![\"\"](\"\/\/ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com\/e\/ir?t=gabespera0d-20&l=am2&o=1&a=080706811X\")
recently, and I\u2019m struck by the general lack of human contact. Most of the poems stem from a walk by the poet through secluded woods and fields, and center on an observation made during the excursion. That may sound a bit formulaic\u2014and OK, if I have one gripe with Oliver\u2019s poetry, it\u2019s that it is<\/em><\/strong> forumulaic\u2014but the insights are beautifully rendered in sparse language that speaks directly to my inner sensibilities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sparse, direct, plain language is a defining feature of her poetry. She adores flowery plants, not flowery language. Adjectives are typically simple, and often simply indicate color. Interestingly, the main colors found in House of Light<\/em> are white, black, and red, with occasional patches of green and blue. And again, it\u2019s just \u201cred,\u201d not \u201cblood red\u201d or \u201ccherry red\u201d or scarlet or fuchsia\u2014just \u201cred.\u201d She gets away with this partly because the objects she\u2019s describing are so familiar, they hardly need describing at all. We all know what color is a crane, or a bear, or the sky; any attempt to portray them with more specificity would mar the image. I started flagging all the poems that mentioned white, black, or red, but I ran out of stickies. Her poems often convey the serenity of nature, which, on its own, does not typically change in human timescales. Death is ubiquitous, but it\u2019s typically a quiet, and sometimes quick, death: a heron nabs a frog and moves on, a turtle gulps a duckling and is gone. And afterward, the quiet returns. Death is to be welcomed as an opportunity to return to the earth and set the cycle of life in motion again. In fact, when she declares in \u201cFoxes in Winter,\u201d \u201cI never said \/ nature wasn\u2019t cruel,\u201d I\u2019m suddenly taken aback by the defensiveness of the line and the surprising truth to it. Yes, she never said nature wasn\u2019t cruel, but that\u2019s because she didn\u2019t need to; cruelty is a human construct, implying some sort of malicious intent or pleasure in someone else\u2019s suffering. Nature can\u2019t be cruel, though we may perceive it to be. She also says, perhaps with a bit irony, \u201cI think this is \/ the prettiest world\u2014so long as you don\u2019t mind \/ a little dying.\u201d Of course, most people do mind a little dying, especially when they\u2019re the ones doing the dying. I sometimes find myself starting to write a poem, but then stopping and saying, \u201cWait a minute, are you really going to write another poem about snakes? Shouldn’t you try something different?\u201d Oliver\u2019s work repudiates that advice. She returns to the same subjects, the same tropes, time and again, following a well-worn path through her poetic woods, literal and figurative. But as with a favorite hiking path, I never get tired of following her. Mary Oliver: House of Light I don’t want this to become an obituary blog, but I need to note the death of another of my poetic luminaries: May Oliver. I think I first became acquainted with her work through the … Continue reading
<\/p>\n\n\n\n![](\"https:\/\/m.media-amazon.com\/images\/I\/91A6PpLGsWL._SY385_.jpg\")
<\/a>![\"\"](\"\/\/ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com\/e\/ir?t=gabepera0d-20&l=am2&o=1&a=080706811X\")
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"