Lovely poem from Mary Oliver
Through the two years of forced psycho-analysis of every single sentence from my O Level English literature books , I came to respect the art without fully understanding it.
Over the years, I came to realise the beauty and importance of literature in everyday life.
The joy of reading a beautifully written passage.
The ecstasy of comprehending the wicked humour in limerick.
Ahh.. the power of words..
Nonetheless I am still far from an avid fan of literature & poetry. This is coming from someone who spent her last hour in Louvre museum counting p*ahem* parts out of boredom. Hardly an artsy person ya? ;P I was therefore surprised to be arrested by this following poem.
It took my breathe away. For a while, I floated away into the meadow, pondering what to do with my one wild precious life...
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.
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
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