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Articles by May Sarton
Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer
Poetry Friday THE WORK OF HAPPINESS by May Sarton I thought of happiness, how it is woven Out of the silence in the empty house each day And how it is not sudden and it is not given But is creation itself like the growth of a tree. No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark Another circle is growing in the expanding ring. No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark, But the tree is lifted by this inward work And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
B1G Friday screw all this FanPost
I watched the turtle dwindle day by day, Get more remote, lie limp upon my hand; When offered food he turned his head away; The emerald shell grew soft. Quite near the end Those withdrawn paws stretched out to grasp His long head in a poignant dying gesture. It was so strangely like a human clasp, My heart cracked for the brother creature. I buried him, wrapped in a lettuce leaf, The vivid eye sunk inward, a dull stone. So this was it, the universal grief; Each bears his own end knit up in the bone.
Poetry Friday
Poetry Friday THE WORK OF HAPPINESS by May Sarton I thought of happiness, how it is woven Out of the silence in the empty house each day And how it is not sudden and it is not given But is creation itself like the growth of a tree. No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark Another circle is growing in the expanding ring. No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark, But the tree is lifted by this inward work And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
Of Molluscs by May Sarton
As the tide rises, the closed mollusc Opens a fraction to the ocean's food, Bathed in its riches. Do not ask What force would do, or if force could. A knife is of no use against a fortress. You might break it to pieces as gulls do. No, only the rising tide and its slow progress Opens the shell. Lovers, I tell you true. You who have held yourselves closed hard Against warm sun and wind, shelled up in fears And hostile to a touch or tender word— The ocean rises, salt as unshed tears.
科学网-英诗汉译：幸福之功 - 武夷山的博文
英诗汉译：幸福之功 武夷山 幸福之功 作者：美国著名女诗人梅.萨顿（May Sarton， 1912–1995) 译者：武夷山 © 我思考过幸福，它如何由 空房子里每一天的静寂所织成 它不是突如其来，也不是被赐予 而是创造本身，如树木之成长。 没人看见过树如何长大，但在树皮内 年轮又扩大了一圈。 没人听见过树根在黑暗中往深里扎， 但是树木被这内在的功业所提升 树的羽状叶脉笑颜灿烂，树叶光闪闪。 所以说，幸福由和平时光织成 它独自在屋里深扎其根； 屋角的旧五斗柜，凉爽的打蜡地板， 白窗帘轻柔地不停飘动 自由的空气在屋里悄悄地流动； 书柜、桌子、雪白的墙—— 这些都是我们亲爱的熟悉的家居之神， 在这里信仰之功课可以高质量完成， 生长中的树绿意盎然，如同音乐。 什么是幸福，不就是和平地生长嘛， 是时间之永恒感，当家具 在同一个位置呆了一辈子， 随着空气流动，古老梦想 将当下幸福之闪亮树叶也给搅动了吗？ 没人听见过思想，或聆听过心智， 但是当人们安居于内心世界时 空气中就充满了祝福，而且确有祝福之效； 窗户遥望远山，四壁蔼然可亲。 . 该诗选自梅.
TRANSCEND MEDIA SERVICE
May Sarton – TRANSCEND Media Service I thought of happiness, how it is woven Out of the silence in the empty house each day And how it is not sudden and it is not given But is creation itself like the growth of a tree. No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark Another circle is growing in the expanding ring. No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark, But the tree is lifted by this inward work And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
TRANSCEND MEDIA SERVICE
May Sarton – TRANSCEND Media Service In space in time I sit Thousands of feet above The sea and meditate On solitude on love Near all is brown and poor Houses are made of earth Sun opens every door The city is a hearth Far all is blue and strange The sky looks down on snow And meets the mountain-range Where time is light not shadow Time in the heart held still Space as the household god And joy instead of will Knows love as solitude Knows solitude as love Knows time as light not shadow...
Meditation in Sunlight
MEDITATION IN SUNLIGHT by May Sarton In space in time I sit Thousands of feet above The sea and meditate On solitude on love Near all is brown and poor Houses are made of earth Sun opens every door The city is a hearth Far all is blue and strange The sky looks down on snow And meets the mountain-range Where time is light not shadow Time in the heart held still Space as the household god And joy instead of will Knows love as solitude Knows solitude as love Knows time as light not shadow...
The Writer's Almanac for Tuesday, May 3, 2022 - Garrison Keillor
A Prairie Home Companion An Evening of Story and Song Humor Love & Comedy Tour Old Friends Poetry Prairie Home Christmas Show Solo Songs Stories The Gratitude Tour Sunday 8:00 p.m. Broward Center for Performing Arts, Fort Lauderdale, FL Fort Lauderdale, FL Keillor & Company with Prudence Johnson and Dan Chouinard bring their show to Fort Lauderdale, FL for a performance of classic love songs, poetry, The News from Lake Wobegon, and a conversation about Why You Should Go On Getting Older...
The Flea by Gail Mazur - Poems
“The flea,” that’s what the year-rounders call it, rummaging through tools or bric-a-brac then gossiping all day at their tables in the blistering sun, their faded beach umbrellas barely shading the tarmac. This is what my mother did in New Hampshire Sunday after widowed Sunday, into her eighties. Up at dawn, her wagon packed the night before— by noon, willing to mark down anything not to have to re-wrap and pack the whole kit and caboodle for the sticky hundred mile drive home….
May Sarton: 'Poem in Autumn'
A poem by May Sarton, published in The Atlantic in 1942 By May Sarton Illustrations by Miki Lowe May Sarton was a novelist and an avid keeper of journals, but she considered herself a poet above all else.
Kathy’s Gardening Guide: Citrus Trees
By Kathy Esfahani Ever wonder what type of citrus trees thrive in Northeast Florida? Growing citrus is not only great for fresh fruit, but they are beautiful ornate trees with a wonderful scent. All citrus trees in 9A require a minimum of six hours of sunlight or more. They also require more water than most trees no matter if the weather is hot or cold. Dwarf trees are suited for smaller yards/spaces, whereas a big yard may have many large citrus trees.
Writing about Writing — Kylie Mirmohamadi
Jane Alison, Meander, Spiral, Explode Margaret Atwood, On Writers and Writing Andrea Barrett and Peter Turchi (eds), A Kite in the Wind: Fiction Writers on their Craft Charles Baxter, The Art of Subtext Charles Baxter, Wonderlands: Essays on the Life of Literature David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear Elizabeth Benedict, The Joy of Writing Sex Tegan Bennett Daylight, The Details Between the Covers podcast transcripts from Tin House (https://tinhouse.com/transcripts) Carmel Bird, Not Now...
14th Sunday Reflection
At that time, Jesus spoke out and said, “I give you fullest thanks, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you hid these things from the wise and sagacious and revealed them to infants; Yes, Father, because such was pleasing before you. All things were delivered to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and neither does anyone know the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.
The Art of Being Alone: May Sarton’s Stunning 1938 Ode to Solitude
Photo by fcscafeine/Getty Images. “The best things in life happen to you when you’re alone,” artist Agnes Martin reflected in her final years. “Oh comforting solitude, how favorable thou art to original thought!” wrote the founding father of neuroscience in his advice to young scientists. The poet Elizabeth Bishop believed that everyone should experience at least one prolonged period of solitude in life.
Heartwarming Books for Animal Lovers
Heartwarming Books for Animal Lovers Details Category: Get to Know Published: Tuesday, 01 January 2019 00:00 Pet Lovers Cuddle with your pet while reading a good book when the weather this winter doesn't let you play outside! All Creatures Great and Small By: James Herriot Delve into the magical, unforgettable world of James Herriot, the world's most beloved veterinarian, and his menagerie of heartwarming, funny, and tragic animal patients.
Redux: Two Hundred Perfect Words Every Day
Every week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for the Redux newsletter.
Coming into Eighty
Coming into eighty I slow my ship down For a safe landing. It has been battered, One sail torn, the rudder Sometimes wobbly. We are hardly a glorious sight. It has been a long voyage Through time, travail and triumph, Eighty years Of learning what to be And how to become it. One day the ship will decompose And then what will become of me? Only a breath Gone into nothingness Alone Or a spirit of air and fire Set free? Who knows? Greet us at landfall The old ship and me, But we can’t stay anchored.
Redux: The Idea of Women’s Language
Every week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for the Redux newsletter. Last week, The Paris Review announced Women at Work Volume Two, a collection of twelve interviews with female artists from the Writers at Work series. Volume Two is available for preorder now.
Fierce with Reality: Living and Loving Well to the End
You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done…you are fierce with reality. —Florida Scott-Maxwell, The Measure of My Days Florida Scott-Maxwell was 85 when she wrote those words. I first read them when I was half her age, but I knew she was speaking directly to me.
Redux: A State of Hyperconsciousness
Every week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for the Redux newsletter.
Redux: A State of Hyperconsciousness
Every week, the editors of The Paris Review lift the paywall on a selection of interviews, stories, poems, and more from the magazine’s archive. You can have these unlocked pieces delivered straight to your inbox every Sunday by signing up for the Redux newsletter.
The Work of Happiness
I thought of happiness, how it is woven Out of the silence in the empty house each day And how it is not sudden and it is not given But is creation itself like the growth of a tree. No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark Another circle is growing in the expanding ring. No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark, But the tree is lifted by this inward work And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
For My Mother
Once more I summon you Out of the past With poignant love, You who nourished the poet And the lover. I see your gray eyes Looking out to sea In those Rockport summers, Keeping a distance Within the closeness Which was never intrusive Opening out Into the world. And what I remember Is how we laughed Till we cried Swept into merriment Especially when times were hard.
Books of Solitude - Signature Reads
With winter upon us and Valentine’s Day around the corner, not everyone on their own is having the easiest time. There’s something about cold temperatures and culturally mandated romance that can make us feel our solitude most acutely. But this is also a time to really relish “aloneliness,” especially now that we’re realizing that we must occasionally unplug if we’re going to make it through the next few years of politics.
11 Books Like "The Alchemist"
Though few of us have had the experience of journeying to Egypt in search of our personal destiny, or Personal Legend—as it's called, The Alchemist inspired us to discover our best selves no matter where we were. Since its publication almost 30 years ago, the novel has endured as a guide to conquering our fears, believing in truth, fulfilling our dreams, and finding our destiny.
The Art of Being Alone: May Sarton’s Stunning 1938 Ode to Solitude
“There is no place more intimate than the spirit alone.” By Maria Popova “The best things in life happen to you when you’re alone,” artist Agnes Martin reflected in her final years. “Oh comforting solitude, how favorable thou art to original thought!” wrote the founding father of neuroscience in his advice to young scientists. The poet Elizabeth Bishop believed that everyone should experience at least one prolonged period of solitude in life.
10 More Books for Cat Lovers
Last year I compiled a list of books for cat lovers. Here are ten more witty, heartwarming, and hilarious books for feline fanatics. Doris Lessing’s love affair with cats began when she was a child living on a farm in Africa, where semi-feral felines roamed free. Over the course of her life, many cats shared her home and stole her heart, including one notable cat named El Magnifico.
Nest of Silence and Loveliness
I'm a really firm believer that we don't need anywhere fancy to write. And yet....it's good to have a "room of one's own." It's good to have one's own space. I've written my books at kitchen tables, and in the corner of our bedroom. I've written outdoors. I've never written at cafes, but I see how that can work for some people.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
Let us step outside for a moment As the sun breaks through clouds And shines on wet new fallen snow, And breathe the new air. So much has died that had to die this year. We are dying away from things. It is a necessity—we have to do it Or we shall be buried under the magazines, The too many clothes, the too much food. We have dragged it all around Like dung beetles Who drag piles of dung Behind them on which to feed, In which to lay their eggs.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
When everyone had gone I sat in the library With the small silent tree, She and I alone. How softly she shone! And for the first time then For the first time this year, I felt reborn again, I knew love’s presence near. Love distant, love detached And strangely without weight, Was with me in the night When everyone had gone And the garland of pure light Stayed on, stayed on. “Christmas Light” by May Sarton from Collected Poems. © Norton, 1993. Reprinted with permission.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
The days are cold and brown, Brown fields, no sign of green, Brown twigs, not even swelling, And dirty snow in the woods. But as the dark flows in The tree frogs begin Their shrill sweet singing, And we lie on our beds Through the ecstatic night, Wide awake, cracked open. There will be no going back. "April in Maine" by May Sarton from Collected Poems. © W.W. Norton & Company, 1993. Reprinted with permission. (buy now) Today is April Fools’ Day, a day of hoaxes and practical jokes the world over.
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
My parrot is emerald green, His tail feathers, marine. He bears an orange half-moon Over his ivory beak. He must be believed to be seen, This bird from a Rousseau wood. When the urge is on him to speak, He becomes too true to be good. He uses his beak like a hook To lift himself up with or break Open a sunflower seed, And his eye, in a bold white ring, Has a lapidary look. What a most astonishing bird, Whose voice when he chooses to sing Must be believed to be heard.
Emily Miller (Chicago, IL)'s review of Journal of a Solitude
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