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The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of American Primitive presents a new collection of poems that reflects her signature imagery-based language and her observations of the unaffected beauty of nature.--Publisher's description.
This poetry collection was beautifully written with elegant imagery but failed to stimulate any strong feelings or thoughts in me. It feels very "style over substance".
It's the first collection of Mary Oliver's I've ever read so I don't know if this is the case of for all of her poetry or if it's just a problem with this collection. It really just didn't resonate with me.
For a self-described non-reader of poetry, I've read a fair amount of poetry this year. Blue Horses takes its name from the common subject of Franz Marc's paintings, and the poem by the same name is about the painter. Much of the poetry is about nature and the poet narrator's relationship to it, a common theme of Mary Oliver's poetry. I especially liked "The Hummingbirds" and "Such Silence", followed by "The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac" which was longer than the others and in reaction to the author's cancer diagnosis and thoughts on the transience of life and how we always want it to be a bit longer. It's not my favorite of Oliver's collections, but it's one that I think her fans would enjoy, full of clear writing and plenty of natural imagery. ( )
Such a beautiful way of seeing the world and a beautiful way of wording them. This poet has a deep and endless appreciation for the beauty in nature, love and God. An inspiring and uplifting read for when you are feeling lost and hopeless. ( )
This is my first Mary Oliver. What gorgeous poetry! Words perfect for harboring in the back of my memory and reflecting on. The kind of book that would be suited to taking on a hike or visiting a cabin in the forest, and the kind of book that makes me long to do those things. There were too many great poems to pick favorites. ( )
Oliver has long been America’s bestselling poet, and these latest conversational poems show why you can find her work on shelves across the United States.
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If you don't break your ropes while you're alive/ do you think/ ghosts will do it after? -Kabir
Dedica
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For Anne Taylor
Incipit
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AFTER READING LUCRETIUS, I GO TO THE POND The slippery green frog/ that went to his death/ in the heron's pink throat/ was my small brother,
Citazioni
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WHAT I CAN DO
The television has two instruments that control it. I get confused. The washer asks me, do you want regular or delicate? Honestly, I just want clean. Everything is like that. I won't even mention cell phones.
I can turn on the light of the lamp beside my chair where a book is waiting, but that's about it.
Oh yes, and I can strike a match and make fire.
FIRST YOGA LESSON
"Be a lotus in the pond," she said, "opening slowly, no single energy tugging against another but peacefully, all together."
I couldn't even touch my toes. "Feel your quadriceps stretching?" she asked. Well, something was certainly stretching.
Standing impressively upright, she raised one leg and placed it against the other, then lifted her arms and shook her hands like leaves, "Be a tree," she said.
I lay on the floor, exhausted. But to be a lotus in the pond opening slowly, and very slowing rising— that I could do.
SUCH SILENCE
As deep as I ever went into the forest I came upon an old stone bench, very, very old, and around it a clearing, and beyond that trees taller and older than I had ever seen.
Such silence! It really wasn't so far from a town, but it seemed all the clocks in the world had stopped counting. So it was hard to suppose the usual rules applied.
Sometimes there's only a hint, a possibility. What's magical, sometimes, has deeper roots than reason. I hope everyone knows that.
I sat on the bench, waiting for something. An angel, perhaps, Or dancers with the legs of goats.
No, I didn't see either. But only, I think, because I didn't stay long enough.
The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of American Primitive presents a new collection of poems that reflects her signature imagery-based language and her observations of the unaffected beauty of nature.--Publisher's description.
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It's the first collection of Mary Oliver's I've ever read so I don't know if this is the case of for all of her poetry or if it's just a problem with this collection. It really just didn't resonate with me.