(Yeah, I know it should be hopes may rise on the, but Carlisle means nothing to me, oh Vienna)

A blog what I wrote.

Saturday, 29 October 2011

Mostly obsessed with Mary Oliver

This week I have been mostly obsessed with the haunting, lyrical poetry of Mary Oliver. Her poems feed the soul. Here is one I love:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press

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