Another English Poem


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Reckless Poem


By Mary Oliver


Today again I am hardly myself.

It happens over and over.

It is heaven-sent.


It flows through me

like the blue wave.

Green leaves – you may believe this or not –

have once or twice

emerged from the tips of my fingers


somewhere

deep in the woods,

in the reckless seizure of spring.


Though, of course, I also know that other song,

the sweet passion of one-ness.


Just yesterday I watched an ant crossing a path, through the

tumbled pine needles she toiled.

And I thought: she will never live another life but this one.

And I thought: if she lives her life with all her strength

is she not wonderful and wise?

And I continued this up the miraculous pyramid of everything

until I came to myself.


And still, even in these northern woods, on these hills of sand,

I have flown from the other window of myself

to become white heron, blue whale,

red fox, hedgehog.

Oh, sometimes already my body has felt like the body of a flower!

Sometimes already my heart is a red parrot, perched

among strange, dark trees, flapping and screaming.