A Poem for a Thursday #16

I have enjoyed all the poems I have used for this Thursday poem series but my favorite discovery is Mary Oliver. I don’t remember ever reading her poems before and I missed a lot by not doing so. I used one of her poems a few months ago but when I heard that she died I knew I would feature her again. Actually, I am giving you two of her poems because I couldn’t choose. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Ordinarily, I go to the woods
alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers
and talkers, and therefore
unsuitable.


I don’t really want to be
witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the black oak tree.
I have my way of 
praying, as you no doubt have
yours.


Besides, when I am alone I can
become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless
as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by
unconcerned. I can hear the 
almost 
unhearable sound of the roses
singing.


If you have ever gone to the
woods with me, I must love
you very much.


How I Go to the Woods
Mary Oliver

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?


Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?


Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.


Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?


Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.


I Worried
Mary Oliver