documentary: mary oliver: saved by the beauty of the world (pbs-free)

 

pbs documentary 

Watch the documentary for free at PBS's website by clicking here

It's no secret that I adore Mary Oliver's poetry. I've featured her in multiple poetry pause posts. And, Mary does just that with her poetry- asks us to pause and look at what most of us take for granted- the magic that can be found in the natural world. 

I'm writing this post before watching the documentary, but I will surely write another post giving my review of it. 

I am always so fascinated about the life behind writers, poets, and artists, and I feel I can count on PBS to do a thorough and affecting job.

Here's The Poetry Foundation's page on Mary Oliver. It's lovely.

@The Poetry Foundation website

I truly believe that poetry is "the possibility of language". We can all benefit from slowing down- and then slowing down some more. Poetry demands that of us. 

It calls to the soul to feel into what the poet has used language to convey and to find yourself within the stanzas.

I'm off to watch this on a slow Sunday. Today I'll be staying in my pajamas later than normal, having a second up of organic single origin pour over with oatmilk (living on the edge with the oatmilk- I normally drink it black), and sinking down into Mary's life. 

Wishing you a peace-filled, slow, and easy Sunday. Happy reading ☕️

poetry pause: the orchard:: mary oliver

 

stock photo 

The Orchard

I have dreamed
of accomplishment.

I have fed

ambition.

I have traded

nights of sleep

for a length of work. 

Lo, and I have discovered

how soft bloom

turns to green fruit

which turns to sweet fruit.

Lo, and I have discovered

all wins blow cold

at last,

and the leaves,

so pretty, so many,

vanish

in the great, black

packet of time,

in the great, black

packet of ambition, 

and the ripeness

of the apple 

is its downfall. 

mary oliver

poety pause: Of Goodness :: mary oliver

 

© Rachel Giese Brown

Of Goodness

How good

that the clouds travel, as they do,

like the long dresses of the angels

of our imagination,

or gather in storm masses, then break

with their gifts of replenishment,

and how good

that the trees shelter the patient birds

in their thick leaves,

and how good that in the field

the next morning

red bird frolics again, his throat full of song,

and how good

that the dark ponds, refreshed,

are holding the white cups of the lilies

so that each is an eye that can look upward,

and how good that the little blue-winged teal

comes paddling among them, as cheerful as ever,

and so on, and so on.

-Mary Oliver

busy, rereading, making coffee, and poetry

Of course the compulsion to read lives in my bones, but with graduate school work (mid-life student), and all my caregiving duties, I find myself incapable to reaching for the 10 novels/books I am working on. 

Poetry always eases me back into the written work, and I sometimes read and re-read the same poem for 15 minutes deciding how it will land and live in me.

morning cup and reading

I don't spend too much time editing posts or editing my life. 

This is the reality.

Caregiving is hard. Going back to school again in mid-life is hard. America is hard to live in right now.

This combination makes me yearn for re-reads. Familiar stories. Books that I can pick up, or turn on audio and know that meeting these characters again soothes my heart.

I don't use Goodreads... or Storygraph.... I do feel quite isolated in my reading life and may return to BookTube to rectify that, but for now I let myself swim between the pages of books I adore and new stories that don't feel like a waste of my limited reading time. 

I do have a feeling I'll emerge from this intensely focused time in my life with a renewed sense on all things, but for now, my head is down...  I'm chipping away at small and large goals, and finding comfort in the chapters that have carried me before.

Books/Collections/Stories I return to over and over:

1. Giovanni's Room
2. Anna Karenina
3. Anything by Mary Oliver
4. Everything by Audre Lore
5. Pride and Prejudice
6. Jane Eyre
7. Anything Doestoevsky
8. Toni Morrison's Sula
9. BBC Radio Adaptations of my favorite classics

Now, let me go and make another light roast pour over, and get started on my school work.

If Spring is finding you floundering... ignore all of the pressure to perform and live through great works of literature. 

I'll meet you there.

Happy reading ☕️ 

the days have been long, the nights longer: currently reading

 

paperbacks, journals, so milk, same ol oats

The older I get, the more I realize exactly how basic and boring I love my life to feel.

Long gone are the days of thrill seeking (okay I was actually never that person), but there is a steady hum under my life.

Caregiving humbles you in a way that nothing else can. I've been caring for my disabled daughter since birth, but adding an adult to care for to the mix has rocked me in ways incomprehensible.

Burnout is real. And, it extends to my reading life.

I've been indulging the re-reading bug that bit me as a young child, and making my super slow way through other works.

Returning to grad school put a pin in my "extra" reading time (if such a thing existed), and has me turning on the tv much more often than I used to. I am finding that the thought of reading even one more page of something has made me want to rip my hair out... hence tv shows. Nothing good, just veterinarian shows, documentaries about elderly shop owners in Tokyo, etc.

I have decided to return to my tiny corner of the internet and share my reading- even if only to have a diary of it for later reflection. 

Burnout is why I haven't posted here more. Just the thought of doing one more thing has sent me into a deep spiral of heaviness. I am sure this feeling will pass as spring enters the chat and makes way for the illusion of sunnier days internally.

This may sound morose, but honestly I am doing well. Accepting what I can't change, but giving myself space to feel exhausted by it all. Life. The state of America. The state of the world. 

I've never been a fan of change, and it just keeps coming near me- it's a work in progress.

and currently....

Currently, I am being turned inside out by Audre Lorde's Cancer Journals. Yikes... powerful punches in every entry. I expect nothing less from this legend, but geez I have to put it down so often just to let the words marinate through me.

Dostoevksy's Humiliated and Insulted is entertaining and a popcorn read. Ever the philosopher, I stop to see myself in the story and get lost in my thoughts.

Existential Monday is a thickly dense, dense, dense read. I am understanding about 55% it, but that hasn't stopped me yet. One more essay to go and I'll be done. 

Poetry has been a dear friend of mine this year.

I'm learning Sonnet 116 by Shakespeare and reading Mary Oliver and Audre Lorde daily. I'll post about those this week. 

This poetry project is really rewarding. They say poetry is the possibility of language, and I always feel poetry more than my intellectual mind comprehends it. There's magic in poetry and I intend to enter that magical world every day for the rest of my life. 

Hopefully 2026 has begun on a solid note for you, but, if like me you've had a rough go of it, pick up your favorite novel and go straight to your favorite parts. Remember that nothing is new under the sun, and live the great works. 

It will all be okay. And, if it won't... that's also okay.

Happy reading. ☕️ 

poetry pause :: humility : mary oliver

 

stock photo: simon berger

Humility

Poems arrive ready to begin.
      Poets are only the transportation.

Mary Oliver

early morning table: writing and reading

my morning table

I have had a pretty rocky start to the new year, but it's just forced me to do more internal reflection. 

My daughter gave me some Mary Oliver poetry books for Christmas and I've really been enjoying starting my day with the poem. I have some literary goals for 2026 and by the end of the week I'll make a post about them. 

I've been so utterly exhausted that I've only been taking time to calm down my central nervous system, and read when I can. 

I started this year off with about seven current reads… I'm learning every year just how valuable I find this way of engaging with my books. If you've been here for a while, you know that I don't chart my reading, and any digital way. I'm never aware of how many books I've read in a month, or season, or a year. 

What's funny about that is I really enjoy watching people wrap up their books! Maybe I'll change and go back to counting some in the future, but for now, it feels really easy to just have as many books as I won't going at a time. 

I let the novels tell me what demands my attention. If my heart feels pull to a certain story, I'll stay with it for a while. 

Although I haven't been able to get much sleep, my morning, start very much like the photo above. The kitchen table with steaming, hot light, roast, coffee, my journals and agendas, and my common place notebook, a few e-readers… And a stack of books (not pictured).

I'm off to have a pretty intensive day of academic work, caregiving, cleaning, cooking and reading… I hope and pray that your new year is off to a great start and that you're able to find what touches your soul in the books that you read this year. 

If this next sentence resonates with you, I challenge you to accept it… Ignore everything you see on the Internet, including me. 

Read whatever calls see you.  

Happy frosty January reading, ☕️ 
 

01: snow night: mary oliver :: poetry pause : midnight edition

I’m a good friend of the late night and early morning.

When I can’t figure out what to read, I open up one of my many digital poetry collections and Mary Oliver never disappoints. 

As Autumn is making way for the frozen silence that Winter allows, I settle close to nature poetry.

source: the poetry foundation

Snowy Night by Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl

in the blue dark

tossed an indeterminate number

of carefully shaped sounds into

the world, in which,

a quarter of a mile away, I happened

to be standing.

I couldn’t tell

which one it was –

the barred or the great-horned

ship of the air –

it was that distant. But, anyway,

aren’t there moments

that are better than knowing something,

and sweeter? Snow was falling,

so much like stars

filling the dark trees

that one could easily imagine

its reason for being was nothing more

than prettiness. I suppose

if this were someone else’s story

they would have insisted on knowing

whatever is knowable – would have hurried

over the fields

to name it – the owl, I mean.

But it’s mine, this poem of the night,

and I just stood there, listening and holding out

my hands to the soft glitter

falling through the air. I love this world,

but not for its answers.

And I wish good luck to the owl,

whatever its name –

and I wish great welcome to the snow,

whatever its severe and comfortless

and beautiful meaning. 

poetry pause: sometimes:: mary oliver's devotions (in part)

source: stock photo

Sometimes (one stanza)

2.

Sometimes

melancholy leaves me breathless

Mary Oliver

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

This is by far my favorite poem by Mary Oliver, and perhaps my favorite poem. 

It's so deeply transformative, and it does what only poetry can do... it gives voice to that thing that deeply calls to us- the power of acceptance. Read it slowly and let it sink in.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

mary oliver: a thousand mornings: the gardener (poetry)

 

The Gardener

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, 

have I come to any conclusion?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.

Actually, I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

is tending his children, the roses.