{"id":7261,"date":"2021-11-05T07:18:02","date_gmt":"2021-11-05T14:18:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/?p=7261"},"modified":"2021-11-05T07:18:02","modified_gmt":"2021-11-05T14:18:02","slug":"mary-oliver-mindful-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/2021\/11\/05\/mary-oliver-mindful-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Mary Oliver – Mindful"},"content":{"rendered":"

Mindful
\nby Mary Oliver<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Every day
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I see or hear
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 something
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 that more or less<\/p>\n

kills me
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 with delight,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 that leaves me
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 like a needle<\/p>\n

in the haystack
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 of light.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It was what I was born for \u2014
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 to look, to listen,<\/p>\n

to lose myself
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 inside this soft world \u2014
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 to instruct myself
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 over and over<\/p>\n

in joy,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 and acclamation.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Nor am I talking
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 about the exceptional,<\/p>\n

the fearful, the dreadful,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the very extravagant \u2014
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 but of the ordinary,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the common, the very drab,<\/p>\n

the daily presentations.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Oh, good scholar,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I say to myself,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 how can you help<\/p>\n

but grow wise
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 with such teachings
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 as these \u2014
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the untrimmable light<\/p>\n

of the world,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the ocean\u2019s shine,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the prayers that are made
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 out of grass?<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/a> \u2014 from Why I Wake Early<\/a>, by Mary Oliver<\/font><\/p>\n


\/ Image by Kristopher Roller<\/a> \/<\/em><\/font><\/p>\n

I\u2019m back. Thank you, everyone, for your patience. It has been a few weeks since the last Poetry Chaikhana email. A busy time with my day job and helping my wife with some important projects. Mary Oliver seems a good poet to welcome us back\u2026<\/p>\n

Every so often I come across a poem by Mary Oliver I haven\u2019t read in a few years, and rereading it I get to say, \u201cWow!\u201d once again.<\/p>\n

Read this poem a few times. Each statement rings in the air.<\/p>\n

Sometimes I can appreciate a poem more fully when I read it as if the line breaks weren\u2019t there, allowing me to really take in the meaning and imagery (then, when I reread with awareness of the line breaks once again, I can insert the sense of rhythm and stillness they imply)\u2026<\/p>\n

Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight\u2026<\/p>\n

that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.<\/i><\/p>\n

That phrase to be killed with delight startles us. It is disturbing and yet somehow joyful. I take it to mean that we are so swept away with delight that the normal functioning of the self and our constant concerns all comes to a halt. We disappear in the midst of the beautiful moment.<\/p>\n

Notice, by the way, how I have reshaped the line breaks here so you don\u2019t miss the rhyme in the middle of the second and third sections? Worth saying out loud to appreciate it.<\/p>\n

It was what I was born for \u2014 to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world \u2014<\/i><\/p>\n

That\u2019s such a great line, isn\u2019t it? \u201cTo lose myself inside this soft world.\u201d<\/p>\n

to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation.<\/i><\/p>\n

There is a fundamental delight to the encounters and experiences of each day \u2014 but we must continuously \u201cinstruct\u201d ourselves in it. Each time we recognize that joy, we are learning. The opposite is also true: each time we ignore it, we are forgetting.<\/p>\n

Nor am I talking about the exceptional, the fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant \u2014 but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations.<\/i><\/p>\n

I think this is the poem\u2019s true epiphany. The delight she speaks of, the magic in the day, is not discovered through having some sort of extraordinary experience. It is, surprisingly, in \u201cthe ordinary, the common,\u201d the eventless moments. <\/p>\n

How do we see? The title tells us \u2014 through being mindful. Through paying attention. Through stillness of mind, accompanied by relaxed, open awareness. It is then that the day\u2019s delight reveals itself and we come to see even the most mundane moment for the immense landscape it truly is.<\/p>\n

Oh, good scholar, I say to myself, how can you help but grow wise with such teachings as these \u2014<\/i><\/p>\n

The day is teaching us. Are we being a good scholar? Are we paying attention to the lessons in awareness presented to us each day? Are we drinking in the joy given to us? It is there, when we are mindful:<\/p>\n

the untrimmable light of the world, the ocean\u2019s shine, the prayers that are made out of grass?<\/i><\/p>\n

Have a beautiful day, noticing the untrimmable light of the world!<\/p>\n


\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/a>Recommended Books: Mary Oliver<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n\n

<\/p>\n

\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
New and Selected Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nWhy I Wake Early<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nDream Work<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nHouse of Light<\/a><\/small><\/td>\nThirst: Poems<\/a><\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
More Books >><\/a><\/i><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/center>
\n<\/p>\n\n\n
\n\"Mary<\/a>\n<\/td>\n\nMary Oliver<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

US (1935 \u2013 2019) Timeline<\/a>
\nSecular or Eclectic<\/a><\/a>
\n<\/a><\/a><\/em>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n

<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver was born in Cleveland, Ohio in 1935.<\/p>\n

As a young writer, Mary Oliver was influenced by Edna St. Vincent Millay and, in fact, as a teenager briefly lived in the home of the recently deceased Millay, helping to organize Millay\u2019s papers.<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver attended college at Ohio State University, and later at Vassar College.<\/p>\n

Mary Oliver\u2019s poetry is deeply aware of the natural world, particularly the birds and trees and ponds of her adopted state of Massachusetts.<\/p>\n

Her collection of poetry \u201cAmerican Primitive\u201d won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1984.<\/p>\n

More poetry by Mary Oliver<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mindful by Mary Oliver Every day \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I see or hear \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 something \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 that more or less kills me \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 with delight, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 that leaves me \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 like a needle in the haystack \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 of light. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It was what I was born for \u2014 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[1463,93,2445,420],"class_list":["post-7261","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-awareness","tag-mary-oliver","tag-mindfulness","tag-womens-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7261","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7261"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7261\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7262,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7261\/revisions\/7262"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7261"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7261"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.poetry-chaikhana.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7261"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}