While searching for Mary Oliver-related videos on YouTube, I came across a video [4'52"] of her reading three of her poems. I don’t know about you, but I often don’t like listening to poets reading their works – they’re far better at the writing than in the performing of them – but this time I really enjoyed seeing Mary Oliver read her work. She is something of a recluse and rarely gives interviews, so this is a special treat.
For those receiving this via email, here is the link to the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnaP7ig69go&feature=related




{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Today I awoke a bit earlier than usual, so I turned on my computer and headed straight here… and what rich gift I find! This is wonderful.
I planted some peonies a few years back and each year they grow, but do not bloom. This year they are about to – so that last poem really hit my heart.
All 3 are beautiful though; Mary Oliver is such a treasure.
To hear Mary Oliver this morning was such a blessing.
Wild Geese so unexpectedly moved me to tears.
Being introduced to Mary Oliver from this site is one of the many things I am so grateful for.
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.
Happy Thursday…
I am no great lover of words (too ambiguous by half) but I did enjoy the first poem. I really liked Mary Oliver’s presentation style though. Not a lady who’d take much truck methinks.
Very subtle but when you listen to her, you can hear her attentiveness to the sounds of vowels.
Thank you!
Wonderful!! I love the musical quality of language – “buttery fingers” of the sun, “humble and silky life”, “honeyed heaviness” and so many more incredible pictures Mary Oliver paints with musical words.
Mary Oliver, herself, seems like an incredible person.
Paul, thanks very much.
Fran, I have two big peonie bushes in my back yard. They are almost ready to bloom. Late, I think, because of the harsh winter. I saw them unfurl in that poem. What a wordsmith, that Mary Oliver.
m.