I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
The poems of Wendell Berry invite us to stop, to think, to see the world around us, and to savour what is good. Here are consoling verses of hope and of healing; short, simple meditations on love, death, friendship, memory and belonging; luminous hymns to the land, the cycles of nature and the seasons as they ebb and flow. Here is the peace of wild things.
Arvustused
Wendell Berry is the most important writer and thinker that you have (probably) never heard of. He is an American sage -- James Rebanks Our modern-day Thoreau ... He is unlike anybody else writing today -- Andrew Marr * New Statesman * The poet laureate of America's farmland * Observer * Wendell Berry's poems have a real twinkle in their eye in the face of a dark world -- Colum McCann * Atlantic * He has returned American poetry to a Wordsworthian clarity of purpose * Baltimore Sun *
Muu info
Joyous, sensuous, radical- a slim volume of Wendell Berry's best-loved poems to console and delight.
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8 | (1) |
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9 | (4) |
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The Thought of Something Else |
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To My Children, Fearing for Them |
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Against the War in Vietnam |
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27 | (2) |
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29 | (6) |
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35 | (1) |
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36 | (1) |
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Winter Night Poem for Mary |
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38 | (1) |
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39 | (1) |
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40 | (1) |
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On the Hill Late at Night |
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41 | (1) |
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42 | (1) |
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The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer |
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43 | (2) |
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45 | (1) |
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47 | (4) |
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The Old Elm Tree by the River |
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52 | (2) |
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Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front |
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54 | (2) |
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56 | (1) |
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58 | (1) |
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59 | (4) |
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63 | (6) |
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69 | (1) |
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70 | (4) |
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77 | (4) |
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81 | (4) |
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85 | (1) |
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Our Children, Coming of Age |
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86 | (3) |
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89 | (2) |
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91 | (1) |
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92 | (1) |
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93 | (1) |
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94 | (1) |
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95 | (4) |
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In a Country Once Forested |
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99 | (1) |
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99 | (1) |
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100 | (1) |
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100 | (1) |
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101 | (4) |
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I I go among trees and sit still |
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II I go from the woods into the cleared field |
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III In a crease of the hill |
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IV The year relents, and free |
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V Over the river in loud flood |
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VI The summer ends, and it is time |
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VII Coming to the woods' edge |
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112 | (2) |
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VIII Always in the distance |
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IX In the early morning we awaken from |
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115 | (1) |
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X The sky bright after summer-ending rain |
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XI To give mind to machines, they are calling it |
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117 | (1) |
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118 | (2) |
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XIII The body in the invisible |
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120 | (1) |
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XIV The team rests in shade at the edge |
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121 | (1) |
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XV Loving you has taught me the infinite |
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122 | (1) |
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XVI Lift up the dead leaves |
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123 | (1) |
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XVII We went in darkness where |
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XVIII They sit together on the porch, the dark |
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126 | (1) |
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XIX Some Sunday afternoon, it may be |
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127 | (1) |
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XX Even while I dreamed I prayed that what I saw was only fear |
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128 | (2) |
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XXI I was wakened from my dream of the ruined world by the sound |
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130 | (1) |
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131 | (1) |
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XXIII The watcher comes, knowing the small |
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132 | (1) |
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XXIV The year falls also from |
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133 | (1) |
| Acknowledgements |
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134 | |
'A farmer of sorts and an artist of sorts,' Wendell Berry is the author of more than fifty books of poetry, fiction, and essays. He has received fellowships from the Guggenheim, Lannan, and Rockefeller foundations and the National Endowment for the Arts, and also the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, the Cleanth Brooks Medal for Lifetime Achievement, and the National Humanities Medal. For more than forty years, he has lived and farmed in his native Henry Country, Kentucky, with his wife, Tanya, and their children and grandchildren.
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