Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

A Toad's Favo(u)rite Poem : The Leaf and the Cloud


Stamp Falls, Vancouver Island

Today, kids, as part of Real Toads My Favo(u)rite Poem series, I offer for your delight and delectation The Leaf and the Cloud by Pulitzer Prize winning poet Mary Oliver, my favourite poet of all time. The poem is an entire slim volume of 53 pages. Warning: once you open it, you will not stop reading until you have finished the poem. It is even better read aloud to someone you love, before a flickering fire, or while someone is driving you along the seashore. A fire on the beach, with the music of the waves as accompaniment, and you'll be transported to another plane entirely. (Note: none of these possible scenarios has ever happened to me. But a gal can dream!)



I have a habit of earmarking certain pages so I can find my favourite passages easily. In this little book, nearly every page is turned down. Line after spectacular line follows each other down the page. Truly this is her Magnum Opus of poems. Her love letter to life, with a hint of farewell, as she is aging. 

I will include a few of my favourite excerpts, and you can track down others  by clicking on the links and exploring. But best of all is to read the entire poem, in sequence. It is a meditation on life and death, on love and loss, and especially on the richness and beauty of the natural world, described as only Mary Oliver can describe it. 

Her parents, her big dog, Luke, her later dog, Ben, with his "sweet wild eyes", time and eternity - all make an appearance. Through Mary Oliver's eyes, the earth shines with a radiance that stays with one. After turning the final page, one wants to sit on the porch in the afternoon sun and just "stare at the world", as Mary does, every day. In describing what she sees, she helps us to see the world anew, all bright and shining and, in every inch, alive.

Let's dive in.

                     ......................

Welcome to the silly comforting poem.

                   .........................

The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world.

But the poem wants to flower like a flower.
It knows that much.

It wants to open itself
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.

                         ..................

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
    like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.

                         ..................

I am a woman sixty years old and of no special courage.
Everyday - a little conversation with God, or his envoy
    the tall pine, or the grass-swimming cricket.
Everyday-I study the difference between water and stone.
Everyday - I stare at the world; I push the grass aside
    and stare at the world.

                         ..................

I am thinking : maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.
                        ...................

Goodbye to the goldfinches
in their silver baskets.
Goodbye to the pilot whales, and the curl of their spines
in the crisp waves.
Goodbye to the grasshopper.
Goodbye to the pond lilies, the turtle with her
cat's head.
Goodbye to the lion's mane floating in the harbor
like a spangled veil.

Goodbye to the moon uprising in the east.
Goodbye to the going forth, and coming home.

Goodbye to the going forth, and holding on, and worrying.
Goodbye to the engine of breath.

The knee sings its anguish.
The ears fill with the sound of ringing water.
The muscles of the eyes pull towards sleep.

Slowly,
up the hill,
like a thicket of white flowers,
forever
is coming.
                         ........................

This is the poem of goodbye.
And this is the poem of don't know.

My hands touch the lilies
then withdraw;

my hands touch the blue iris
then withdraw;

and I say, not easily but carefully --
the words round in the mouth, crisp on the tongue --

dirt, mud, stars, water-
I know you as if you were myself.

How could I be afraid?

                   .............................

Think of me
when you see the evening star.
Think of me when you see the wren
     the flowing root of the creek beneath him,
     dark       silver       and cold

Remember me I am the one who told you
he sings for happiness.
I am the one who told you
that the grass is also alive, and listening.

alleluiah alleluiah
sighs the pale green moth
on the screen door,

alleluiah alleluiah
the red tongues of the white swans
shine out of their black beaks
as they shout
as their wings rise and fall

rise and fall

oh rise and fall

through the raging flowers of the snow.

                 ************************************ 



22 comments:

Kay L. Davies said...

"Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem."

Wow, Sherry, this is magic. I love it.
K

juzta mom said...

Beautiful and magical indeed!

Karen said...

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I needed this reminding. I needed this beauty right now.

Susan said...

My favorite poet too, but I have never read all of this poem. I'm going to purchase a copy right now. Thank you for sharing your love.

Debi Swim said...

Thank you for this post. I love what I read and ordered a book. It is wonderful to have good recommendations so I can start to build a treasury of poems.

Mary said...

Sherry, you have shared a beautiful poem here. I have read some Mary Oliver, but I have not read this one. This seems to be a poem of feeling and reflection. It is hard to choose a favorite part of what you have shared, but if I had to I would choose:

I am thinking : maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.

A very inspiring share, Sherry. Thank you.

Mama Zen said...

I found this so moving, Sherry. Thank you for sharing.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I'm so happy you like it, kids. She is a fantastic poet, and I believe The Leaf and the Cloud is her major opus. Well worth reading the entire thing.

I, too, love the lines: "maybe the world, without us, is the real poem."

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Wow, we have some early risers among us. And my post says 8 a.m. but in Pacific time it is really six a.m. I couldnt sleep.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Simply amazing work, Sherry. It seems a travesty that I do not own this book. This is something to nourish the soul and remind the conscious mind of all that is important in life. Thank you so much for sharing your favourite with us.

Ella said...

Wonderful Sherry! I still think you are Mary Oliver's cousin ;D

It is profound and beautiful~ So many dazzling offerings. The line you love echoes and speaks volumes!
Thank you Sherry!

Marian said...

fantastic!!!! thank you, Sherry.

Myrna R. said...

I love Mary Oliver yet i've never read this. I want to read the whole thing. Thanks Sherry.

Margaret said...

...I LOVE all your "possible" scenarios of where this poem shoud/could be read :)

I am so intrigued, I will pick up a copy TODAY at Barnes & Nobel. Thank you, Sherry - this is a fantastic smattering of poetic excerpts!

Panchali said...

Wow..Loved reading the excerpts here, Sherry. Absolutely lucid, inquisitive and magical... I am definitely planning to buy her books. I am sure, I'll get them here!
Fantastic post! Thanks so much for sharing..:)

Phil Slade said...

See what you mean! Wonderful words.

sharplittlepencil.com said...

Sherry, Mary Oliver's "Why I Wake Early" is sitting on my nightstand. On nights when I have trouble sleeping, she comforts me.

I can completely understand the Blue Sky/Oliver connection. So much peace in her writing, as with yours, and the everyday becomes beauteous with you both. Thank you so much, love, Amy

Hannah said...

Oh, Sherry!! *sigh* this is magic!! Thank you SO much for sharing this work of Mary's...I love her!!

One of my most favorite portions is "alleluiah alleluiah
sighs the pale green moth
on the screen door,"

The entirety is one flowing meditative awesomeness...I also love the opening with the opening of flower and temple door...I'm going to have to get my hands on a copy of this!

Thank you!! ♥

Hannah said...

Your post became the meat for a found poem tryout @ Margo's...so thank you again, doubly my dear! :)

Here it is if anyone's interested. :)

http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2013/08/27/goodbye/

Susie Clevenger said...

Thank you so much for sharing these poems Sherry. They are beautiful and inspire me to attempt to share more beauty with the world.

manicddaily said...

Lovely - thanks so much for sharing. I've read little snippets of her work but had no real sense of her. Really appreciate it. k.

Lolamouse said...

I can see why this is your favorite, Sherry. I frequently think that your poems and Mary Oliver's share a similar sensibility and deep love and appreciation for Nature. Thank you for sharing this one. It's beautiful!