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"'In the beginning I was so young and such a stranger to myself I hardly existed. I had to go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it, before I knew at all who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be.' So begins Upstream, a collection of essays in which beloved poet Mary Oliver reflects on her willingness, as a young child and as an adult, to lose herself within the beauty and mysteries of both the natural world and the world of literature. Emphasizing the significance of her childhood 'friend' Walt Whitman, through whose work she first understood that a poem is a temple, 'a place to enter, and in which to feel,' and who encouraged her to vanish into the world of her writing, Oliver meditates on the forces that allowed her to create a life for herself out of work and love. As she writes, 'I could not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple.' Upstream follows Oliver as she contemplates the pleasure of artistic labor, her boundless curiosity for the flora and fauna that surround her, and the responsibility she has inherited from Shelley, Wordsworth, Emerson, Poe, and Frost, the great thinkers and writers of the past, to live thoughtfully, intelligently, and to observe with passion. Throughout this collection, Oliver positions not just herself upstream but us as well as she encourages us all to keep moving, to lose ourselves in the awe of the unknown, and to give power and time to the creative and whimsical urges that live within us"--… (más)
This slim volume gathers essays that had previously appeared in other collections. So it is a distillation. The essays deal primarily with nature, but there are also some about writers and writing. Oliver has a graceful, elliptical style, in keeping with the persona she describes as an early morning walker deeply observant of all that is around her. Fish, turtles, owls, and other wildlife; the trees and the wildflowers, an investment of time that “can re-dignify the worst-strung heart.” Oliver doesn’t go into detail, but it’s clear from allusions in a couple of the essays that she had an unhappy childhood. Like others in similar situations, she became a voracious reader. Whitman, in particular, to whom one of the essays is devoted, was a kindred spirit. Reading and the world of nature, these were her salvation. I use that term consciously, for there is a spiritual dimension to this: “He who does not crave that roofless place eternity should stay at home.” She doesn’t argue from a settled faith, or for a specific faith, other than this: “That there exist a thousand unbreakable likes between each of us and everything else, and that our destiny and our chances are one.” I copied many passages as I read, beginning with the closing line of the first essay: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” ( )
A wonderful collection of essays that actually seems like you're reading poetry at times. There were a couple that were not focused on nature, but were about writers like Poe, Whitman, and Emerson. These essays were good, they didn't bring the interest in joy that her observations of the natural world formed in my mind. Mary Oliver has easily become one of my favorite authors. Just reading this book and a thousand mornings, has solidified my interest to read and revisit her works from now on. For those who have not read Oliver yet, start now and enjoy. ( )
A beauty woven from observation and reflection and devotion to the power of words, Mary Oliver's book of essays makes for wise companionship. The pieces inspired by foxes, the gull, a spider in her web, and owls sang to me. And the essay Power and Time was written just for me — and the other souls who wonder about living a life bound up in creative work.
"I would say that there exists a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. ... We are each other's destiny." p 158 ( )
An essay collection from a poet, a gracious and often touching book about our relationship with the world. very insightful and useful reflection about the role of the artist, very delicate and emotional thoughts about people, animals and nature. A very contemplative read. ( )
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
...in solitude, or in that deserted state when we are surrounded by human beings and yet they sympathise not with us, we love the flowers, the grass and the waters and the sky. In the motion of the very leaves of spring in the blue air there is then found a secret correspondence with our heart.
Shelley, 'On love'
Dedicatoria
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
For Anne Taylor
Primeras palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
One tree is like another tree, but not too much.
Citas
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
In the beginning I was so young and such a stranger to myself I hardly existed. (p. 3: Upstream)
Something is wrong, I know it, if I don't keep my attention on eternity. (p. 7: Uptstream)
... the poem is a temple - or a green field -- a place to enter and in which to feel. (p. 12: My Friend Walt Whitman)
And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life. (p. 19: Staying Alive)
... the responsibility to live thoughtfully and intelligently. (p. 57: Sister Turtle)
It is where the confidence comes from; the child whose gaze is met learns that the world is real, and desirable -- that the child himself is real, and cherished. (p. 83: The Bright Eyes of Eleonnora)
In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love and the ability to ask questions. (p. 91: The Bright Eyes of Eleonora)
Or maybe it's about the wonderful things that may happen if you break the ropes that are holding you. (p. 145: Who Comes There?)
The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is not decency or sense of honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves -- we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other's destiny. (p. 154: Winter Hours)
Play is never far from the impress of the creative drive, never far from the happiness of discovery. (p. 162: Building the House)
Últimas palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
I don't know if I'm heading towards heaven, or that other, dark place, but I know I have already lived in heaven for fifty years. Thank you, Provincetown.
"'In the beginning I was so young and such a stranger to myself I hardly existed. I had to go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it, before I knew at all who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be.' So begins Upstream, a collection of essays in which beloved poet Mary Oliver reflects on her willingness, as a young child and as an adult, to lose herself within the beauty and mysteries of both the natural world and the world of literature. Emphasizing the significance of her childhood 'friend' Walt Whitman, through whose work she first understood that a poem is a temple, 'a place to enter, and in which to feel,' and who encouraged her to vanish into the world of her writing, Oliver meditates on the forces that allowed her to create a life for herself out of work and love. As she writes, 'I could not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple.' Upstream follows Oliver as she contemplates the pleasure of artistic labor, her boundless curiosity for the flora and fauna that surround her, and the responsibility she has inherited from Shelley, Wordsworth, Emerson, Poe, and Frost, the great thinkers and writers of the past, to live thoughtfully, intelligently, and to observe with passion. Throughout this collection, Oliver positions not just herself upstream but us as well as she encourages us all to keep moving, to lose ourselves in the awe of the unknown, and to give power and time to the creative and whimsical urges that live within us"--
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Oliver doesn’t go into detail, but it’s clear from allusions in a couple of the essays that she had an unhappy childhood. Like others in similar situations, she became a voracious reader. Whitman, in particular, to whom one of the essays is devoted, was a kindred spirit. Reading and the world of nature, these were her salvation.
I use that term consciously, for there is a spiritual dimension to this: “He who does not crave that roofless place eternity should stay at home.” She doesn’t argue from a settled faith, or for a specific faith, other than this: “That there exist a thousand unbreakable likes between each of us and everything else, and that our destiny and our chances are one.”
I copied many passages as I read, beginning with the closing line of the first essay: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” (