
Perfect Days
Description
Book Introduction
Mary Oliver's prose collection, "Perfect Days," which became known in Korea when novelist Kim Yeon-su quoted the poem "Wild Geese" in her novel "Whoever You Are, How Lonely You Are," has been published.
This beautiful, transparent prose by the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet gazes upon the wonders of creation and the magnificent beauty of our planet, including humanity, and interprets them in the poet's own words.
In it we can see brilliant yet simple images drawn through language.
"Perfect Days" tells the story of the nature around Provincetown, his own story, and that of his companion, Molly Malone Cook.
Through the prose, which is like music and contains everything that makes up the poet, his usual thoughts and the things he realized within them, we vaguely feel the poet's life and consciousness.
Among them are several poems that Oliver says can be thought of as “little hallelujahs,” poems that “just sit on the page and breathe.”
Mary Oliver, known as a nature poet and ecological poet, looks at nature as it is and says that the place where we live now is 'paradise'.
Speaking of being stranded on the sand when the tide goes out, of being bathed in the mist of a whale's puff, Oliver invites readers to discover themselves and their experiences at the center of her world.
Although Mary Oliver is sometimes compared to Emerson and Thoreau in her praise of nature, she accepts nature as it is rather than looking at it from a human-centered perspective.
In it, we discover the beauty of “very ordinary moments.”
This beautiful, transparent prose by the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet gazes upon the wonders of creation and the magnificent beauty of our planet, including humanity, and interprets them in the poet's own words.
In it we can see brilliant yet simple images drawn through language.
"Perfect Days" tells the story of the nature around Provincetown, his own story, and that of his companion, Molly Malone Cook.
Through the prose, which is like music and contains everything that makes up the poet, his usual thoughts and the things he realized within them, we vaguely feel the poet's life and consciousness.
Among them are several poems that Oliver says can be thought of as “little hallelujahs,” poems that “just sit on the page and breathe.”
Mary Oliver, known as a nature poet and ecological poet, looks at nature as it is and says that the place where we live now is 'paradise'.
Speaking of being stranded on the sand when the tide goes out, of being bathed in the mist of a whale's puff, Oliver invites readers to discover themselves and their experiences at the center of her world.
Although Mary Oliver is sometimes compared to Emerson and Thoreau in her praise of nature, she accepts nature as it is rather than looking at it from a human-centered perspective.
In it, we discover the beauty of “very ordinary moments.”
- You can preview some of the book's contents.
Preview
index
introduction
flow
flow
Habits, Differences, and the Light That Stays
Can you imagine the poem?
Three Histories and a Hummingbird
Wordsworth's Mountain
Wordsworth's Mountain
Dog story
Perfect Days
When the city calendar starts to say summer
Wasteland: Elegy
Artists in pursuit of beauty
Emerson: Preface
Hawthorne's The Moss on the Old Vicarage
The House of the Seven Gables
dust
Is prose poetry okay?
A tender morning
dust
flounder, seven
City Morning Walk
Flounder, eight
solace
Flounder, nine
house
Poetry Summer Night
Moving the city snake into the garden
Beside the cornfield with the city's hair down
Where I live
I woke up on a summer morning
Prose poem One Winter Day
Acknowledgements
Translator's Note
Author's chronology
Tributes to Mary Oliver
flow
flow
Habits, Differences, and the Light That Stays
Can you imagine the poem?
Three Histories and a Hummingbird
Wordsworth's Mountain
Wordsworth's Mountain
Dog story
Perfect Days
When the city calendar starts to say summer
Wasteland: Elegy
Artists in pursuit of beauty
Emerson: Preface
Hawthorne's The Moss on the Old Vicarage
The House of the Seven Gables
dust
Is prose poetry okay?
A tender morning
dust
flounder, seven
City Morning Walk
Flounder, eight
solace
Flounder, nine
house
Poetry Summer Night
Moving the city snake into the garden
Beside the cornfield with the city's hair down
Where I live
I woke up on a summer morning
Prose poem One Winter Day
Acknowledgements
Translator's Note
Author's chronology
Tributes to Mary Oliver
Into the book
How wonderful it is that the universe is beautiful in countless places and in countless ways.
And yet the universe is vibrant and businesslike.
It is certainly not the case that the universe shows off its delicate landscapes, displays its immense power, and recognizes us for our own development.
Yet, those accents are the best source of energy for us.
If only we could accept them.
Because the universe is full of shining hints.
--- p.49
As I glided across the water that day, as on many other days, a little song played in my mind.
I said it was a song because it was musical, but in reality it was just words.
It's a simple idea, neither strange nor complicated.
In fact, how strange it would be if on such an afternoon you didn't have such thoughts, if such music didn't flow through your head and body.
The words are as follows:
What does it mean that the world is so beautiful? And what should I do about it? What gift should I give to the world? What kind of life should I live? --- pp. 26-27
The way we live our lives reveals who we are.
Our habits judge us.
The battles we wage against our habits speak to dreams that have yet to be realized.
I want to be a serious fox with both dedication and humor.
I want to be a brave yet adaptable pond that closes its heavy gates in preparation for the long winter.
But I haven't yet reached that shining life, that pure happiness.
Not yet.
--- pp.29-30
I believe, as William James said, that religious life, however conceived and pursued, is “the most important function of humanity.”
It is my 'desire' to live a life like that.
It is my 'will' to see that thing dancing in the field, not wanting to go to school.
--- pp.31-32
I hardly ever go to school.
It has always been nature, its countless untapped springs, that hints at our unique and infinite divinity.
When you know with your heart, not just your head, that you are a blessed being, you feel the warmth of life just by moving from the shade into the sunlight.
--- p.32
We may have many doors in our lives, homes we go to see the stars or return to for warmth and family.
But a true house (a house made of existence itself, not of beams and nails) is made entirely of clay and has no doors.
There is no address other than the sea or the stars, joy or misery, hope, weakness, or greed.
--- p.49
The problem is that, whether in life or in writing, we need stories.
And harsh weather is the perfect source of story.
In a storm, we must do something.
You have to go somewhere, and that's where the story begins.
In it our hearts feel joy.
Adversity, even tragedy, provides us with catharsis and becomes our teacher.
--- pp.61-62
All the music of our lives is in them.
The gods act, and we do not know the purpose of their actions, but we do know this:
That the world could not have been created without the whirlpool and vortex of our deep concern and cherishment.
The same goes for the god of the sky and the god of the river.
Not only the God of the gilded cathedral, but also the God of the green fields (where people stop to take pictures of each other, where thrushes sing in the darkness, where little dogs bark and hop around, then run happily toward us with their ears back).
--- p.124
It doesn't matter whether poetry is simple like a needle, or as ornate as a snail shell, or like the face of a lily.
Poetry is a ritual of words, a story, a prayer, an invitation, a stream of words that flows to the reader without any sense of reality, stirring the heart and evoking a real response.
--- p.126
I walk through my landscape every day.
Always the same fields, forests, pale beaches.
I stand on the beach, which is always overflowing with the same blue color and joy.
Late in the afternoon, an invisible wind coils itself into a huge, solid coil, and waves, feathered with white, rush toward the shore, screaming and throbbing as they make their final landing.
I have witnessed such moments countless times, more than I can even remember.
Summer passes, the next one comes, winter comes again, and so the seasons repeat themselves without fail.
Because the rich and splendid world quietly and surely shakes its roots, its axis, its seabed within the universe.
The world is fun, friendly, healthy, incredibly refreshing, and loving.
The world is a theater of the mind.
It is a diversity that is extremely faithful to one mystery.
--- pp.137-138
To stand up, I need a field to stand on.
To get deeper, you need a bottom to sink below.
The constancy that the material world possesses beneath its green and blue hues leads me to a better and richer self.
Let's call it a cat. (It's hard to find the right expression.) --- p.138
One of the dangers of this so-called age of civilization is that we fail to fully recognize and cherish this connection between soul and landscape, between our own highest possibilities and the view we see through our windows.
We need the world as much as the world needs us.
Secretly, intimately, definitely.
We need fields where magpies soar.
To us, birds are more than just birds; they are the voice of the universe.
A powerful voice filled with divine joy.
Without the material world, such hopes are shattered.
It is exhausted.
Without the wild world, no fish could leap out of the water with a dazzling light, and no deer could run across the fields as smoothly as eternal water.
No bird can spread its wings and have the confidence, the adventure, and the courage to go beyond even nature's plans.
Same goes for us.
And yet the universe is vibrant and businesslike.
It is certainly not the case that the universe shows off its delicate landscapes, displays its immense power, and recognizes us for our own development.
Yet, those accents are the best source of energy for us.
If only we could accept them.
Because the universe is full of shining hints.
--- p.49
As I glided across the water that day, as on many other days, a little song played in my mind.
I said it was a song because it was musical, but in reality it was just words.
It's a simple idea, neither strange nor complicated.
In fact, how strange it would be if on such an afternoon you didn't have such thoughts, if such music didn't flow through your head and body.
The words are as follows:
What does it mean that the world is so beautiful? And what should I do about it? What gift should I give to the world? What kind of life should I live? --- pp. 26-27
The way we live our lives reveals who we are.
Our habits judge us.
The battles we wage against our habits speak to dreams that have yet to be realized.
I want to be a serious fox with both dedication and humor.
I want to be a brave yet adaptable pond that closes its heavy gates in preparation for the long winter.
But I haven't yet reached that shining life, that pure happiness.
Not yet.
--- pp.29-30
I believe, as William James said, that religious life, however conceived and pursued, is “the most important function of humanity.”
It is my 'desire' to live a life like that.
It is my 'will' to see that thing dancing in the field, not wanting to go to school.
--- pp.31-32
I hardly ever go to school.
It has always been nature, its countless untapped springs, that hints at our unique and infinite divinity.
When you know with your heart, not just your head, that you are a blessed being, you feel the warmth of life just by moving from the shade into the sunlight.
--- p.32
We may have many doors in our lives, homes we go to see the stars or return to for warmth and family.
But a true house (a house made of existence itself, not of beams and nails) is made entirely of clay and has no doors.
There is no address other than the sea or the stars, joy or misery, hope, weakness, or greed.
--- p.49
The problem is that, whether in life or in writing, we need stories.
And harsh weather is the perfect source of story.
In a storm, we must do something.
You have to go somewhere, and that's where the story begins.
In it our hearts feel joy.
Adversity, even tragedy, provides us with catharsis and becomes our teacher.
--- pp.61-62
All the music of our lives is in them.
The gods act, and we do not know the purpose of their actions, but we do know this:
That the world could not have been created without the whirlpool and vortex of our deep concern and cherishment.
The same goes for the god of the sky and the god of the river.
Not only the God of the gilded cathedral, but also the God of the green fields (where people stop to take pictures of each other, where thrushes sing in the darkness, where little dogs bark and hop around, then run happily toward us with their ears back).
--- p.124
It doesn't matter whether poetry is simple like a needle, or as ornate as a snail shell, or like the face of a lily.
Poetry is a ritual of words, a story, a prayer, an invitation, a stream of words that flows to the reader without any sense of reality, stirring the heart and evoking a real response.
--- p.126
I walk through my landscape every day.
Always the same fields, forests, pale beaches.
I stand on the beach, which is always overflowing with the same blue color and joy.
Late in the afternoon, an invisible wind coils itself into a huge, solid coil, and waves, feathered with white, rush toward the shore, screaming and throbbing as they make their final landing.
I have witnessed such moments countless times, more than I can even remember.
Summer passes, the next one comes, winter comes again, and so the seasons repeat themselves without fail.
Because the rich and splendid world quietly and surely shakes its roots, its axis, its seabed within the universe.
The world is fun, friendly, healthy, incredibly refreshing, and loving.
The world is a theater of the mind.
It is a diversity that is extremely faithful to one mystery.
--- pp.137-138
To stand up, I need a field to stand on.
To get deeper, you need a bottom to sink below.
The constancy that the material world possesses beneath its green and blue hues leads me to a better and richer self.
Let's call it a cat. (It's hard to find the right expression.) --- p.138
One of the dangers of this so-called age of civilization is that we fail to fully recognize and cherish this connection between soul and landscape, between our own highest possibilities and the view we see through our windows.
We need the world as much as the world needs us.
Secretly, intimately, definitely.
We need fields where magpies soar.
To us, birds are more than just birds; they are the voice of the universe.
A powerful voice filled with divine joy.
Without the material world, such hopes are shattered.
It is exhausted.
Without the wild world, no fish could leap out of the water with a dazzling light, and no deer could run across the fields as smoothly as eternal water.
No bird can spread its wings and have the confidence, the adventure, and the courage to go beyond even nature's plans.
Same goes for us.
--- p.139
Publisher's Review
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet touches life with music-like language.
“Walk the world to love the world.”
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Mary Oliver writes prose that is both beautiful and transparent.
In "Perfect Days," a collection of stories about her beliefs, thoughts, and inspirations, Mary Oliver gazes upon the wonders of creation and the magnificent beauty of the Earth, including humanity, and interprets them in the language of a poet.
In it we can see brilliant yet simple images drawn through language.
Mary Oliver became known in Korea when novelist Kim Yeon-su quoted her poem "Wild Geese" in her novel "Whoever You Are, How Lonely You Are," but her first work to be published in Korea was "Perfect Days."
He has received the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, and is still active as a poet and writer at the age of 79.
The New York Times called her “America’s best-selling poet,” and many people read and quote her poetry.
One can get a sense of its status by looking at Vice President Joe Biden reading Mary Oliver's poem "Wild Geese" at the 2009 September 11th terrorist attack memorial service.
In prose and poetry, Mary Oliver ponders death and memory, marvels at the usefulness of trash in Provincetown, where she has lived for over fifty years, and recalls the natural mysteries of her childhood.
He also reveals his literary heritage by paying tribute to Wordsworth, Emerson, and Hawthorne, whom he admires.
In this book, Oliver talks about “the relationship between the soul and the landscape.”
Poets must read and study, but they must also learn to lean in and whisper, shout, and dance in their own way.
Otherwise, it would be better to just copy old books.
But that's not it.
Absolutely not.
Because in our old world there is always a new self swimming around that feels it can express itself in a unique way.
That's what matters.
That a moist and rich world demands a new and serious response from all of us.
Every morning the world asks us grand questions.
“You live here like this.
“Do you have anything to say?” This book is what I want to say.
- From the "Preface"
A profound reflection on nature, language, and life, following in the footsteps of Walden.
“We already live in paradise.”
"Perfect Days" tells the story of the nature around Provincetown, his own story, and that of his companion, Molly Malone Cook.
Through the prose, which is like music and contains everything that makes up the poet, his usual thoughts and the things he realized within them, we vaguely feel the poet's life and consciousness.
Among them are several poems that Oliver says can be thought of as “little hallelujahs,” poems that “just sit on the page and breathe.”
Mary Oliver, known as a nature poet and ecological poet, looks at nature as it is and says that the place where we live now is 'paradise'.
Speaking of being stranded on the sand when the tide goes out, of being bathed in the mist of a whale's puff, Oliver invites readers to discover themselves and their experiences at the center of her world.
Although Mary Oliver is sometimes compared to Emerson and Thoreau in her praise of nature, she accepts nature as it is rather than looking at it from a human-centered perspective.
In it, we discover the beauty of “very ordinary moments.”
A few years ago, at a very ordinary moment, after an early morning walk, I emerged from the forest into the warm, bright sunlight, and was suddenly overcome by a sudden, euphoric feeling.
It was more like floating on top of a sea of happiness than drowning in it.
I didn't try to catch happiness, but it was given to me.
Time seemed to have disappeared.
The urgency has also disappeared.
The important distinction between myself and everything else has also disappeared.
I knew that I belonged to the world and was comfortable being bound to the whole.
It didn't feel like I had solved the world's puzzle, but rather that I was able to find happiness in the midst of confusion.
- From "Perfect Days" on page 62
Mary Oliver also talks about poets and writers.
The “whirlwind” of Wordsworth’s “Beauty and the Strange,” the “tender” side of Hawthorne, Emerson’s belief that “when men awaken to truth, they will turn all the heavy sails of their lives to a moral purpose.”
Through these writings, we find ourselves tracing her literary origins and learning from them.
As for me, there are a hundred reasons why I should feel impoverished, not only in my literary and contemplative life, but also in my emotional and resonant life, by Emerson's absence, but nothing is greater than opening the door of thought to the world's splendid and precarious present.
Whenever I start something worthwhile, I think of Emerson.
But even when I'm subpar, he's there to correct me, lovingly, affectionately, yet firmly.
He has taught me as profoundly as any writer, and the outcome we will achieve is predictable.
- From "Emerson: Preface" on page 85
The poet's inner self, the beauty he discovers in the world
“You live here like this.”
Mary Oliver, a natural poet, said that writing poetry is “different from other labor.”
Unlike poetry, she writes prose for a long time, and because she feels the weight of the work, her prose touches us even more deeply.
As bravely as her words, the calmly flowing writing reveals Mary Oliver's thoughts and beliefs.
It allows us to embrace our own lives, amidst the chaos and ordinary moments, and to see the wonders of nature.
This is truly a poet's tribute to the world.
Mary Oliver, who rarely gives interviews and lives surrounded by nature in Provincetown, discovers the beauty of nature and shares it with her readers.
Furthermore, it connects us “to our source in the natural world, to its beauty, horror, mystery, and comfort.”
American poet Maxine Cummins once said that while Thoreau was a “blizzard watcher,” Oliver was a “swamp patroller,” a “relentless guide to the natural world.”
Mary Oliver, whom novelist Kim Yeon-su describes as “a person I wish only I liked” and an author she “would like only I to read.”
『Perfect Days』, in which she reveals herself as if humming.
Now, Korean readers have the opportunity to read this dazzling prose.
“Walk the world to love the world.”
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Mary Oliver writes prose that is both beautiful and transparent.
In "Perfect Days," a collection of stories about her beliefs, thoughts, and inspirations, Mary Oliver gazes upon the wonders of creation and the magnificent beauty of the Earth, including humanity, and interprets them in the language of a poet.
In it we can see brilliant yet simple images drawn through language.
Mary Oliver became known in Korea when novelist Kim Yeon-su quoted her poem "Wild Geese" in her novel "Whoever You Are, How Lonely You Are," but her first work to be published in Korea was "Perfect Days."
He has received the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, and is still active as a poet and writer at the age of 79.
The New York Times called her “America’s best-selling poet,” and many people read and quote her poetry.
One can get a sense of its status by looking at Vice President Joe Biden reading Mary Oliver's poem "Wild Geese" at the 2009 September 11th terrorist attack memorial service.
In prose and poetry, Mary Oliver ponders death and memory, marvels at the usefulness of trash in Provincetown, where she has lived for over fifty years, and recalls the natural mysteries of her childhood.
He also reveals his literary heritage by paying tribute to Wordsworth, Emerson, and Hawthorne, whom he admires.
In this book, Oliver talks about “the relationship between the soul and the landscape.”
Poets must read and study, but they must also learn to lean in and whisper, shout, and dance in their own way.
Otherwise, it would be better to just copy old books.
But that's not it.
Absolutely not.
Because in our old world there is always a new self swimming around that feels it can express itself in a unique way.
That's what matters.
That a moist and rich world demands a new and serious response from all of us.
Every morning the world asks us grand questions.
“You live here like this.
“Do you have anything to say?” This book is what I want to say.
- From the "Preface"
A profound reflection on nature, language, and life, following in the footsteps of Walden.
“We already live in paradise.”
"Perfect Days" tells the story of the nature around Provincetown, his own story, and that of his companion, Molly Malone Cook.
Through the prose, which is like music and contains everything that makes up the poet, his usual thoughts and the things he realized within them, we vaguely feel the poet's life and consciousness.
Among them are several poems that Oliver says can be thought of as “little hallelujahs,” poems that “just sit on the page and breathe.”
Mary Oliver, known as a nature poet and ecological poet, looks at nature as it is and says that the place where we live now is 'paradise'.
Speaking of being stranded on the sand when the tide goes out, of being bathed in the mist of a whale's puff, Oliver invites readers to discover themselves and their experiences at the center of her world.
Although Mary Oliver is sometimes compared to Emerson and Thoreau in her praise of nature, she accepts nature as it is rather than looking at it from a human-centered perspective.
In it, we discover the beauty of “very ordinary moments.”
A few years ago, at a very ordinary moment, after an early morning walk, I emerged from the forest into the warm, bright sunlight, and was suddenly overcome by a sudden, euphoric feeling.
It was more like floating on top of a sea of happiness than drowning in it.
I didn't try to catch happiness, but it was given to me.
Time seemed to have disappeared.
The urgency has also disappeared.
The important distinction between myself and everything else has also disappeared.
I knew that I belonged to the world and was comfortable being bound to the whole.
It didn't feel like I had solved the world's puzzle, but rather that I was able to find happiness in the midst of confusion.
- From "Perfect Days" on page 62
Mary Oliver also talks about poets and writers.
The “whirlwind” of Wordsworth’s “Beauty and the Strange,” the “tender” side of Hawthorne, Emerson’s belief that “when men awaken to truth, they will turn all the heavy sails of their lives to a moral purpose.”
Through these writings, we find ourselves tracing her literary origins and learning from them.
As for me, there are a hundred reasons why I should feel impoverished, not only in my literary and contemplative life, but also in my emotional and resonant life, by Emerson's absence, but nothing is greater than opening the door of thought to the world's splendid and precarious present.
Whenever I start something worthwhile, I think of Emerson.
But even when I'm subpar, he's there to correct me, lovingly, affectionately, yet firmly.
He has taught me as profoundly as any writer, and the outcome we will achieve is predictable.
- From "Emerson: Preface" on page 85
The poet's inner self, the beauty he discovers in the world
“You live here like this.”
Mary Oliver, a natural poet, said that writing poetry is “different from other labor.”
Unlike poetry, she writes prose for a long time, and because she feels the weight of the work, her prose touches us even more deeply.
As bravely as her words, the calmly flowing writing reveals Mary Oliver's thoughts and beliefs.
It allows us to embrace our own lives, amidst the chaos and ordinary moments, and to see the wonders of nature.
This is truly a poet's tribute to the world.
Mary Oliver, who rarely gives interviews and lives surrounded by nature in Provincetown, discovers the beauty of nature and shares it with her readers.
Furthermore, it connects us “to our source in the natural world, to its beauty, horror, mystery, and comfort.”
American poet Maxine Cummins once said that while Thoreau was a “blizzard watcher,” Oliver was a “swamp patroller,” a “relentless guide to the natural world.”
Mary Oliver, whom novelist Kim Yeon-su describes as “a person I wish only I liked” and an author she “would like only I to read.”
『Perfect Days』, in which she reveals herself as if humming.
Now, Korean readers have the opportunity to read this dazzling prose.
GOODS SPECIFICS
- Date of issue: February 25, 2013
- Page count, weight, size: 168 pages | 266g | 135*210*20mm
- ISBN13: 9788960901551
- ISBN10: 8960901555
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카테고리
korean
korean