M. De Angelis

Essence

My new poem, Essence, part of the new collection of poems that I am working on.  

The flowing river does what it does best

Flows

Over rocks and stones

Rushes and roars

Over waterfalls on its way to the sea

Sprays

A delicate rainbow mist

Gem-like droplets hanging in the air

Iridescent

Like sparkling confetti tossed skyward by a child

Hovers then descends

Wanders

Through this ancient city

Weaves

Past buildings it once knew as something else

Factories and watermills

Provides

A peopled river town

History that came to pass and went

Disappears

Flowing onward toward oblivion

Flowing river

Until the day it does and is

No longer………..

copyright 2014

Paula M De Angelis

A poem for Valentine's Day--How Do I Love Thee--by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How Do I Love Thee (Sonnet 43) 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

(by Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

A new poem

Dance--reflections

Dancing my way to air

Gulping in the light

Making my way upstairs

Leaving behind the night

Dancing my life to find

That which I feel as true

Life as a walk in the blind

Love as a part of the hue

Colors abound about me

Circling over my head

Lights to guide my way through

Whispering where to tread

copyright 2013 Paula M De Angelis

For a good friend

Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd

by Walt Whitman

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, 
Whispering I love you, before long I die, 
I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you, 
For I could not die till I once look'd on you, 
For I fear'd I might afterward lose you. 

Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, 
Return in peace to the ocean my love, 
I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, 
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect! 
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, 
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; 
Be not impatient--a little space--know you I salute the air, the 
ocean and the land, 
Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love. 

A beautiful poem by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney

The Blackbird of Glanmore

On the grass when I arrive,

Filling the stillness with life,

But ready to scare off

At the very first wrong move,

In the ivy when I leave,

It's you, blackbird, I love.

I park, pause, take heed.

Breathe. Just breathe and sit

And lines I once translated

Come back: 'I want away

To the house of death, to my father

Under the low clay roof.'

And I think of one gone to him,

A little stillness dancer -

Haunter-son, lost brother -

Cavorting through the yard,

So glad to see me home,

My homesick first term over.

And think of a neighbour's words

Long after the accident;

'Yon bird on the shed roof,

Up on the ridge for weeks -

I said nothing at the time

But I never liked yon bird'

The automatic lock

Clunks shut, the blackbird's panic

Is shortlived, for a second

I've a bird's eye view of myself,

A shadow on raked gravel

In front of my house of life.

Hedge-hop, I am absolute

For you, your ready talkback,

Your each stand-offish comeback,

Your picky, nervy goldbeak -

On the grass when I arrive,

In the ivy when I leave.

---------------------------------------

In memory of a good man

Do not stand at my grave and weep

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

--------------------------------

In memory of my friend Jean's father, Jim, who passed away at 97 this past Wednesday. May he rest in peace. I know he is together now with his wife. Sometimes Jean and I would comment, when we visit Sleepy Hollow cemetery, that her parents' grave is right near my parents' grave, and that perhaps they have all met each other now and are together in heaven, happy and at peace. I hope so. 

A poem by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. 

(written in 1804 by William Wordsworth, when he had seen the daffodils blooming around Ullswater Lake in the Lake District)

A new poem

Plato’s dream

Being born

From nothing

Taking form

Now something

Outside space and time

Perfection of the Forms

Acquiring a body

Changes rules and norms

Seeking back to birth

Time before in space

Seeking back to earth

Before the fall from grace

5 May 2013

copyright Paula Mary De Angelis

This poem is part of a collection that I will be publishing later on this year. 

Little evening bird

Little evening bird

Night sings outside my window

Unafraid of dark

Melancholy sound

Strangely comforting transport

To the past and now

World will ever need

Your constancy and peaceful

River of bird songs

You sing of summer

Arrival of warmth and peace

Bids a soul’s release

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

April 2013

Daily news

Reading daily news

Since year’s start dire statistics

The future is here

Bumblebees dying

Climate changes severe storms

A new century

Filled with new changes

Unsure how they will impact

Just sure that they will

Bees disappearing

Pollination a problem

Global food problems

Arctic ice melting

Rapidly gone in few years

All oceans rising

Water to the air

More storms tornadoes

More rain more drought land dying

Bird flu pandemic

Virus mutates coming years

Fast spread to humans

Advent of new time

On earth our home our planet

How will we survive

Take seriously

The warnings dire real enough

Where to go from here

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

April 2013

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Just to give you an idea of the types of articles I've read recently that inspired this poem: 

1. Millions face starvation as world warms, say scientists http://www.guardian.co.uk/global-development/2013/apr/13/climate-change-millions-starvation-scientists?CMP=twt_gu
2. Arctic Nearly Free of Summer Sea Ice During First Half of 21st Century, Experts Predict http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130412142848.htm
3. Why Jim Hansen stopped being a government scientist http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/observations/2013/04/12/why-jim-hansen-stopped-being-a-government-scientist-video/
4. Skeptical science http://www.skepticalscience.com/
5. Pesticides definitively linked to bee colony collapse http://www.anh-usa.org/pesticides-definitively-linked-to-bee-colony-collapse/
6. A Common Pesticide Decreases Foraging Success and Survival in Honey Bees http://www.sciencemag.org/content/336/6079/348.abstract
7. Neonicotinoid Pesticide Reduces Bumble Bee Colony Growth and Queen Production http://www.sciencemag.org/content/336/6079/351.abstract
8. Silent hives http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/comment/2012/04/new-studies-colony-collapse-disorder.html
9. Total Buzz Kill: Metals in Flowers May Play Role in Bumblebee Decline http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130402152432.htm#.UVs6x29BPR4.twitter
10. Could New Flu Spark Global Flu Pandemic? New Bird Flu Strain Seen Adapting to Mammals, Humans http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130412192402.htm
11. New flu in China reveals its avian origins http://www.sciencenews.org/view/generic/id/349613/description/New_flu_in_China_reveals_its_avian_origins

To honor spring

Upturned face to sky

Soaking in the April sun

Warming rays of peace

Walking in the park

Rivulets of melted snow

Streaming down the hill

Life gladly returns

To the slowly melting land

Chattering of birds

Long frozen body

Thawing in the warming sun

Returning to life

Copyright 2013

Paula M De Angelis

A poem by Maya Angelou

(I love this poem by Maya Angelou)

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me. 

A winter poem by Robert Frost

I loved this poem immediately when we learned it as children in school. And my parents recited it to us when we were young. It's a beautiful poem with lovely images that captures a moment in the life of the observer, who knows he is too busy living his life to 'explore' the woods. He ends by saying he has 'miles to go before I sleep', which is a metaphor for his eventual death. So I interpret the poem to mean that he can stop and reflect on his life at different points in his life, and that perhaps nature serves as a means for him to do this, but that he wishes to keep going, to keep living, to honor his promises, before he rests forever.


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.