A Nagging Question
- February 2nd, 2010
- Write comment
The Sun – © copyright Mary Oliver
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
Cape Cod Sunset (Herring Cove Beach); copyright © reserved 2007-2010, Richard Lovison
and is gone–
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
Cape Cod Sunrise (Dennis Port); copyright © reserved 2006-2010, Richard Lovison
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
***************************************************************
There are moments, very precious moments that when they happen, burn themselves into the very core of my being… life altering moments. Being presented with a book of poetry by Mary Oliver by the one I love was one of those moments.
I have never been one to be drawn to poetry. For some reason the way the words were usually arranged would cause mental short circuits and then frustration would set in.
This time was different. Immediately upon opening the book and reading the words within I felt at home. There were a number of passages that invoked such intense feelings that I literally cried out in joy and laughter.
I had never seen a sunrise or sunset with an unobstructed horizon before visiting Cape Cod in 2006. I cannot adequately put into words what I felt upon viewing such miracles though I can assure you, I didn’t leave Cape Cod the same person.
I have turned many times from the natural world in my own pursuit of “power and things.” I have weakened the connection though thankfully, never severed it. It’s time to return “home” for good and find my place “in the family of things.”
Thank you Mary.
