Community Reviews
I just got done reading a Emily Dickinson collection and was horrified that I didn't enjoy it. I specifically found the nature poems to be a bore and was ready to admit that I'm just a horrible human being who doesn't care about the great outdoors.
Thank you, Mary Oliver. I am now confident that I am still a decent person because I thought these nature poems were so darn good.
I'm not the river
that powerful presence.
And I'm not the black oak tree
which is patience personified.
And I'm not redbird
who is a brief life heartily enjoyed.
Nor am I mud nor rock nor sand
which is holding everything together.
No, I am none of these meaningful things, not yet.
This poetry is very accessible in that it's far from shallow but also doesn't force you to spend all your time trying to decipher what is really being said. Oliver's perspective is so pure and gorgeous and hopeful and gently humorous and grateful of even the (seemingly) smallest of things.
Sometimes there's only a hint, a possibility.
What's magical, sometimes, has deeper roots
than reason.
I hope everyone knows that.
I hope so, too.
4 Stars
