Mary Oliver reads “Wild Geese” for Seattle Arts & Lectures’ 2007/08 Season at Benaroya Hall on February 4, 2008.
My desire is only this—to die someplace the earth made beautiful all on its own, the way a first-grader makes the morning glory out of construction paper and Elmer’s glue, … Continue reading
August. Midday. Look up: flawless sky
until a cloud sprouts; sidles; suddenly
blots out the sun. Wind troubles the trees
The world is personal,
Dawn says. And what heart-scalded person
would think otherwise
you led me alone
into the sandhills, told me how you were named
for the lindens that grow like smaller oaks
or elms in Europe’s parks
Yet, while time takes its time to steal the light,
another music stirs, as if memory’s notes
had escaped their staff, & the past came to sing
beside me of its ordinary moments
…the Sea and all her ships
are women you are too certain of —
who would not marry you for love.
the sky is iron, rusting
round the edges; ravens settle like scorched
pages in the oak
The upper third color field
is all tin flash, ocean blue shoulders and tics.
That wide mid-brown crossed by shine is sand
and fresh water going home.
in the woods below the house by the stream when suddenly I thought, Why write another thing about the woods or stream or sky as I have for years? Why … Continue reading
…always the sun failed again
for the evening, and the short grass fell dull
in the shadows, out of the slant-light.
is interloper, is fur of russet
and iron, is light-footed, is real
in my alley
I weep easily and often
now for the world.