Mary Oliver

I found out that the same day I was listening to Robert Pinsky, some other people went up to Indy to hear Mary Oliver. I have been going to listen to local poets in Bloomington every month or two - sometimes they read other poets that they like and that is where I heard about Mary Oliver. There is one poet from England and I can hear in my mind her saying "Mary Oliver" in that accent that only someone from England would have - "Mary ALLover". The name sounds like something holy when she says it.

Anyway - I figured I would see what I could find of Mary Oliver's poems online. There are several at poemhunter.com. I could do without the giant flashing "Fart Button" next to the poems I was trying to read - other than that - it's a useful website for finding poets and poems. Mary Oliver is listed as 29th on their top 500 poets list.

But beyond that - Mary Oliver does express a sort of enlightenment - and understanding of life and our place in it. That is what religion is supposed to do for us. One site refers to her as an "EarthSaint". Jackie Kay blogged "poetry makes us think about who we are". I think that Mary Oliver does that better than most. I think it's a matter of putting into words our essential nature - and things that matter that often go unsaid.

From "When Death Comes":

"When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world"

From poets.org:

"Mary Oliver's poetry is an excellent antidote for the excesses of civilization," wrote one reviewer for the Harvard Review, "for too much flurry and inattention, and the baroque conventions of our social and professional lives. She is a poet of wisdom and generosity whose vision allows us to look intimately at a world not of our making."

Here are 2 of her poems - Daisies and Mockingbirds -
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Daisies

It is possible, I suppose that sometime
we will learn everything
there is to learn: what the world is, for example,
and what it means. I think this as I am crossing
from one field to another, in summer, and the
mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either
knows enough already or knows enough to be
perfectly content not knowing. Song being born
of quest he knows this: he must turn silent
were he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead
oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly
unanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies display
the small suns of their center piece, their - if you don't
mind my saying so - their hearts. Of course
I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and
narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know?
But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given,
to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly;
for example - I think this
as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch -
the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the
daisies for the field.
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Mockingbirds

This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing

better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.

In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door

to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,

but gods.
It is my favorite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give

but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them

and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water

from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,

and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing

but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.

Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said

I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying

through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
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