Mary Oliver: “Sometimes” ( § 3)

From Mary Oliver’s “Sometimes” here is the third section.


§ 3
Later I was in a field full of sunflowers.
I was feeling the heat of midsummer.
I was thinking of the sweet, electric
drowse of creation,
when it began to break.
In the west, clouds gathered.
Thunderheads.
In an hour the sky was filled with them.
In an hour the sky was filled
with the sweetness of rain and the blast of lightning.
Followed by the deep bells of thunder.
Water from the heavens! Electricity from the source!
Both of them mad to create something!
The lightning brighter than any flower.
The thunder without a drowsy bone in its body.

§ 3
Più tardi mi trovai in un campo pieno di girasoli.
Sentivo il caldo di mezza estate.
Pensavo al dolce, elettrico
sonnecchiare della creazione,
quando iniziò a infrangersi.
A ovest, si raccolsero delle nubi.
Nuvoloni.
In un’ora il cielo ne era ricolmo.
In un’ora il cielo era ricolmo
della dolcezza della pioggia e dell’esplosione dei fulmini
seguiti dal profondo scampanare del tuono.
Acqua dal cielo! Elettricità dalla fonte!
Entrambi entusiasti di creare qualcosa!
Il fulmine più luminoso di qualsiasi fiore,
il tuono con neppure un osso sonnecchiante nel corpo.

38 thoughts on “Mary Oliver: “Sometimes” ( § 3)

  1. L’insediamento umano è stato facilitato per chi si trovava nella fascia orizzontale est-ovest. Clima più equilibrato. Forse il creatore stava all’equatore, persona moderata!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Allora 9cc9rre dire che sei molto brava anche nella fotografia, in effetti me ne ero già resa conto dai tuoi scatti su fb 😉

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Dear Luisa, you always give us beauty to share. To stand in a field of sunflowers, it is ethereal.
    As is standing in a meadow field filled with summer flowers. The scent and the buzz.

    The beautiful photo of the dramatic thundercloud brings both destruction and new life.
    Autumn has begun here so more of this to come. 🌻💖.

    Miriam

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for your wonderful words, Miriam, which are pure poetry
      Autumn has not yet started here in Italy. but the light has grown softer and the slanting rays of the setting sun coats everything with a patina of gold

      Like

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