Poets must read and study, but also they must learn to tilt and whisper, shout, or dance, each in his or her own way, or we might just as well copy the old books. But, no, that would never do, for always the new self swimming around in the old world feels itself uniquely verbal. And that is just the point: how the world, moist and bountiful, calls to each of us to make a new and serious response. That's the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. 'Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?' This book is my comment.--from the Foreword.Essays and Other Writings Mary Oliver ... Then a man came walking along with two children. They waded out and looked at the unhappy fish. He asked me for my doga#39;s leash, which was hanging around my shoulders, and he looped it lightly under the heavy body and with the slightest tug drew the fish up, just inches, and slowly, as with a fantastic, footless dog, he led it into deeper water. Hurrah for that anbsp;...
|Publisher||:||Da Capo Press - 2005|