not native fruit

the poetry of mary oliver

Four or five years ago, before I began this website, I tentatively shared my poetry with a friend.  She said she loved it, and that it reminded her of the poetry of Mary Oliver.  I hadn't heard of her.  I tried to be appreciative, and stave off the sinking of the heart: someone is writing poetry like mine, and she is really really good, developed, schooled, lauded, and my poetry will always be seen as a sort of imitation of hers. 

My friend gave me 'White Pine' as a birthday gift.  I read one or two poems, appreciating them deeply, and then set the book aside.  In the last couple of weeks, however, I've discovered that my 98-year old client, Lucy, loves to listen to the poetry of Mary Oliver, Billy Collins and Gerard Manley Hopkins.  Those books just happened to be lying on the table at Lucy's house: her daughter was reading them.  I'd read one or two Billy Collins' poems on Loren's site, but really woke up to them at Lucy's house.  So, now I've read my copy of 'White Pine', picked up 'Blue Pastures', and gotten 'Winter Hours' out of the library.   My case is one of deep appreciation, love and joy at finding a poet I can so much relate to, someone who speaks to the deepest parts of me, and at the same time I feel a sadness, a mourning, that I will never reach her level of artistry.  Same with Billy Collins, although to a possibly lesser degree, because a lot of his writing is not my style at all.  Some of his focus is very much like mine, but he writes so inventively. 

Both of them have a poetic practice that is very similar to mine.  I live life within a relatively narrow radius.  I've lived in the same house for thirty-one years, and my practice is to make discoveries in the context of this setting that is, like nature, so changeless yet ever-changing in the smallest details.  It's seemed like a good meditation practice for me to write poetry about it.  And now I find I am not alone, in making the attempt to translate this experience into poetry.  I feel as if I could just stop writing poetry and read theirs for the rest of my life and feel satisfied.  But I will probably continue to write poems in order to express the fullness of my heart.  And I'll be reading some of the outstanding poets who are publishing online, see the selection of 'seeds sown from afar' in the sidebar.  I particularly value 'find me a bluebird's concept (and practice) of a "daily poetry practice."  There are some very find poets in that list.

Anyway, I'm not sure why Mary Oliver's and Billy Collins' poetry should affect me in quite this way, I mean the part that is discouraging (for lack of a better word), except perhaps that their poetry is in a book that can be bought at Barnes & Noble, or other huge warehouse bookstores.  Perhaps it is the perfection of their lines that puts things in perspective for me.  Nevertheless, from there, I can go here: to the realization that there is a whole world of wonderful poetry being created right now, and I'm part of it, in my own small way.  That's got to be something worth appreciating.  I can hardly believe that I've been missing out on these two great poets all these years, and I'm a little embarassed about it, too.  But now I've got a beautiful banquet spread out before me, and the promise of a lengthy feast, and much inspiration.  I'll let you know the more interesting particulars as I move along through it.

I've published Mary Oliver's prose poems, 'Wings' (below) and 'March' above.  'Wings' strikes a deep chord with me, and it touches on the gnostic outlook, which after all, is just part of the human outlook, right?  And March also really speaks to my heart, and I love her unspoken move from 'March' to 'Madness.'  March Madness.  Please enjoy!

the credo

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