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A Thousand Mornings de Mary Oliver
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A Thousand Mornings (original: 2012; edição: 2012)

de Mary Oliver

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6312528,834 (4.25)77
In A THOUSAND MORNINGS, Mary Oliver returns to the imagery that has come to define her life's work, transporting us to the marshland and coastline of her beloved home, Provincetown, Massachusetts. In these pages, Oliver shares the wonder of dawn, the grace of animals, and the transformative power of attention. Whether studying the leaves of a tree or mourning her adored dog, Percy, she is ever patient in her observations and open to the teachings contained in the smallest of moments.… (mais)
Membro:KatieHafner
Título:A Thousand Mornings
Autores:Mary Oliver
Informação:Penguin Press HC, The (2012), Edition: 1, Hardcover, 96 pages
Coleções:Sua biblioteca
Avaliação:*****
Etiquetas:Mary Oliver, poetry

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A Thousand Mornings de Mary Oliver (2012)

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Mary Oliver's poetry is like stepping into a garden on a spring day and taking a deep breath. It doesn't fix everything but in some ways it really does. ( )
  jamestomasino | Sep 11, 2021 |
I loved every bit of it. Highly recommend. ( )
  whatsmacksaid | Jan 25, 2021 |
For me, reading Mary Oliver is like meeting a rarely seen, but much-loved and admired friend; a conversation and a glimpse into their life feels like a gift, but leaves a surprisingly aching sense of loss. Her writing has consistently been self-reflective observances of and within nature, unexpectedly exposing our own poverty of a life without. In her world, she approaches life with a soft, and open inquisitiveness to the (mostly) silent earthly elders; the aging black oak, the sea (that speaks to her), wrens that pray, and ants that squirm for life in the midst of death. She writ large a life in nature, and though her work is not strongly political, she makes clear her concern in "On Traveling To Beautiful Places"

"But it's late, for all of us,
and in truth the only ship there is
is the ship we are all on
Burning the world as we go."

For a poet who has spent her life silently observing the world as if a "pearl of water on the eider's glossy back," it must seem hopeless. What is most striking, is what is absent; anger, blame, indictments, rants, jokes, irony. The lack of these things, which are so much a part of the culture, might target her as a quaint nature writer, but this label would be a mistake. She doesn't have to write apocalyptic warnings about global warming, or fracking directly to get us thinking about what we're losing; she only has to let us glimpse in on her life that has been indelibly shaped by the lessons of nature.



LINES WRITTEN IN THE DAYS
OF GROWING DARKNESS

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

Into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don't say
it's easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.




( )
  runningbeardbooks | Sep 29, 2020 |
I love Mary Oliver! She speaks to my soul, my subconscious. She makes me pay attention, listen. ( )
  lasvegasbookie | Aug 20, 2020 |
I really enjoyed this slim book of poetry by Mary Oliver. I find I like her authentic voice and how she conveys so much with few words. ( )
  redwritinghood38 | Nov 6, 2018 |
Mostrando 1-5 de 25 (seguinte | mostrar todas)
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The life that I could still live, I should
live, and the thoughts that I could still
think, I should think.
                                               —C. G. Jung, The Red Book
Anything worth thinking about is worth
singing about.
                            —Bob Dylan, The Essential Interviews
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Anne Taylor
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POEM OF THE ONE WORLD

This morning
the beautiful white heron
was floating along above the water

and then into the sky of this
the one world
we all belong to

where everything
sooner or later
is a part of everything else

which thought made me feel
for a little while
quite beautiful myself.
THE MOTH, THE MOUNTAINS, THE RIVERS

Who can guess the luna's sadness who lives so
briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone
longing to be ground down, to be part again of
something livelier? Who can imagine in what
heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile
time with them. And I suggest them to you also,
that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life
be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as
you feel how it actually is, that we—so clever, and
ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained—are only
one design of the moving, the vivacious many.
4. OF THE FATHER

He wanted a body
     so he took mine.
Some wounds never vanish.
Oh the house of denial has thick walls
and very small windows
and whoever lives there, little by little,
will turn to stone.
I HAVE DECIDED

I have decided to find myself a home
in the mountains, somewhere high up
where one learns to live peacefully in
the cold and the silence. It's said that
in such a place certain revelations may
be discovered. That what the spirit
reaches for may be eventually felt, if not
exactly understood. Slowly, no doubt. I'm
not talking about a vacation.

Of course at the same time I mean to
stay exactly where I am.

Are you following me?
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In A THOUSAND MORNINGS, Mary Oliver returns to the imagery that has come to define her life's work, transporting us to the marshland and coastline of her beloved home, Provincetown, Massachusetts. In these pages, Oliver shares the wonder of dawn, the grace of animals, and the transformative power of attention. Whether studying the leaves of a tree or mourning her adored dog, Percy, she is ever patient in her observations and open to the teachings contained in the smallest of moments.

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