I am in love with a book of poetry I've been reading. Mary Oliver has always been known for her exquisite rendering of the natural world. But this book grapples with the loss of her long time partner, with faith. And it's so understated that it's just breathtaking. I just kept crying for the beauty of it, all the way out to Seattle. I had to stop reading and knit just so the flight attendants wouldn't cart me away!!
Here is the first poem: The book is called Thirst. Buy it!
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird -
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work.
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
The sun is out in Seattle. Rejoice.