Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Poem for Mary Oliver
Today, I obtained Mary Oliver's new book, called "Thirst." I read the first line of the opening poem and immediately wrote down the following (now slightly edited) as a response, or perhaps as simply a continuation, before I read further in the text.
My work is loving the world
(Mary Oliver)
in all its intimacies,
its profusions of summer,
its winter nudities.
Sometimes I sense a quiet
beneath the silence--
in the garden, perhaps,
the unfolding hush
of the daffodils
and lilies,
or amidst these ancient trees
who have been here
for so long,
god's emissaries,
saying, "peace, peace,
the world will endure
past all its losses."
Out here, most often,
it is the ocean itself
that speaks,
in its roiling voice,
its thunderous tongue.
What it is saying
I have listened for
all these years.
as it crackles and whips,
or whispers in its silken tones.
Even now,
I am not sure of its message
its assaults of thrill and boom
shattering the rocks
into flares of light
something about Mystery,
something about uncontainable Love.
Dorothy Walters
January 31, 2007
My work is loving the world
(Mary Oliver)
in all its intimacies,
its profusions of summer,
its winter nudities.
Sometimes I sense a quiet
beneath the silence--
in the garden, perhaps,
the unfolding hush
of the daffodils
and lilies,
or amidst these ancient trees
who have been here
for so long,
god's emissaries,
saying, "peace, peace,
the world will endure
past all its losses."
Out here, most often,
it is the ocean itself
that speaks,
in its roiling voice,
its thunderous tongue.
What it is saying
I have listened for
all these years.
as it crackles and whips,
or whispers in its silken tones.
Even now,
I am not sure of its message
its assaults of thrill and boom
shattering the rocks
into flares of light
something about Mystery,
something about uncontainable Love.
Dorothy Walters
January 31, 2007
