By Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Poetry Wednesday is inspiring me to read poetry again. I suddenly want to rush out and buy a bunch of poetry books so that I can scour them for good candidates for my weekly post. I like how poetry allows for a pause in my day, how poems can take the physical shape of a thought.
I also like how well poetry fits into domestic work–you can stop to read a poem between loading the dishwasher and folding laundry, and while while you’re pairing the socks, you can be turning lines over from the poem. And I like, of course, that the act of posting (and reading) poetry on Wednesday connects me to people I love back on the mainland.
This morning my aunt emailed me to let me know that my cousin’s father-in-law, Ron Green is near death. His daughter, Emily Green, is a beautiful person and a dear friend of mine. She has two young children who are saying goodbye to their grandfather. So I can’t help but cry as I read Ron’s story on Caring Bridge. I have my lampada lit and am now keeping vigil with the Green family.
I look at that candle flickering in the blue glass, and I am remember that I, too, will die one day. This thought, always present before me, helps shape the way I live. I hope to live better each day, to make my life something particular and real, so that when the time comes I can step through the door full of courage and curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
Photo by Amber Schley Iragui
Molly Sabourin
5
Viewing death as a perversion, something horrifically unnatural, I’d do best to avert my eyes and thoughts from makes me feel anxious and fragmented. I so appreciate your honest and open, yet hope-filled, viewpoint as well as Mary Oliver’s!
“I look at that candle flickering in the blue glass, and I remember that I, too, will die one day. This thought, always present before me, helps shape the way I live.”
That is beautiful, Jenny. This post is both comforting and convicting at the same time.
Molly Sabourin
5
And that photo is awesome, just really, really great, by the way!
jenny
5
Molly,
Thanks so much for your comments. You saw that the photo is Amber’s right? She is amazing! I don’t know if you’ve visited her flickr site yet, but her name links to it. I find it so relaxing to browse her photos!
Beth Johnson
5
Jenny this poem is so beautiful as is the picture. A few days ago I awoke in the middle of the night with such a strong impression that I really will die someday. It is truly hard to grasp spiritually even though I rationally know it and experience it as loved ones pass from this world to the next. Prayers for Ron.
These are the lines which I especially loved.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
hen it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Well I hear two little boys splashing in the sink. Should probably attend to them!
jenny
5
Beth,
Thanks for the prayers for Ron!
amber
5
“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.”
What more can I say, that about sums it all up.
That photo, by the way, looks it’s best here on your blog, next to this lovely poem.
Julia
5
This is really great, Jenny. I like the way Mary Oliver uses so many animals in her poetry, and this one is of course great for many other reasons, which I am too tired right now to enumerate. We had a very hectic, irregular week which prevented me from participating in poetry Wednesday. I can’t wait to join the circle again.