I hide myself – within my flower, That fading from your Vase – You – unsuspecting – feel for me – Almost – a loneliness – — Emily Dickinson, from “[I hide myself within my flower],” The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (Little, Brown, & Company, 1960)
Oxygen Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even, while it calls the earth its home, the soul. So the merciful, noisy machine stands in our house working away in its lung-like voice. I hear it as I kneel before the fire, stirring with a stick of iron, letting the logs lie more loosely. You, in… Continue reading Mary Oliver
The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough. ― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature and Selected Essays. (Penguin Classics; Reissue edition May 27, 2003) Originally published 1836.
I want to write something so simply about love or about pain that even as you are reading you feel it and as you read you keep feeling it and though it be my story it will be common, though it be singular it will be known to you so that by the end you… Continue reading Mary Oliver
All summer they are red and pink and white tents of softness and nectar, which wafts and hangs everywhere–a sweetness so palpable and excessive that, before it, I’m struck, I’m taken, I’m conquered; I’m washed into it, as though it was a river, full of dreaming and idleness–I drop to the sand, I can’t move;… Continue reading Mary Oliver
… I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple – or a green field – a place to enter, and in which to feel. Only in a secondary way is it an intellectual thing – an artifact, a moment of seemly and robust wordiness – wonderful as that part of it is. I… Continue reading Mary Oliver
The brook will nonetheless teach you to speak, in spite of sorrows and memories. — Gaston Bachelard, Earth and Reveries of Will: An Essay on the Imagination of Matter. (Dallas Inst Humanities & Culture, September 1, 2002) Originally published 1948.