Mary Oliver


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Mary Oliver (born September 10, 1935) is an American poet who has won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. The New York Times described her as "far and away, [America's] best-selling poet".

Mary Oliver was born to Edward William and Helen M. V. Oliver on September 10, 1935, in Maple Heights, Ohio, a semi-rural suburb of Cleveland. Her father was a social studies ... more »

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Quotations

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  • ''Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life. It's an empty basket; you put your life into it and make something out of that.''
    Mary Oliver (b. 1935), U.S. poet. Georgia Review, p. 733 (Winter 1981).
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Comments about Mary Oliver

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  • oiuyt(5/16/2019 10:10:00 AM)

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  • Steve Kerns(4/25/2019 2:57:00 PM)

    RIP. She certainly is one of the most important English language poets of the late 20th, early 21st century.

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  • Bill Grace(2/10/2019 7:16:00 PM)

    ... ... ...
    but once,
    years ago,
    in some kind of rapturous mistake,
    the deer did not run away

    but walked toward me
    and touched my hands-
    and I have been, ever since,
    separated from my old, comfortable life

    .... .... ....

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  • Bill Grace(2/8/2019 10:02:00 PM)

    Her poem The Pinewoods could well be her communication to us from the other side.

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  • Deborah Kauffman Miller(2/2/2019 12:48:00 PM)

    Looking for a Mary Oliver poem about rainwater seeping into the earth and a stone feeling itself being touched

    3 person liked.
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  • Anne Hoiberg(1/26/2019 8:10:00 PM)

    Looking for the poem in which the ocean states that it has work to do.

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  • Shirley(1/23/2019 12:54:00 PM)

    Looking for a poem that begins 'When death carts me off to the bottomlands'...Shirley

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  • Sharon(1/21/2019 2:51:00 PM)

    Looking for the poem that includes a fox curled up in a wheel bed, dead, when she finds it and she wonders what it saw/thought as it looked out after it had curled up and before it died. So poignant

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  • Sandra(1/20/2019 3:08:00 AM)

    Her life lives on in her poetry

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  • Carol Schantz(1/19/2019 6:26:00 PM)

    How beautiful.

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Best Poem of Mary Oliver

A Dream Of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him ...

Read the full of A Dream Of Trees

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