During the summer of 1997, my aunt gave me a copy of Mary Oliver‘s New and Selected Poems. The collection won the National Book Award. My aunt’s copy was dog-earred and loved. I have loved it (and Mary Oliver) ever since. Here’s one of my favorites:
Poppies
The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation
of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t
sooner or later drown
in the indigos of drakness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage
shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,
black, curved blad
from hooking forward–
of course
loss is the great lesson.
But also I say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,
when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,
touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight–
and what are you going to do–
what can you do
about it–
deep, blue night?
Buy New and Selected Poems: Volume One
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