#153 A Thousand Mornings

All night my heart makes its way -however it can

over the rough ground of uncertainties,

but only until night meets

and then is overwhelmed  by morning,

the light deepening,

the wind easing and just waiting,

as I too wait (and when have I ever been dissapointed?)

for redbird to sing.

Di atas, adalah puisi yang judulnya menjadi judul kumpulan pendek puisi-puisi milik Mary Oliver. Sebagian besarnya memang, puisi-puisi yang berada dalam kumpulan pendek ini berlatarkan pagi. Hal-hal yang ada dalam pagi, familiar akan pagi, dan berkaitan dengan pagi. Who knows morning could be a rich thing in Mary Oliver’s hand?

Kumpulan pendek ini, ya saya sebut saja buku ini kumpulan pendek, karena memang secara ketebalan buku ini tipis sekali dan secara konten hanya memuat 36 puisi (lagi, kebanyakan baitnya pendek).TAPI, buat saya kumpulan pendek ini begitu powerful. Puisi-puisi Mary Oliver, penuturannya sederhana tapi sangat indah. Oh, ya, saya begitu jatuh cinta dengan kumpulan pendek puisi ini! Sampai rasanya ingin saya mendeklamasikan beberapa puisi di dalamnya dan merekamnya (lalu -mungkin- menyebarkannya :-D)

Its just that we could trace her love of mornings. How she’s very fond of things about morning. And by that, we’re drawned in her awe of every little things that comes with morning.

Its hypnotizing.

My two most favorite poems, in this book, called The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers and The Poets Compare Human Nature to the Ocean from Which We Came.


The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier? Who can imagine in what heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile time with tem. And I suggest them to you also, that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is, that we -so clever, and ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained- are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.


The Poets Compare 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.


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