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ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Presentation on theme: "ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry"— Presentation transcript:

1 ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry
Mary Oliver (1935- ) ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver The Journey You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,.  ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver The Journey and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do-- determined to save the only life you could save.  ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Wild Geese 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.  ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Wild Geese  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. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York,1957 Once, in summer in the blueberries, I fell asleep, and woke when a deer stumbled against me. I guess she was so busy with her own happiness she had grown careless and was just wandering along listening to the wind as she leaned down to lip up the sweetness. So, there we were ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York,1957 with nothing between us but a few leaves, and wind’s glossy voice shouting instructions. The deer backed away finally and flung up her white tail and went floating off toward the trees - but the moment she did that was so wide and so deep it has lasted to this day; I have only to think of her – ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York,1957 the flower of her amazement and the stalled breath of her curiosity, and even the damp touch of her solicitude before she took flight - to be absent again from this world and alive, again, in another for thirty years sleepy and amazed, rising out of the rough weeds listening and looking. Beautiful girl, where are you? ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver The Summer Day   Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean-- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down, who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver The Summer Day   I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver A Visitor My father, for example,  who was young once and blue-eyed,  returns on the darkest of nights to the porch and knocks wildly at the door,  and if I answer I must be prepared for his waxy face,  for his lower lip swollen with bitterness.  And so, for a long time,  ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver A Visitor I did not answer,  but slept fitfully between his hours of rapping.  But finally there came the night when I rose out of my sheets and stumbled down the hall.  The door fell open and I knew I was saved  and could bear him,  pathetic and hollow,  with even the least of his dreams frozen inside him,  ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver A Visitor and the meanness gone.  And I greeted him and asked him into the house,  and lit the lamp,  and looked into his blank eyes in which at last I saw what a child must love,  I saw what love might have done had we loved in time. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

16 Oliver Starling Video Starlings in Winter
Hear Garrison Keillor read “Starlings in Winter” min 27 sec) Starlings in Winter Chunky and noisy, but with stars in their black feathers, they spring from the telephone wire and instantly they are acrobats in the freezing wind. And now, in the theater of air, they swing over buildings, dipping and rising; they float like one stippled star that opens, becomes for a moment fragmented, ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Starlings in Winter then closes again; and you watch and you try but you simply can't imagine how they do it with no articulated instruction, no pause, only the silent confirmation that they are this notable thing, this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin over and over again, full of gorgeous life. Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us, ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Starlings in Winter even in the leafless winter, even in the ashy city. I am thinking now of grief, and of getting past it; I feel my boots trying to leave the ground, I feel my heart pumping hard, I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver Across the wide waters something comes floating—a slim and delicate ship, filled with white flowers— and it moves on its miraculous muscles as though time didn’t exist as though bringing such gifts to the dry shore was a happiness The Swan ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver almost beyond bearing. And now it turns its dark eyes, it rearranges the clouds of its wings, it trails an elaborate webbed foot, the color of charcoal. Soon it will be here. Oh, what shall I do when the poppy-colored beak rests in my hand? Said Mrs.Blake of the poet The Swan ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver I miss my husband’s company— he is so often in paradise. Of course! The path to heaven doesn’t lie down in flat miles. It’s in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it. Oh, what will I do, what will I say, when those white wings touch the shore? The Swan ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry

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Oliver From “When Death Comes” When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world. ENGL 3370: Modern American Poetry


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