It’s been too long since I’ve shared any of Mary Oliver’s poetry, or anyone else’s for that matter. I’ll try to do better. And let me begin with a poem I’d not read from a collection* that I’d not been drawn to. My mistake. It’s a poem about ponds and pond lilies, but just as much, I think, about communities and people, about seeing the brighter light and greater beauty that embraces both the seemingly perfect and the clearly imperfect, the promise of the blooms, each and all, and their eventual passing. See what you think.
The Ponds, by Mary Oliver*
Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe
their lapping light crowding the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them—
the muskrats swimmingAnd shouldn't we all?
can reach out and touch
only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?
I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided--
and that one wears an orange blight--
and this one is a glossy cheek
half nibbled away--
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.
Still, 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 fading. And I do.
*A poem from House of Light (1990)
2 comments:
This is one of my top 5 favorite poems. Every time I read it, I am filled with joy and a feeling of grateful abandon. I looked for an online copy to email to a friend, because I didn't want to type it out from the book. Your blog was the first hit. Thank you for posting.
Pleased that it has brought you joy, that it was conveniently shared with a friend, that it may continue to speak to you, to move you. It has that effect on people.
Post a Comment