Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

by Mary Oliver

I WAKE CLOSE TO MORNING Why do people keep asking to see God’s identity papers when the darkness opening into morning is more than enough? Certainly any god might turn away in disgust. Think of Sheba approaching the kingdom of Solomon. Do you think she had to ask, “Is this the place?”

I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that. And anyway, what’s wrong with Maybe?

only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one.

There are thousands of voices, after all. And furthermore, don’t you imagine (I just suggest it) that the swans know about as much as we do about the whole business? So listen to them and watch them, singing as they fly. Take from it what you can.

As I grew older the things I cared about grew fewer, but were more important. So one day I undid the lock and called the trash man. He took everything.

Things! Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful fire! More room in your heart for love, for the trees! For the birds who own nothing—the reason they can fly.

I KNOW SOMEONE I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly. Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They offer much pleasure. There is nothing in the world that can be said against them. Sad, isn’t it, that all they can kiss is the air. Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones.

Sometimes I want to use small words and make them important and it starts shouting the dictionary, the opportunities.

But sometimes, when I’m thinking about you, and no doubt smiling, it sits down quietly, one paw under its chin, and just listens.

Soon now, I’ll turn and start for home. And who knows, maybe I’ll be singing.

So, be slow if you must, but let the heart still play its true part. Love still as once you loved, deeply and without patience. Let God and the world know you are grateful. That the gift has been given.

My heart dresses in black and dances.

Listen to me or not, it hardly matters. I’m not trying to be wise, that would be foolish. I’m just chattering.

its only industry to descend and to be beautiful while it does so; as for purpose there is none, it is simply one of those gorgeous things that was made to do what it does perfectly and to last, as almost nothing does, almost forever.

Maybe our world will grow kinder eventually. Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.

If being so beautiful isn’t enough, what could they possibly say?

So I just lie like that, while distance and time reveal their true attitudes: they never heard of me, and never will, or ever need to.

Of course I wake up finally thinking, how wonderful to be who I am, made out of earth and water, my own thoughts, my own fingerprints— all that glorious, temporary stuff.

DO STONES FEEL?

LITTLE DOG’S RHAPSODY IN THE NIGHT (PERCY THREE)

Tell me you love me, he says. Tell me again. Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over he gets to ask it. I get to tell.

BENJAMIN, WHO CAME FROM WHO KNOWS WHERE

Benny, I say, don’t worry. I also know the way the old life haunts the new.

His shining curls, his honest eyes, his beautiful barking.

A dog comes to you and lives with you in your own house, but you do not therefore own her, as you do not own the rain, or the trees, or the laws which pertain to them.

A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing.

He was positively drenched in enthusiasm, I don’t know why. And yet, why not.

But I thought, of the wren’s singing, what could this be if it isn’t a prayer? So I just listened, my pen in the air.

THREE THINGS TO REMEMBER As long as you’re dancing, you can break the rules. Sometimes breaking the rules is just extending the rules. Sometimes there are no rules.

THE POET COMPARES HUMAN NATURE TO THE OCEAN FROM WHICH WE CAME The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

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 OWN A HOUSE

I own a house, small but comfortable. In it is a bed, a desk, a kitchen, a closet, a telephone. And so forth—you know how it is: things collect.

DON’T HESITATE If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

HOW I GO TO THE WOODS

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 old black oak tree. I have my way of pra...

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

How many kinds of love might there be in the world, and how many formations might they make and who am I ever to imagine I could know such a marvelous business?

Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.

I do not live happily or comfortably with the cleverness of our times. The talk is all about computers, the news is all about bombs and blood. This morning, in the fresh field, I came upon a hidden nest. It held four warm, speckled eggs. I touched them. Then went away softly, having felt something more wonderful than all the electricity of New York City.

Eat bread and understand comfort. Drink water, and understand delight.

You have a life—just imagine that! You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe still another.

We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we change. Congratulations, if you have changed.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know? Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.

Beauty without purpose is beauty without virtue. But all beautiful things, inherently, have this function— to excite the viewers toward sublime thought. Glory to the world, that good teacher.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

MYSTERIES, YES

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say “Look!” and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.