"Evidence," by Mary Oliver

©2015 Ravenna Taylor, Wichechoke Creek, Delaware Township, New Jersey

Evidence

Mary Oliver

1

Where do I live? If I had no address, as many people

do not, I could nevertheless say that I lived in the

same town as the lilies of the field, and the still

waters.

Spring, and all through the neighborhood now there are

strong men tending flowers.

Beauty without purpose is beauty without virtue. But

all beautiful things, inherently, have this function—

to excite the viewers toward sublime thought. Glory

to the world, that good teacher.

Among the swans there is none called the least, or

the greatest.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in

singing, especially when singing is not necessarily

prescribed.

As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious

and full of detail; it wants to polish itself; it

wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in

the world that can hold, in a mix of power and

sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,

ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

2

There are many ways to perish, or to flourish.

How old pain, for example, can stall us at the

threshold of function.

Memory: a golden bowl, or a basement without light.

For which reason the nightmare comes with its

painful story and says: you need to know this.

Some memories I would give anything to forget.

Others I would not give up upon the point of

death, they are the bright hawks of my life.

Still, friends, consider stone, that is without

the fret of gravity, and water that is without

anxiety.

And the pine trees that never forget their

recipe for renewal.

And the female wood duck who is looking this way

and that way for her children. And the snapping

turtle who is looking this way and that way also.

This is the world.

And consider, always, every day, the determination

of the grass to grow despite the unending obstacles.

  

3

I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by

this adventure—your life—what would do for

you?

And, where are you, with your ears bagged down

as if with packets of sand? Listen. We all

have much more listening to do. Tear the sand

away. And listen. The river is singing.

What blackboard could ever be invented that

could hold all the zeros of eternity?

Let me put it this way—if you disdain the

cobbler may I assume you walk barefoot?

Last week I met the so-called deranged man

who lives in the woods. He was walking with

great care, so as not to step on any small,

living thing.

For myself, I have walked in these woods for

more than forty years, and I am the only

thing, it seems, that is about to be used up.

Or, to be less extravagant, will, in the

foreseeable future, be used up.

First, though, I want to step out into some

fresh morning and look around and hear myself

crying out:  "The house of money is falling! The house of money is falling! The weeds are rising!

The weeds are rising!"

From the collection "Evidence," ©2009 Mary Oliver, Beacon Press 

©2015 Ravenna Taylor, "Glimmer," oil on paper with collaged fabric, 22.5 x 27 inches - see more: www.abartonline.com