Monday, March 9, 2009

A poem

The Family
by Mary Oliver

The dark things of the wood
Are coming from their caves,
Flexing muscle.

They browse the orchard,
Nibble the sea of grasses
Around our yellow rooms,

Scarcely looking in
To see what we are doing
And if they still know us.

We hear them, or think we do:
The muzzle lapping moonlight,
The tooth in the apple.

Put another log on the fire;
Mozart, again, on the turntable,
Still there is a sorrow

With us in the room.
We remember the cave.
In our dreams we go back

Or they come to visit.
They also like music.
We eat leaves together.

They are our brothers.
They are the family
We have run away from


Luisa Santos said...

i can't comment... i just can say that I printed the poem, it's really beautiful and touching.

thinker said...

I am happy that you like it that much Luisa. Enjoy your day!

Robyn said...

One of my favourite poets...after D H Lawrence.

thinker said...

I've discovered her poetry a few days ago, quite amazing.

Jo Bradford said...

I have never read or heard his poem before, haunting and beautiful,the imagery is so strong. I am feeling inspired to try to interpret it some time myself

thinker said...

Glad you like it Jo!


Yes, this is a beautiful poem, thank you for sharing!

thinker said...

Hi BlackAndWhite, glad you like it!