Comments on: Mary Oliver – When Death Comes

By: Ivan M. Granger

Ivan M. Granger — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 00:02:35 +0000

Sending love and healing blessings, Katharine. ~Ivan

By: Katharine

Katharine — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 23:23:28 +0000

Death is my companion these days. I await a transplant, and it may not come in time. This poem is perfect. Thank you very much!

By: Mary Oliver: “When Death Comes” | Exopermaculture

Mary Oliver: “When Death Comes” | Exopermaculture — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 20:42:37 +0000

[...] the wonderful, daily poetry chaikhana, this poem from November 14th . . [...]

By: rena navon

rena navon — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 13:03:07 +0000

“…when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse, to buy me…”
seems to bear a contradiction between the shiny attributes we identify with the good life and the debit of getting crassly sold in the end after we have fully lived. Mary Oliver knows how to reconcile herself to the cruelties of our human condition with brave decision never to succumb without speaking as clearly as her coined idiom allows her to. I never cease to admire her personal bravery and honesty, all the while making peace with what can challenge her so abruptly. No namby pamby, she doesn’t go down without having her say, paradoxically remaining a forgiving, grateful person in the face of all the odds she continues to embrace.

By: jim carlin

jim carlin — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 22:25:35 +0000

contentment isn’t getting
everything we want
but
enjoying what we have

By: Tom McFerran

Tom McFerran — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 17:57:47 +0000

When death comes . . .

It’s not always like this,
these times when she goes,
these times when she slips away
briefly, to her other-world,
these times when I do not see her beauty in the rose,
these times when she goes, away,
. . . . it’s not always like this.

Sometimes, she creeps back inside me unobserved
when I’m feeling unprepared, undeserved,
when I see the sparkle of her eyes in starlight,
when I see her dark complexion in a moonless night
when I see her lovely locks
draped over windswept hollyhocks
. . . . sometimes, it’s like this.

Always it’s like this,
when my heart beats fast with aching, yearning,
when I shudder with impending disaster,
when all comes together faster and faster,
when I sink, when I drown,
spiralling down into her maelstrom,
. . . . always, it’s like this,
She comes.

Tom McFerran.

By: Yewtree

Yewtree — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 23:13:38 +0000

Wonderful poem, and very comforting actually.

By: Moira Sheedy

Moira Sheedy — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 22:36:33 +0000

“I was a bride married to amazement”

What a profound metaphor of a life lived well. Thank you.

By: Peg

Peg — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 22:27:13 +0000

yes, this is just the right flavor! My couch is a friend as the taste of burn permeates my mouth and brain. Another burn off while I lie in fetal waiting for my body’s resurrection. Death is expansion and the greater breath. Peace