Showing posts with label Mary Oliver poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary Oliver poem. Show all posts

Saturday, July 23, 2011

I Heart Mary Oliver



Prairie Wildflowers and Grasses
Photo by Grant Steerzer

A friend over at Red Earth Farms just posted on Facebook with a question: If you were to memorize a poem, which would it be?

Someone mentioned A Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost, which I often hear running through my head.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

Talk about great (insert sigh here). Robert Frost is like that - who can walk in the woods and not think "...whose woods are these I think I know..." or, when you have to drag yourself away from somewhere you'd like to stay, the line about "...but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep..." (from Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening).

But one of my favorites has to be The Journey by Mary Oliver:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Oh. So. Delicious.

In other news, life at the ecovillage has been hot but lively. The Inn has been full for two weeks straight, which has kept us exceedingly busy. The work exchangers have been amazing - they see things that need to be done and do them, which has taken an enormous load off of my shoulders. I'm having great fun cooking with Mina, Robby is working hard on making us all (semi) famous, Danae and Jordan are taming the garden and making the place absolutely beautiful, and Katherine is taking care of the inn rooms beautifully. It makes me very happy to watch this all fall into place!

The other night we had an International potluck which began with a game of street cricket, and finished with an amazing array of food. Yum!

Baloo
Photo by Sequoia Rock

Baloo, best dog in the world, continues to get older each day. He can no longer walk all the way to the pond, which is just as well, because his hind legs are no longer strong enough to push him out of the water. It is sad but we have had 14 fantastic years, and each additional day feels like delicious gravy. He and I take slow, short walks, and hang out together a lot. He seems quite content, and still enjoys (very short) games of fetch.

It was too hot for pizza night (we couldn't bear the thought of standing in the kitchen near the oven pumping out 500 degree heat for four hours) so Kurt grilled burgers ("real" and Boca), a bunch of veggies, we steamed up a ton of sweet corn and whipped up several tons of potato salad (recipe tomorrow). It was a big hit, and a nice change from pizza. We're thinking about doing lasagne in the solar oven this Thursday.

The pond at sunset
Photo by Grant Steerzer

That's it for now. I'm kind of in a hurry to get outside - it's 8:22 p.m. and it has finally cooled down. It's fairly quiet out because half of the community has gone down to Columbia to participate in an Ultimate Frisbee tournament. But the birds are singing (a nest with 3 robins about to fledge right outside my window), the kids are laughing, and there is a guitar and singing going on in the courtyard. Time to go, perhaps for a swim and then to join the singing.

More tomorrow.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

John Newstead - My Kind of Guy

John ("outstanding in his field") awaits walkers on the last day of the trip as we round the bend at Robin Hood's Bay. He is wearing one of the many hats given to him by admirers. This one was Australian and had a series of corks around the rim.
Every so often one comes across a person who just seems to light up the space around them, who always has a good word to say, who is truly genuine and who is an absolute delight to be around. John Newstead was one of these people.
Years ago, in my career as a volunteer Sierra Club trip leader I had to opportunity to be a trainee and then to lead England's Coast to Coast Walk. The Sierra Club does an abbreviated version of the 190 mile "walk" (oh, those Brits - what to us is a sweat-producing, muscle spasm- inducing, heart-palpitating hike is merely a stroll in the woods to them). Starting on the west coast in St. Bee's we hike a route designed by Lou Wilkinson. It includes the most beautiful 90 miles or so, skipping the sections taking walkers on highways, and cutting the 23-mile-days into shorter chunks. This was accomplished by having our own mini bus and driver. The driver would spend most of the two weeks with us, meeting us at the end of the day and delivering us to our B&B. He would also transport our luggage from one spot to another.

I suppose that anyone could have done the job, but John Newstead elevated it to a fine art, while teaching us all a lesson in the simple joys of living. John was no ordinary bus driver.

Theoretically retired, Lou had successfully lured John away from his comfy home and lovely wife Joan for six weeks each summer to share his native England with a bunch of Yanks. By the second day of each trip John would know the names of each (up to 15) trip member. By the second week he had running jokes going with all of them. There usually wasn't a working radio in the bus (pronounced "boos") but John kept himself (and us) entertained by singing and whistling, mostly showtunes. He made each one of us feel cared about and nurtured; more like welcome friends and less like strangers.

John taught me a lot of things. The phrase "spot on," for example. And he tried to teach me the basics of cricket ("you see, Alline," he'd say, as we leaned on a fence watching a game in Richmond "you have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that's in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he's out. When they are all out, the side that's out comes in and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out..."), although the intricacies of "leg before wicket" will forever remain a mystery to me. But mostly he taught me that it doesn't matter what one does as long as one does it with great care and love.

John (third from left) chatting with some of our 2004 group.

John died January 2, 2009. It seems impossible to me that someone so filled with life and joy and fun could be gone. I cannot imagine a Coast-to-Coast Walk without him. I suppose I expected him to live forever, to always be there waiting for us with a smile and yet another funny hat. This post in no way does him justice, but I can't seem to do any better. My heart goes out to his family and to the many people who loved him.

In closing I leave you with a poem that reminds me of John. He wasn't just a visitor - he ate life with gusto (and a nice glass of red wine), and we are all the better for it.


When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox:

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.



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