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Quote by Mary Oliver

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Blue Horses

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Author

Mary Oliver
Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is a renowned American poet, born on September 10, 1935. Her poetry is known for its profound depiction of the natural world and delicate insights into life. Oliver's style is simple and direct, which has won her a wide audience. more

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“Energy is the power that drives every human being. It is not lost by exertion but maintained by it, for it is a faculty of the psyche. It is driven to perverted manifestations by curbs and checks. Like the motive force that drives the car along the highway, when it meets with an obstacle it turns to destructive force and shakes its source to pieces. It is not too hard to point out to the averagely perceptive human being that women have plenty of the destructive kind of energy, but far fewer people can see that women's destructiveness is creativity turned in upon itself by constant frustration. Nervous diseases, painful menstruation, unwanted pregnancies, accidents of all kinds, are all evidence of women's energy destroying them. It extends beyond them wreaking havoc with the personalities and achievements of others, especially their husbands and their children. That is not to say that women must hate all their relatives, but that if children are presented to women as a duty and marriage as an inescapable yoke, then the more energy they have the more they will fret and chafe, tearing themselves and their dependants to pieces.”

EnergyFamilyFeminismFamily RelationshipsPsyche
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“در ماه سپتامبر آن سال،وقتی که با پرسشنامه به خانه برگشتم، پدر عصبی بود.شغل پدر؟ مادر جرئت نکرد پرسشنامه را پر کند. پدرم سرم قر زد:- راستش را بنویس :(( مامور مخفی)) قال قضیه کنده می شود. من اینها را آدم حساب نمی کنم. نگاهش کردم. همیشه از خودم می پرسیدم که چه چیز ناجوری در زندگیمان وجود دارد. هیچ کس به خانه مان نمی آمد، هیچ وقت. پدر قدغن کرده بود. هر گاه کسی زنگ را می زد، دستش را بلند می کرد تا ما را به سکوت وادارد. منتظر می ماند تا آن که پشت در بود، منصرف شود و به صدای پایش در راه پله ها گوش می داد. پس از آن کنار پنجره می رفت، پشت پرده پنهان می شد و پیروزمندانه او را که داشت از کوچه مان دور می شد، نگاه می کرد. هیچ یک از دوستانم اجازه نداشتند که از در خانه مان تو بیایند. و هیچ یک از همکاران مادر. همیشه تنها ما سه تا در آپارتمان بودیم. حتی پدربزرگ و مادربزرگم به آنجا نیامدند.”

FamilyMemoryTraumaResilienceFrench Literatureادبیات فرانسهآسیب روحیحافظهخانوادهمقاومت
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