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Mary Oliver

Dream Work

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  • history_grцитирует5 месяцев назад
    What good does it do
    to lie all day in the sun
    loving what is easy?
    It never grew easy,
    but at last I grew peaceful:
    all summer
    my fear diminished
    as they bloomed through the water
    like flowers, like flecks
    of an uncertain dream,
    while I lay on the rocks, reaching
    into the darkness, learning
    little by little to love
    our only world.
  • history_grцитирует5 месяцев назад
    The cattle egrets
    flew out into the sunlight
    like so many pieces of white ribbon.
  • history_grцитирует5 месяцев назад
    Those days I was willing, but frightened.
    What I mean is, I wanted to live my life
    but I didn’t want to do what I had to do
    to go on, which was: to go back.
  • history_grцитирует5 месяцев назад
    And now I understand
    something so frightening, and wonderful —
    how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing
    through crossroads, sticking
    like lint to the familiar.
  • history_grцитирует5 месяцев назад
    All night
    the dark buds of dreams
    open
    richly.
    In the center
    of every petal
    is a letter,
    and you imagine
    if you could only remember
    and string them all together
    they would spell the answer.
  • history_grцитирует6 месяцев назад
    I listened to the earth-talk,
    the root-wrangle,
    the arguments of energy,
    the dreams lying
    just under the surface,
    then rising,
    becoming
    at the last moment
    flaring and luminous —
    the patient parable
    of every spring and hillside
    year after difficult year.
  • history_grцитирует6 месяцев назад
    Fear defeated me. And yet,
    not in faith and not in madness
    but with the courage I thought
    my dream deserved,
    I stepped outside. It was gone.
    Then I whirled at the sound of some
    shambling tonnage.
    Did I see a black haunch slipping
    back through the trees? Did I see
    the moonlight shining on it?
    Did I actually reach out my arms
    toward it, toward paradise falling, like
    the fading of the dearest, wildest hope —
    the dark heart of the story that is all
    the reason for its telling?
  • Daniela Castilloцитирует2 года назад
    Sometimes,
    when I sit like this, quiet,
    all the dreams of my blood
    and all outrageous divisions of time
    seem ready to leave,
    to slide out of me.
  • Daniela Castilloцитирует2 года назад
    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.
  • Daniela Castilloцитирует2 года назад
    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
    the world offers itself to your imagination,
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