Have you heard? Mary Oliver has died. The best beloved poet of our time? Yes. Maybe. But I’m sure – not only in my mind.
She walked in beauty, like the night.
I’ve given her collection Devotions to more people than I can remember. I loved Dog Songs as much as one can love a book of poetry. It’s joyful! And funny! Sometimes sad. (And about dogs.)
When I putter around my yard and notice the way one leaf nestles up to another, I hear Mary Oliver whispering between them. Or whispering to me: listen. Pepper hears her murmurings too among trees and squirrels (that’s what she said).
She walked in beauty, like the night – of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright met in her aspect and her eyes. And in her lines. (Thanks – and apologies – Lord Byron.)
I never met Mary Oliver. I never especially wanted to. But the gift she’s given me in her words is the gift of light – and hope – and despair – and always – finally – wonder. And love. Her words are enough.
Here’s one of her poems for today.
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s 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.
* * *
(Photos from my house, from my Iphone. Today.)
Lovely, Jennifer. Xo
As are you, lovely Anne! xoxo
Thank you so much, dear Anne. I appreciate your encouragement always. xoxo
Oh . . . I loved her so. Thank you for this Jennifer. xoxoxo
And thank you for your encouragement always, dear Lucy – xoxo
So timely. She had many readers.
Many readers who loved her and mourn her… thank you for being in touch… xoxo
I read her poem “Goldfinches” at my Mother’s burial. She, too, was a lover of that bright, yellow bird. May she be …..happier than she has ever been…..
Surely she is. xoxo
Jennifer, a beautiful and poetic tribute. I had not read this poem, thanks for sharing.
I hadn’t read it before her death either. I can’t get over the bride/bridgroom metaphor. Thank you for being in touch, Deb – xoxo
Thank you, Jen! Beautiful tribute.
xoxo dear Lyn
My husband has always read poetry…always..but never came across Mary Oliver until tonight. And he has fallen in love. And now I can experience the joy of his discovery. And celebrate Mary.
Oh that is wonderful!! I love knowing that!! Thank you, Mary – xoxo
Thank you for this tribute to Oliver. I, too, love her poetry!
I so appreciate you being in touch, Debra! It makes all the difference when I feel that my words can touch someone too. xoxo
Beth and I love Dog Songs. Your tribute to Mary Oliver is poetic and heartfelt.
Sending love to you and Beth – xoxo
This is perfect. A gem of a tribute.
Thank you, Keltie – xoxo