Mary Oliver Quotes - Page 10

Quotes about:

• Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem after poem moves along in the exciting crests and falls of the river waves. None is timeless; each arrives in an historical context; almost everything, in the end, passes. But the desire to make a poem, and the world's willingness to receive it--indeed the world's need of it--these never pass.

  Mary Oliver

  Moving, Fall, Voice

  Mary Oliver (1994). “A Poetry Handbook”, p.9, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

  Mary Oliver

  Country, Song, Fall

  Mary Oliver (1986). “Dream Work”, p.3, Atlantic Monthly Press

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• I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

  Mary Oliver

  Alive, Littles, Wanted

  Mary Oliver (1986). “Dream Work”, p.3, Atlantic Monthly Press

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• The three ingredients of poetry: the mystery of the universe, spiritual curiosity, the energy of language.

  Mary Oliver

  Spiritual, Poetry, Curiosity

  Mary Oliver (1995). “Blue Pastures”, Harcourt

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• I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read.

  Mary Oliver

  School, Might, Gathering

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• How heron comes It is a negligence of the mind not to notice how at dusk heron comes to the pond and stands there in his death robes, perfect servant of the system, hungry, his eyes full of attention, his wings pure light

  Mary Oliver

  Eye, Light, Wings

  55 Copy quote

• Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary. If it were necessary, it would have stayed simple; it would not agitate our hearts with ever-present loveliness and ever-cresting ambiguity; it would not dream, on its long white bones, of turning into song.

  Mary Oliver

  Dream, Song, Heart

  Mary Oliver (1998). “West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems”, p.17, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• ...whoever you are, not matter how lonely the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh & exciting - over & over announcing your place in the family of things.

  Mary Oliver

  Lonely, Nature, Imagination

  Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

  10 Copy quote

• I have a notebook with me all the time, and I begin scribbling a few words. When things are going well, the walk does not get anywhere; I finally just stop and write.

  Mary Oliver

  Notebook, Writing, Journey

  Interview with Renee Olander, www.awpwriter.org. September, 1994.

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• On the beach, at dawn: Four small stones clearly Hugging each other. 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? When the sun broke It poured willingly its light Over the stones That did not move, not at all, Just as, to its always generous term, It shed its light on me, My own body that loves, Equally, to hug another body.

  Mary Oliver

  Beach, Moving, Light

  Mary Oliver (2010). “Swan: Poems and Prose Poems”, p.9, Beacon Press

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• I try to be good but sometimes a person just has to break out and act like the wild and springy thing one used to be. It's impossible not to remember wild an want it back.

  Mary Oliver

  Trying, Break Out, Want

  Mary Oliver (2012). “A Thousand Mornings: Poems”, p.33, Penguin

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• And there you are on the shore, fitful and thoughtful, trying to attach them to an idea — some news of your own life. But the lilies are slippery and wild—they are devoid of meaning, they are simply doing, from the deepest spurs of their being, what they are impelled to do every summer. And so, dear sorrow, are you.

  Mary Oliver

  Summer, Thoughtful, Ideas

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• I have trouble with some books because I'm so much in agreement with them I'd rather just sit in the grass myself.

  Mary Oliver

  Book, Agreement, Trouble

  Source: www.bostonglobe.com

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• The challenge is to keep up with all the new poets at the same time I love the old ones.

  Mary Oliver

  Challenges, Poet

  Source: www.bostonglobe.com

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• Life is much the same when it's going well-- resonant and unremarkable. But who, not under disaster's seal, can understand what life is like when it begins to crumble?

  Mary Oliver

  Life, Disaster, Wells

  Mary Oliver (1986). “Dream Work”, p.71, Atlantic Monthly Press

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• To find a new word that is accurate and different, you have to be alert for it.

  Mary Oliver

  Different, Accurate, New Words

  "'A Thousand Mornings' With Poet Mary Oliver" by Rachel Giese Brown, wfae.org. October 14, 2012.

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• I very much wished not to be noticed, and to be left alone, and I sort of succeeded.

  Mary Oliver

  Left Alone, Left

  "Famously Private Poet Mary Oliver". Interview with Maria Shriver, www.oprah.com. March 9, 2011.

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• I've always wanted to write poems and nothing else.

  Mary Oliver

  Writing, Wanted

  Source: balisha-neverenoughtime.blogspot.com

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• My first two books are out of print and, okay, they can sleep there comfortably. It's early work, derivative work.

  Mary Oliver

  Book, Sleep, Two

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• Far off in the red mangroves an alligator has heaved himself onto a hummock of grass and lies there, studying his poems.

  Mary Oliver

  Lying, Red, Study

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• The poet dreams of the classroom I dreamed I stood up in class And I said aloud: Teacher, Why is algebra important? Sit down, he said. Then I dreamed I stood up And I said: Teacher, I’m weary of the turkeys That we have to draw every fall. May I draw a fox instead? Sit down, he said. Then I dreamed I stood up once more and said: Teacher, My heart is falling asleep And it wants to wake up. It needs to be outside. Sit down, he said.

  Mary Oliver

  Dream, Teacher, Fall

  Mary Oliver (2010). “Swan: Poems and Prose Poems”, p.27, Beacon Press

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• Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth.

  Mary Oliver

  Art, Wilderness, Fine

  Mary Oliver (1994). “A Poetry Handbook”, p.106, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Every spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone.

  Mary Oliver

  Morning, Spring, Fall

  Mary Oliver (2012). “A Thousand Mornings: Poems”, p.39, Penguin

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• I feel the terror of idleness, like a red thirst. Death isn't just an idea.

  Mary Oliver

  Ideas, Red, Terror

  Mary Oliver (2012). “House of Light”, p.29, Beacon Press

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• ...Sometimes I dream that everything in the world is here, in my room, in a great closet, named and orderly, and I am here too, in front of it, hardly able to see for the flash and the brightness- and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing; and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees.

  Mary Oliver

  Dream, Hands, Singing

  Mary Oliver (2004). “Why I Wake Early: New Poems”, p.39, Beacon Press

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