There are as many worlds as there are imaginers.
- The Boat (in “Winter Hours”)
I know I can walk through the world, along the shore or under the trees, with my mind filled with things of little importance, in full self-attendance. A condition I can't really call being alive.
Mary OliverFor some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.
Mary OliverPercy and Books
Percy does not like it when I read a book.
He puts his face over the top of it, and moans.
He rolls his eyes, sometimes he sneezes.
The sun is up, he says, and the wind is down.
The tide is out, and the neighbor's dogs are playing.
But Percy, I say, Ideas! The elegance of language!
The insights, the funniness, the beautiful stories
that rise and fall and turn into strength, or courage.
Books? says Percy. I ate one once, and it was enough. Let's go.
But the owls themselves are not hard to find, silent and on the wing, with their ear tufts flat against their heads as they fly and their huge wings alternately gliding and flapping as they maneuver through the trees. Athena’s owl of wisdom and Merlin’s companion, Archimedes, were screech owls surely, not this bird with the glassy gaze, restless on the bough, nothing but blood on its mind.
Mary OliverStill, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled—
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing—
that the light is everything—that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and falling. And I do.
Tag: poetry
to leap into it and hold on, connecting everything,
Mary OliverThat time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry
but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?
How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?
Tag: love loss joy grief healing
الرحلة
ــــــ
أخيرا عرفت
ما عليك فعله،
وبدأت،
رغم...
الأصوات التي
تقذف نصائحها الرديئة
و رغم...
اهتزاز البيت...
و رغم الشد في كاحليك.
"اهتم بحياتي.....!! "
كل صوت يصرخ فيك.
لكنك لم تتوقف.
كنت تعرف ما عليك القيام به،
رغم شراسة الرياح
و قسوة أصابعها
التي كادت أن تطيح بك،
رغم الحزن
المريع.
فالوقت كان متأخراُ
موحشاً،
والطريق تملأه
فروع متساقطة.... وأحجار.
ولكن شيئا فشيئا،
ذابت في المسافات أصواتهم،
واحترقت النجوم......
وسط غيومها...،
ثم أتي صوت جديد
أدركت ببطء أنه صوتك..
أنه رفيق رحلتك التي غصت
العالم فيها
عازما على القيام
بالشيء الوحيد الذي يمكن فعله --
عازما على....
إنقاذ الحياة الوحيدة....
التي بإمكانك حقا إنقاذها.
Tag: الرحلة-الحياة
الزنبقة- ماري أوليفر
ليلةً بعد ليلةٍ
تلفُّ
العتمة
وجه الزنبقة
التي تطبق
أسوارها الخمسة
حول نفسها، برفقٍ
وعلى ثروتها
من العسل،
وعطرها،
راضيةً بالوقوف هناك
في الحديقة،
ليست نائمةً حقاً،
وربما،
تقول بلغة الزنابق
بعض كلماتٍ صغيرة
لا يمكننا سماعها
حتى وإن لم تكن الريح تهب
في أي مكان،
شفاهها
شديدةُ الكتمان،
لسانها
مخبأ جيداً-
أو ربما،
لا تقول شيئاً على الإطلاق
لكن تقف هناك فقط
بصبرِ
النباتاتِ
والقدِّيسين
إلى أن تكمل الأرض دورتها
ويصبح القمر الفضِّي
الشَّمس الذهبية-
كأنما الزنبقة كانت على يقين بحدوث ذلك
لأنها هي نفسها، أوَليست،
صلاةً كاملة؟
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