Today THE GILDED LILY is being reviewed by Sarah Johnson at her great blog, Reading the Past. The Gilded Lily takes place in London in a freezing winter of the 17thC Little Ice Age, hence my posts on all things snow-related.
As my Christmas Cracker post today I invite you to take a moment to read Mary Oliver's poem. I am a big poetry fan and Mary Oliver is one of my favourite poets who always points to the bigger horizon.Why not buy one of her books or find out more about her from The Poetry Foundation?
As my Christmas Cracker post today I invite you to take a moment to read Mary Oliver's poem. I am a big poetry fan and Mary Oliver is one of my favourite poets who always points to the bigger horizon.Why not buy one of her books or find out more about her from The Poetry Foundation?
by Mary Oliver
Over the local stations, one by one,
Announcers list disasters like dark poems
That always happen in the skull of winter.
But once again the storm has passed us by:
Lovely and moderate, the snow lies down
While shouting children hurry back to play,
And scarved and smiling citizens once more
Sweep down their easy paths of pride and welcome.
And what else might we do? Les us be truthful.
Two counties north the storm has taken lives.
Two counties north, to us, is far away, -
A land of trees, a wing upon a map,
A wild place never visited, - so we
Forget with ease each far mortality.
Peacefully from our frozen yards we watch
Our children running on the mild white hills.
This is the landscape that we understand, -
And till the principle of things takes root,
How shall examples move us from our calm?
I do not say that is not a fault.
I only say, except as we have loved,
All news arrives as from a distant land.
Over the local stations, one by one,
Announcers list disasters like dark poems
That always happen in the skull of winter.
But once again the storm has passed us by:
Lovely and moderate, the snow lies down
While shouting children hurry back to play,
And scarved and smiling citizens once more
Sweep down their easy paths of pride and welcome.
And what else might we do? Les us be truthful.
Two counties north the storm has taken lives.
Two counties north, to us, is far away, -
A land of trees, a wing upon a map,
A wild place never visited, - so we
Forget with ease each far mortality.
Peacefully from our frozen yards we watch
Our children running on the mild white hills.
This is the landscape that we understand, -
And till the principle of things takes root,
How shall examples move us from our calm?
I do not say that is not a fault.
I only say, except as we have loved,
All news arrives as from a distant land.
Thanks Deborah, beautiful!
ReplyDeleteHi Dianna, I love it. I have a few collections by Mary Oliver and they give me much pleasure and foos for thought.
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