You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks—when you hear that unmistakable pounding—when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming—then row, row for your life toward it.—Mary Oliver
This poem holds a great deal of meaning to me. It can be taken literally—as I hoped my rowers would see, when I was standing before them as a coach, trying my best to inspire them and instill in them the confidence that they needed to accompany their strength and power as boat movers.
But it is so much more. The power of Mary Oliver’s words and images speaks to me whether I’m consumed with passion or faced with a struggle. I am inspired by the wisdom flowing throughout this poem, and every time I read it I find something more. Something that catches in my throat, now, as a mother. Or as a sister. And always something that takes me back to my coaching days, full of such different challenges than the ones I face every day now.
Re-reading these words I realize anew each time that living life fully is a kind of success that is difficult not only to achieve but even to risk. And so I thank Marta for reminding me of this poem, as she tends periodically to do, because once again I can’t stop reading Mary Oliver’s words. And once again I realize that I want to face life’s challenges with my heart pounding in my ears. With my eyes squinched shut if they must be. But I want to face them head on, without holding back.
And I want to teach my kids to do the same. But, Marta, I think the dead dog line is maybe a bit over their head still. Whaddya think?
Read More in history aka before kids, Jen Writes, mind/body, motherhood, three kids, writing
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Thank you so much for sharing this, Jen. it is amazing!!!
Can we do a book group meeting on this poem alone? Where it inspires you, it makes me feel kind of twisted up, offtrack, unsure. And perhaps that’s why it speaks to you as a sister, because I am and always have been (a bit twisted?). And maybe I should spend more time resting than rowing, listening for the whoosh. I don’t know. Life is full-steam ahead and though it is full, I’m not always living it fully. A conundrum, really.
Oh, and did I mention that I think you ought to start coaching again…
Thanks for this. What thought-provoking words.
Jen! Thanks for the dedication! You were an amazing coach, and I did appreciate your efforts to inspire — I just got a little distracted by the thought of rowing past a rotting dead dog carcass on the shore. A reflection of my own immaturity, not your taste in poetry, of course :)
And it did give us a lot to work with when composing hai-crews. I still remember this one, which I think was a Megan Hudson creation:
Marta likes to row
Past the dead dog on the shore.
Go Marta, go. Row!
Classic. And I agree, you should start coaching again! When are your kids going to be old enough to join you in a four?
Beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing it. I found it to be very inspiring indeed.
In my head I call a particular circle of bloggy friends “The Momalom Crew” because many of us came to meet because of five for ten and just because we love you.
I love it that so many of us love Mary Oliver.
And I’ll always be so grateful for The Momalom Crew.
One of my favorites. I bought my mom House of Light when I left for college. It was one of my first times really seeing Her versus “my mom” and I credit Mary Oliver for that.
I found Mary Oliver back then through an independent study of Edna St. Vincent Millay, but I’ve met the most amazing women who are connected to her in one way or another over the years. Feels like deja vu.
“Row, row for your life toward it.” Such powerful words, and such the opposite of my nature, which is to duck and cover, hold tight, hunker down. But Mary Oliver makes me want to row for my life, to feel the mist on my face, probably mixed with tears as I fight through my fears of change and newness and the unknown ahead.