New and Selected Poems, Volume 1
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
When New and Selected Poems, Volume One was originally published in 1992, Mary Oliver was awarded the National Book Award. In the fourteen years since its initial appearance it has become one of the best-selling volumes of poetry in the country. This collection features thirty poems published only in this volume as well as selections from the poet's first eight books.
Mary Oliver's perceptive, brilliantly crafted poems about the natural landscape and the fundamental questions of life and death have won high praise from critics and readers alike. "Do you love this world?" she interrupts a poem about peonies to ask the reader. "Do you cherish your humble and silky life?" She makes us see the extraordinary in our everyday lives, how something as common as light can be "an invitation/to happiness,/and that happiness,/when it's done right,/is a kind of holiness,/palpable and redemptive." She illuminates how a near miss with an alligator can be the catalyst for seeing the world "as if for the second time/the way it really is." Oliver's passionate demonstrations of delight are powerful reminders of the bond between every individual, all living things, and the natural world.
pepper’s hollow bell, the lacquered onion. Beets, borage, tomatoes. Green beans. I came in and I put everything on the counter: chives, parsley, dill, the squash like a pale moon, peas in their silky shoes, the dazzling rain-drenched corn. 7 The Forest At night under the trees the black snake jellies forward rubbing roughly the stems of the bloodroot, the yellow leaves, little boulders of bark, to take off the old life. I don’t know if he knows what is happening. I don’t
week they poured smoothly, Curled like threads about the mossy stones And sang with the voices of birds. Now they are swollen and driven with muds and ambitions. They gallop and steam As though, crazed by this week of rain, They sense ahead—and desire it— A new life in a new land Where vines tumble thick as ship-ropes, The ferns grow tall as trees! They remind me of something, some other travelers— Two great-uncles who went west years ago And got lost in Colorado Looking for the
change, but we do not change much. Done with bailing, I stow the gear And cast off. Snorting, the engine churns and comes alive! And with arched neck she steps out over the water. Crows From a single grain they have multiplied. When you look in the eyes of one you have seen them all. At the edges of highways they pick at limp things. They are anything but refined. Or they fly out over the corn like pellets of black fire, like overlords. Crow is crow, you say. What else is
the brown hillsides, past some empty buildings. We left the car and wandered through a field, Three ladies pausing in indifferent space. Some cows drank from a creek, and lurched away. Whoever named the place learned the hard lesson, I’d guess, without much fanfare or delay. Farms to both sides shook, bankrupt, in the wind. We hope for magic; mystery endures. We look for freedom, but the measure’s set. There was a graveyard, but we saw no people. We went back to the car. Dim with
Coiled on the bull’s great hoof And back into the world. Half blind with weariness I touched the thread and wept. O, it was frail as air. And I turned then With the white spool Through the cold rocks, Through the black rocks, Through the long webs, And the mist fell, And the webs clung, And the rocks tumbled, And the earth shook. And the thread held. On Winter’s Margin On winter’s margin, see the small birds now With half-forged memories come flocking home To gardens famous