I Worried
I Worried
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not, how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
© 2010 by Mary Oliver
Published by Beacon Press in Swan: Poems and Prose Poems
Reflection
To be human is to worry, it seems. What I’ve noticed about myself as I grow older, is my tendency to worry more frequently about smaller and smaller things: how will I zoom in with a malfunctioning camera on my computer? Why is there pain in my left side … again? I like Mary Oliver’s antidote to worry: go out into nature to be healed by it. As Rilke once wrote to a young poet: “If you ally yourself with nature, with her sheer existence, with the small things that others overlook … then everything will become easier for you, more coherent and somehow more reconciling, perhaps not in your conscious mind, but in your innermost awareness”.
Questions to reflect on after reading this poem
- What are the things you worry about?
- When you worry, what do you do?
Robert, April 2020
Photo by Jake Givens on Unsplash
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Thank you for this post, this poem, this reminder. I have found being inside all of these weeks, for many of which it was forbidden to go out walking if weren’t for the essential trip to the grocery store or pharmacy, has awakened my recognition of the role of nature in my wellbeing. I too easily shutter off this need and potential alliance Rilke speaks of. Now, even sitting out on our tiny balcony that barely fits two chairs has become a ritual part of my day, weather permitting. Spring has been springing just across the way. I soaked in buds opening into the deep fuscia-infused blossoms of the redbud trees that are now exchanging their petals for summer-like greenery. I welcomed the unfurling of bright green leaves that unashamedly began to block my barren-branched view across the park. And I listen to songbirds calling out to me that longer and warmer days are arriving. These encounters help my soul, shape my outlook, and tame my worrying tendencies.
What a beautiful poem!
In this strange time I am worrying most about relational things.
When can I hug my grandchildren again? How can I help my grandson who is crying before he goes to bed, he misses me so.
This night he had a nightmare that they threw away all the old people. His 3 year old little brother put his hand on his shoulder wanting to comfort him and said I can help you.
It always helps me to go out to the sea and meditate about all my worries.
They don’t disappear but I see them in a different way.
What a wonderful poem, thanks!
Our friends were enthusiastic yesterday as they told us about a bird which came and built a nest in their flower basket hanging just outside their door. They have watched the progress day to day, building of the nest, the appearance one by one of four speckled eggs, the soon to be mamma bird sitting on the nest warming the eggs, the hatching of the little ones, then their growth, learning to negotiate their new world, and eventually being able to fly away. In the midst of the corona virus, this daily bird story in progress just outside their door became a reminder that there still is order, hope, future; there is life. Nature does that to us and when one focuses on it, worry takes a back seat. it certainly did that for our friends.
What does giving up worry look like? How can we take our bodies out into the morning and sing?
I imagine walking out into nature, looking up at the huge sky, the beauty of creation and singing in wild abandon!