Read Thirst by Mary Oliver Online

thirst

Thirst, a collection of forty-three new poems from the Pulitzer Prize-winner Mary Oliver, introduces two new directions in the poet's work. Grappling with grief at the death of the love of her life and partner of over forty years, the remarkable photographer Molly Malone Cook, she strives to experience sorrow as a path to spiritual progress, grief as part of loving and notThirst, a collection of forty-three new poems from the Pulitzer Prize-winner Mary Oliver, introduces two new directions in the poet's work. Grappling with grief at the death of the love of her life and partner of over forty years, the remarkable photographer Molly Malone Cook, she strives to experience sorrow as a path to spiritual progress, grief as part of loving and not its end. And within these pages she chronicles for the first time her discovery of faith, without abandoning the love of the physical world that has been a hallmark of her work for four decades. In three stunning long poems, Oliver explores the dimensions and tests the parameters of religious doctrine, asking of being good, for example, "To what purpose? / Hope of Heaven? Not that. But to enter / the other kingdom: grace, and imagination, / and the multiple sympathies: to be as a leaf, a rose,/ a dolphin."...

Title : Thirst
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ISBN : 9780807068960
Format Type : Hardcover
Number of Pages : 88 Pages
Status : Available For Download
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Thirst Reviews

  • Zinta
    2018-10-17 01:44

    Live long enough, live deep enough, and you will find, as Mary Oliver does in these 43 poems collected in "Thirst," that all grief edges joy, all joy is edged by grief. It is only in a deep and courageous immersion into life, and perhaps also that place beyond life, that one can fully experience this wonder, a kind of yin and yang, the light beside the shadow, phenomenon that is living with thirst, quenched or unquenched. There is nothing pretentious about Oliver's poetry. She is simplicity and purity itself. Thirst is how she approaches living, and now dying - in her expression of grief for the loss of her longtime life partner. This does not change how she approaches living, only intensifies it. "My work is loving the world," she writes in her opening poem, "Messenger." She observes the world, then observes herself in it, part and parcel. "Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums./Here the clam deep in the speckled sand./Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?/Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me/keep my mind on what matters,/which is my work,/which is mostly standing still and learning to be/astonished." Much of this collection is Oliver's conversation with God having a conversation with her. Their dialogue is filtered by nature, where everyplace is a place of worship and every living thing ministering to her and she reciprocating. Her dogs speak of unconditional love and simple acceptance, an exchanged gaze with a snake is looking into the eyes of divinity (and not the darker side). Praying can be done through the weeds in a vacant lot. The words do not have to be elaborate, Oliver writes, "but a doorway/into thanks, and a silence in which/another voice may speak." This same sentiment is echoed with utmost simplicity in the poem, "The Uses of Sorrow" - that a box full of darkness given to her by another can also be a gift, a richer blessing. When you think you cannot go closer, or dive deeper, or come up into brighter light, as Oliver writes in her poetry - you can. Just when you think Oliver cannot elicit more beauty out of the everyday word - she does. We thirst for more.

  • Jeanette
    2018-09-28 22:46

    The Uses of Sorrow(In my sleep I dreamed this poem) Someone I loved once gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

  • Laura
    2018-10-02 00:25

    The Place I Want to Get Back Tois wherein the pinewoodsin the moments betweenthe darknessand first lighttwo deercame walking down the hilland when they saw methey said to each other, okay,this one is okay,let’s see who she isand why she is sittingon the ground, like that,so quiet, as ifasleep, or in a dream,but, anyway, harmless;and so they cameon slender legsand gazed upon menot unlike the wayI go out to the dunes and lookand look and lookinto the faces of the flowers;and then one of them leaned forwardand nuzzled my hand, and what can my lifebring to me that could exceedthat brief moment?For twenty yearsI have gone every day to the same woods,not waiting, exactly, just lingering.Such gifts, bestowed,can’t be repeated.If you want to talk about thiscome to visit. I live in the housenear the corner, which I have namedGratitude~Mary Oliver

  • Maria
    2018-10-08 01:44

    “When I first found you I wasfilled with light, now the darkness growsand it is filled with crooked things, bitterand weak, each one bearing my name.”I must start by saying that I believe the title of this collection of poems is beyond appropriate. Thirst is a tree of forty three branches seeking answers from a sky they know to be everlastingly out of reach.Mary Oliver is painfully aware that one backward step after one step forward won’t bring you to where you were before. Even if taken with exceptional precision, there is absolutely no way back. We crave the moment in its infinitude, not in its physicality or geographical capacity.She is moving. You can tell that she is trying not to stop, not to have a break for a breath become eternity. Sometimes blindly, other times looking back over her shoulder, she is carrying on. Some of the doors that were before wide open to everything now hide walls of bricks behind, though. She bumps into them, into accidental revelations that impel her step. There is no wrong path, just path.Even though I must confess that I did not enjoy some of her more religious poems as much as the others, I understand, and respect, their existence.Going through Mary Oliver’s body of work, back and forth in time, is an incredible experience. It’s remarkable how you can feel her reaching out, further and further, into the universe. It’s amazing how you can feel her changing, sometimes subtly, other times rather brusquely, even if always kindheartedly. She has filled my year with beauty, leading me through a spectrum of emotions that seem to have awoken me in more ways than one. I couldn’t be more grateful for her existence.“Someone I loved once gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understandthat this, too, was a gift.”

  • Kathleen
    2018-09-23 02:27

    I like Mary Oliver, and I'm not going to stop liking her just because I liked Thirst less than American Primitive and House of Light. I have read a lot in Dream Work, too, and will probably read the whole thing through this summer, so I get a sense of her again.In Thirst, I respect the grief and the reverence for nature and nature's beauty, but the God thing feels too pointed to me. And I don't really mind when poets do their God thing--Lucia Perillo, Andrew Hudgins--it's their thing, their material. Perhaps it was always present in her work and is naturally more her focus now. I should give an example...open book randomly and find "The Vast Ocean Begins Just Outside Our Church: The Eucharist," which begins:Something has happenedto the bread and the wine.They have been blessed.What now?I don't even mind the simplicity of this, as I tend to admire simplicity of language for complexity of thought, but I sense the words are simply going to make the same claim made many times before:They are something else nowfrom what they werebefore this began.And, yes, there it is. Oddly, though I resist this, I like the wonderful unsupported claims she makes about animals--a dog taking pleasure in the beauty of sunsets, a snake looking her in the eyes. And she lets the roses speak! Louise Gluck spoke through flowers, too, but Oliver puts what they say not into persona poems but in quotation marks, "Listen," say the roses"the heart-shackles are not, as you think, death, illness, pain,unrequited hope, not loneliness, butlassitude, rue, vainglory, fear, anxiety,selfishness."This made me look up "lassitude" which I feared was laziness, but it is weariness...weariness unto apathy.I guess in the animal poems and with the roses speaking, it is clear we are in fable, in imagination. In the God poems, it is not clear to me whether myth and the imagination enter in, or just a firm restatement of religious claim, fortified by hope, faith, and belief.I go back to American Primitive. It's got vultures in it! And a cyclops kitten.It's true, Jesus was there in earlier books, in "Maybe" from House of Light: "Sweet Jesus, talking / his melancholy madness, / stood up in the boat / and the say lay down, // silky and sorry." But here it is clear a story is being told, Jesus a character in it, as is the sea! I glean a truth from the imaginative and fabulous details.In Thirst, I feel I am being told the way it is, and that it is only one way. This prevented my deep pleasure and deepest belief in the poems themselves.

  • Matthew
    2018-10-16 01:24

    When I am among the trees,especially the willows and the honey locust,equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,they give off such hints of gladness.I would almost say that they save me, and daily.I am so distant from the hope of myself,in which I have goodness, and discernment,and never hurry through the worldbut walk slowly, and bow often.Around me the trees stir in their leavesand call out, "Stay awhile."The light flows from their branches.And they call again, "It's simple," they say,"and you too have comeinto the world to do this, to go easy, to be filledwith light, and to shine."- When I Am Among the Trees, pg. 4* * *All the quick notesMozart didn't have time to usebefore he entered the cloud-boatare falling now from the beaksof the finchesthat have gathered from the joyous summerinto the hard winterand, like Mozart, they speak of nothingbut light and delight,though it is true, the heavy blades of the worldare still pounding underneath.And this is what you can do too, maybe,if you live simply and with a lyrical heartin the cumbered neighbourhoods are even,as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,offering tune after tune after tune,making some hard-hearted princeprudent and kind, just by being happy.- Mozart, for Example, pg. 12* * *There are these: the blueskirts of the ocean walking in now, almostto the edge of town,and a thousand birds, in their incredible wingswhich they think nothing of, crying outthat the day is long, the fish are plentiful.And friends, being as kind as friends can be,striving to lift the darkness.Forgive me, Lord of honeysuckle, of trees,of notebooks, of typewriters, of music,that there are also these:the lover, the singer, the poetasleep in the shadows.- A Note Left on the Door, pg. 20* * *It doesn't have to bethe blue iris, it could beweeds in a vacant lot, or a fewsmall stones; justpay attention, then patcha few words together and don't tryto make them elaborate, this isn'ta contest but the doorwayinto thanks, and a silence in whichanother voice may speak.- Praying, pg. 37* * *There are dayswhen the sun goes downlike a fist,though of courseif you see anythingin the heavensin this wayyou had better getyour eyes checkedor, better still,your diminished spirit.The heavenshave no fist,or wouldn't they have beenshaking itfor a thousand years now,and evenlonger than that,at the dull, brutishways of mankind -heaven's owncreation?Instead: such patience!Such willingnessto let us continue!To hear,little by little,the voices -only, so far, inpockets of the world -suggestingthe possibilitiesof peace?Keep looking.Behold, how the fist openswith invitation.- The Fist, pg. 46-47* * *(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)Someone I loved once gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understandthat this, too, was a gift.- The Uses of Sorrow, pg. 52* * *Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. I walk out of the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.- Thirst, pg. 69

  • Eric
    2018-10-22 02:33

    My work is loving the world. [...]which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.I really love this collection. Thirst is a hopeful, contemplative, and inspiring series of poems about the dance between grief and graciousness. Mary Oliver blends her experiences with nature, loss, prayer, and God into a wonderful echo of a spiritual search, tracing her footsteps along the way in words, finding pain, grace, and beauty, and inviting the reader to experience some of that journey. There is a distinct spiritual voice in each of her poems, some of them reflecting on the gift of existence itself, others seeing hardship for what it is, and the potential it has for being an unrecognized blessing. Someone I loved once gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understandthat this, too, was a gift.This book is dedicated to her long-time partner, who passed in 2005, and it reads as a soulful and sanguine lament. Highly recommended to those who want a small collection to savor, meditate on, and to pull out on Autumn walks for companionship in grief, and in wonder. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.

  • Laysee
    2018-09-25 00:33

    "Thirst" is a very fine collection of forty-three poems published in 2006.Mary Oliver's poems exude an elegance that represented an outflow of her intimate communion with nature. Her lines about the trees, roses, hummingbirds, her dog, and all kinds of living creatures inspire a fresh appreciation of the natural world we tend to gloss over in our hurried lives. Often I linger over a poem and think there is no better way to extol the beauty of creation. The lines are breathtakingly beautiful.The poems were written after Oliver lost her partner of over forty years. In it were poems where companionship was found in sharing "the hurtless gossips of the day" and grief was a part of loving. There was a poem about unrequited love, which I particularly enjoyed. It felt so close to experience in its recognition of the heart's need to protect itself from unnecessary bruising and to preserve its dignity and self-respect. "In matters of loveof this kindthere are things we long to dobut must not do."Other poems like "The Uses of Sorrow" carry a punch in a mere four lines - a crystallisation of insight. There are some deeply moving spiritual poems in which her adoration of God is inextricably and understandably intertwined with the extravagant richness that is in nature. Mary Oliver, the poet, is for me a very new and precious discovery. What bliss!

  • Crystal
    2018-10-04 03:44

    The reviews of this book tell me that Mary Oliver writes in these pages as if she has had an encounter with the Divine. Oliver is one of my all time favorite poets. Her poem Peonies is near the top of my list. She is attune to nature in such a delicious way. This book of poems is not surprise but what is - is the spiritual nature, namely Christian nature of this book - her spirituality is not in a general no name sense. With her delicate sensiblities toward the world of nature coupled with her appreciate for the God who gave us this nature, this book is nothing short of a long, sweet, deep breath. Werner - thanks so much for pointing this book out to me. I'm on my second time through - rereading- of particular note if you pick this book up for only a few poems be sure to read - Swimming with the Otter (very Annie Dillardish) - Mozart, for example - Making the House Ready for the Lord - The Winter Wood Arrives - After Her Death - What I said at Her Service - Praying - The Uses of Sorrow - and On Thy Wonderous Works I Will Meditate (Psalm 145)"Oh Lord of melons, of mercy, though I am not ready, nor worthy, I am climbing toward you."

  • Heather
    2018-10-12 22:26

    I read this in snatches while sitting by my dying grandmother's side this past autumn. The idea of grief as a kind of thirst made complete sense to me. In one way, grief is a thirst for knowledge, for more time, for more details or information about the dead person that may never be satisfied. In each poem, Mary Oliver always sets the scene with exactly the right details, but here, I felt like that artistry was a mere coincidence, and not the central aim; a by-product. She wrote this book after the death of her partner of 40 years, and many of these poems are hard to read, emotionally speaking. I kept wanting to close the book and put it away, so as not to have to think through the idea of the death of a loved one, so as to not have to acknowledge that it was coming. But I kept reading, and I'm glad I did.

  • Tim
    2018-10-04 00:18

    Oliver may be the most widely read poet in America, and I think for good reason. She seems to do what seasoned poets should do--grab the reader with the most concise words possible. Oliver does this so well, that some of her poems might even seem overly simplistic. They're not.Oliver is a lesbian who had the same partner for about 40 years. This collection was written after her partner's death. I suppose this is why these poems seem different than her other work. She also, throughout, explicitly expresses faith in Jesus. Oliver's previous work only showed a sort of vague, pantheistic spirituality. I don't know enough about her life to really know what to make of this.Anyway, whatever you make of Oliver, these are beautiful poems.

  • Carrie
    2018-10-02 20:23

    Mary Oliver is definitely my favorite contemporary poet. Her observations on nature are so spot on. I focused on those poems instead of her more religious ones in this collection.

  • Mark
    2018-09-30 02:36

    Lovely poems of great sensitivity. Oliver moves between meditation and celebration with clear, graceful, and resonant language, and the small scale of her verses belie their wisdom and depth.

  • Jean
    2018-10-16 23:45

    I didn't enjoy this one as much as I have her other works. Noteworthy were The Place I Want to Get Back ToHeavy and Walking Home from Oak-head.

  • Cheryl
    2018-10-21 22:27

    This is my favorite poet, and I was disappointed. I just don't understand a poem about God and obedience, that is not in my spiritual vocabulary. And she always seemed to speak my vocabulary!Her poems of grief are nice, but I usually LOVE her work, and can't even come close here. I am not sure what her relgious beliefs are, but it has changed her work, and I am sad. Here is a poem about her partner dying in an older book: OxygenEverything needs it: bone, muscles, and even,while it calls the earth its home, the soul.So the merciful, noisy machinestands in our house working away in itslung-like voice. I hear it as I kneelbefore the fire, stirring with astick of iron, letting the logslie more loosely. You, in the upstairs room,are in your usual position, leaning on yourright shoulder which achesall day. You are breathingpatiently; it is a beautiful sound. It isyour life, which is so closeto my own that I would not knowwhere to drop the knife ofseparation. And what does this have to dowith love, excepteverything? Now the fire risesand offers a dozen, singing, deep-redroses of flame. Then it settlesto quietude, or maybe gratitude, as it feedsas we all do, as we must, upon the invisible gift:our purest, sweet necessity: the air.~ Mary Oliver ~And in Thirst: More Beautiful than the Honey Locust Tree are the Words of the Lord (excerpt) :1. In the household of God, I have stumbled in recitation,and in my mind I have wandered.I have interrupted worship with discussion.Once I extinguished the Gospel candle after all the others.But never held the cup to my mouth lagging in gratitude. Mary Oliver

  • Mark Robison
    2018-10-06 21:33

    I’d expected to love this one because it was the book published after Oliver’s partner of 50 years died and supposedly was a beautiful meditation on grief. I didn’t get that. Unlike most of Oliver’s books, there were few passages I highlighted or poems I bookmarked to reread. Her discussions of religion — more prominent than in other books — seemed awkwardly formed, as if she were trying to find solace in it but couldn't. I’d put this one lower on the list of Oliver titles to try. That said, two bits I liked a lot. One is where she absorbs a lesson from roses around the world in springtime: “the answer was simply to rise/ in joyfulness, all their days./ Have I found any better teaching?” The other is a conclusion about grief: “Therefore I have given precedence/ to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods/ that hold you in the center of my world./ And I say to my body: grow thinner still./ And I say to my fingers, type me a pretty song./ And I say to my heart: rave on.” Grade: B

  • Sandra
    2018-10-09 20:40

    I am not a poetry enthusiast but I love, love, love Mary Oliver's deep-lived full immersion into life. She doesn't skim the top of the waves, she dives forcefully into them, lets the tide wrench and toss her body and soul, bursts through the top, gulping at the good air, experiencing every minute of the ride. . . . . but she also could write a poem watching a grain of sand for hours . . . maybe she has. Thanks, Father Michael for bringing her to my attention through a lenten study. Powerful stuff.

  • Stephen
    2018-09-21 22:17

    I particularly like this:CormorantsAll afternoon the sea was a muddle of birdsblack and spiky,long-necked, slippery.Down they wentinto the waters for the poorblunt-headed silverthey live on. for a little while.God, how did it ever come to you toinvent Time?I dream at nightof the birds, of the beautiful, dark seasthey push through.Mary Oliver

  • Tiffany Chan
    2018-10-08 23:30

    Usually I don't read poetry books in one sitting but this was a complete pleasure to sit down and spend a good hour or two on. Oliver takes you on moments of quotidian heights, as well as quiet moments of grief - still maneuvered with a degree of hope.

  • Jane Zanger
    2018-09-27 22:20

    Incredible combination of how to grapple with grief, still have faith, and rejoice in the natural world. A gift for any person who has lost a loved one.

  • Klanette
    2018-10-16 00:40

    Loved these poems. Coming soon to a sermon near you.

  • Cynthia Egbert
    2018-09-23 23:43

    How do I even begin to express how much this woman's words mean to me. Here are two examples of poems that pierced my heart.Coming to God: First DaysLord, what shall I do that ICan’t quiet myself?Here is the bread, andHere is the cup, andI can’t quiet myself.To enter the language of transformation!To learn the importance of stillness,With one’s hands folded!When will my eyes of rejoicing turn peaceful?When will my joyful feel grow still?When will my heart stop its prancingAs over the summer grass?Lord, I would run for you, loving the miles for your sake.I would climb the highest treeTo be that much closer.Lord, I will learn also to kneel downInto the world of the invisible,The inscrutable and the everlasting.Then I will move no more than the leaves of a treeOn a day of no wind,Bathed in light,Like the wanderer who has come home at latAnd kneels in peace, done with all unnecessary thing;.Every motion; even words.Making the House Ready for the LordDear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
Still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice—it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances—but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

  • Kevin Fanning
    2018-09-25 19:33

    My limited understanding of the context of this collection is that Oliver, always a very spiritual poet and person, turned to Christianity after her life partner died. Her poetry has always been informed by a wonder at the mysteries of the universe but in this collection there is a very clear openness, a welcoming, of traditional Christian ideas, salvation, hope, faith, ultimate meaning. Which makes it sound like a bad thing, maybe? But I still really loved it. Her interest in Christianity feels safe, somehow. Not proselytizing, just using her poems as an opportunity to appreciate the beauty and mystery of the universe, the same as she has always done. Basically I love Mary Oliver's writing, no matter what, and she creates beauty here, and that's all I care about.For me the first poem, "Messenger" was my favorite, and kind of they key to the whole thing. When she says "telling them all, over and over, how it is / that we live forever." yes, obviously, there is a Christian vibe here. But it's more than that, it's about the universe and poetry and writing and animism and to me it's just really, really lovely, however she arrived at this point.

  • Jim B
    2018-10-17 22:17

    Many people don't get poetry. For me, it's like fireworks going off, set off by words. Or it's knowing something all your life, and finding that thought expressed for the first time by a fellow human being. Still, poetry can be obscure or self-important. I don't mind obscure because sometimes you have to lift the latch for the fireworks to be set off. Self-important -- even that I can relate to. I know the feeling of importance.A friend recommended this book to me. Mary Oliver is the most accessible poet I've ever read. There was recognition of what she was saying and emotional connection in so many of the poems. My friend said that Mary Oliver's previous works were about nature and not God. I found these poems exquisite -- and the title (and poem of the same name), applied to God. It reminded me of Psalm 42 -- As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul longs for You. If you don't get poetry, at least pick up one of her books and let me know if her poetry doesn't touch you, too.

  • Shari
    2018-10-17 03:25

    This is exquisite poetry written to help herself through her grief after the death of her partner of four decades. Mary Oliver is a Pulitzer Prize winner. Her beautiful poetry is spare, clean, and profound. She examines the world around herself, those ordinary things that are everywhere if we but notice them -- nature, feelings, a curiosity about religion and the comfort it might afford the heartbroken, a religion that one brings into their own deepest feelings; the lessons of the birds, the flowers, the wind and the water and what they have to teach us about endurance and acceptance.A poem she 'dreamed' in her sleep:The Uses of SorrowSomeone I loved gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understandthat this, too, was a gift.Thus Oliver learns how to cope with the impossible, and so should we all. Her work is simple, pure, and breathtaking.

  • Tamara Murphy
    2018-10-10 22:32

    Beautiful words written by the Pulitzer-prize winning poet during the same season she grieved the death of her partner after 40 years together and, for the first time, records her discovery of a new faith. The book blurb suggests as almost a side-note that Oliver was able to retain her love for nature while simultaneously exploring faith -- as if that were an unexpected feat. I read her poems as a culmination of a lifetime of searching -- and finally getting to the Root of all that is awe-worthy in this world. The resulting poems were an exquisite addition to my Lenten reading. I'm so grateful.See my favorite poem in the full review here: http://blog.thissacramentallife.com/2...

  • Paige Ellen Stone
    2018-10-18 02:42

    How does one review a book of poetry? I have no idea, beyond the fact that Mary Oliver is, I believe, our greatest living poet.This is a book of both grief and of celebration of life. It does not say so, but I believe she has lost her life partner and most of these poems are the result. There is both anger and, even more so, joy. Can I name a favorite poem from this volume? I suppose I can name two: Swimming With Otter and Fist. The first is just playful the way MO can be. The second is a poem of potential transformation that begins almost angrily but ends with hope for all life on the world.I can't say anymore beyond get it, read it, celebrate it. It is really a ten star book but I am limited to five, so it gets five.

  • Babs
    2018-10-12 23:28

    Beautiful collection of poetry that brought me to tears from the get-go. Thank you Mary Oliver. When I Am Among the Trees - "When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily....And they call again, "It's simple," they say,"and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine." The Uses of Sorrow - "Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift."

  • Kate
    2018-10-07 03:44

    Mary Oliver is one of my favourite poets, but this collection didn't have such an overwhelming impact on me as some of her other books have had. 'Thirst' has a melancholic air to it, which is unsurprising as she was grieving for her partner of 40 years and Oliver explores religion more in this than any other collection I have read so far. I found it awkward to read in a way because I felt I was intruding on a private part of Oliver's life; almost like I was reading a diary or something. I admire her even more, as it is a very brave thing to expose ones self at such a difficult time.

  • Paloma
    2018-09-28 19:46

    I'm happy I'm reading poetry again.this one was a tad bit disappointing, I have to say. I first came across Mary Olivers words on Pinterest and immediately fell in love...of course I had to get some of her poetry. This collection of course was good but just not the ones I previously fell in love with. Her words on trees are what I fell in love with..I'd have to look for her collection that focoses more on nature..I did, however love some of the words in this one..my all time favroite quote was.."The trees are the words of god"