My last post featured the poems of Mary Oliver, and now I want to feature the words of Oliver. A while ago I was reading through many poems by her and in almost every poem a line or two would jump out at me, catching my imagination. In a scrambling burst of inspiration I made a piece of "word art" that combines my personality with lines from twenty of Oliver's poems. I haven't changed any of the words of her poetry, I have simply rearranged chunks of twenty poems into one poem. I call it "The Oliver Collage".
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
like stones, leaves, fire it falls cold
into my body, waking the bones.
Something
just now
moved through my heart.
Something
that more or less
kills me with delight,
that lights up the otherwise
blunt wilderness of the body.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant.
And tip the envelope, from which
like stones, leaves, fire it falls cold
into my body, waking the bones.
Something
just now
moved through my heart.
Something
that more or less
kills me with delight,
that lights up the otherwise
blunt wilderness of the body.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant.
The stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which I slowly
recognized as my own.
It was what I was born for-
drowning in the music
so that I might step inside
and be less myself than part of everything.
And yet, how often I'm fooled
before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
but if I had to guess
I would say that only
my heart is on fire
like a shower of meteors,
like a million flowers on fire.
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which I slowly
recognized as my own.
It was what I was born for-
drowning in the music
so that I might step inside
and be less myself than part of everything.
And yet, how often I'm fooled
before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
but if I had to guess
I would say that only
my heart is on fire
like a shower of meteors,
like a million flowers on fire.
Deep inside me, whispering is
a murmur of
chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity,
but I'll take grace
as I stride deeper and deeper
into the world,
and I plan to be there soon,
and, so far, I am
just that lucky,
my legs splashing
over the edge of darkness.
Don't call this world adorable,
or useful, that's not it.
Don't call this world an explanation,
or even an education.
It's frisky, you can die for it.
a murmur of
chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity,
but I'll take grace
as I stride deeper and deeper
into the world,
and I plan to be there soon,
and, so far, I am
just that lucky,
my legs splashing
over the edge of darkness.
Don't call this world adorable,
or useful, that's not it.
Don't call this world an explanation,
or even an education.
It's frisky, you can die for it.
I don't know where
such certainty comes from.
Not love,
not the wind,
not the inside of a stone.
Not anything.
But I didn't stop
though the wind pried
as I left their voices behind.
I have done so,
brilliantly,
so joyfully.
This broken year will make no change
on the orderliness of the world.
In the glare of your mind,
be honest.
such certainty comes from.
Not love,
not the wind,
not the inside of a stone.
Not anything.
But I didn't stop
though the wind pried
as I left their voices behind.
I have done so,
brilliantly,
so joyfully.
This broken year will make no change
on the orderliness of the world.
In the glare of your mind,
be honest.
A lifetime isn't long enough for the
beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Every day
I see or hear
something
in the music,
strong as the pulling moon.
I was dazzled,
letting the silver clasps out of my hair,
hurrying, taking off
my clothes.
Oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
I am perfectly content not knowing.
I know that much.
beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Every day
I see or hear
something
in the music,
strong as the pulling moon.
I was dazzled,
letting the silver clasps out of my hair,
hurrying, taking off
my clothes.
Oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
I am perfectly content not knowing.
I know that much.
What do I know? But this:
it was what I was born for-
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy
to lose myself,
to look,
to listen,
to become
what the soul is supposed to be-
a wild place never visited,
and I plan to be there soon.
Today began,
I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
I know that much.
it was what I was born for-
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy
to lose myself,
to look,
to listen,
to become
what the soul is supposed to be-
a wild place never visited,
and I plan to be there soon.
Today began,
I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
I know that much.
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