I guess my recent book has made more of an impact on me that I realised because when I started thinking about today’s poem this one pop right up in my mind.
It’s by Mary Oliver (again… but I’m not apologising), from the collection called “Why I wake early”.
“Mindful” by Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
It was with sheer pleasure that I attended an evening of poetry with Mary and Billy Collins two years ago. In the question and answer portion, someone asked Mary where she did her writing. She replied, “I have trouble staying in buildings.” I wrote that down. She was marvelous. He was too. The two of them together – monumental! Sigh.
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