Some Poems

Some poetry books

I've said it many times but I'll say it again. My relationship with Poetry is a difficult one. I keep trying to read poetry, have quite a few books of poetry gracing my bookshelves. But I generally find that, as much as I try, I don't know that I get it. Some poems have hit me, have caused an emotional reaction, but I often go through pages and my reaction is 'that's pretty, but whatever'. I think I'm getting better at grasping a poet's thoughts and ideas as I get older and I will definitely keep exploring the genre.

This picture was from Dec 2023 and the shelf has been updated since, but this contains 3 books by Dorothy Parker and one by Ursula K. Le Guin. The other books are fiction. Since then I've added a few others; more Le Guin, Margaret Atwood, Michael Ondaatje, etc. If you start at the front page of my Blog, you should be able to find links to my reviews and such under the Poetry heading (down the right side of the page).

Devotions by Mary Oliver

Anyway, to the point of this post. I've begun reading Devotions by Mary Oliver, a collection of her poetry from her various published works. This is my first attempt at her work and I have to say she writes beautifully. As I was lying in bed this morning, a couple of them struck me and I thought I'd share, if you don't mine. One makes me think of the current sit south of the border, even though it was written in 2008. The other made me think of myself, especially since I also am 70. I might add a poem dealing with dogs, but it might make me a bit sad.

Of the Empire

We will be known as a culture that feared death

and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity

for the few and cared little for the penury of the

many. We will be known as a culture that taught

and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke

little if at all about the quality of life for

people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All

the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a 

commodity. And they will say that this structure

was held together politically, which it was, and

the will say also that our politics was no more

than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of

 the heart, and that the heart, in those days,

was small, and hard, and full of meanness."

Self-Portrait

I wish I was twenty and in love with life

  and still full of beans.

Onward, old legs!

There are the long, pale dunes; on the other side

the roses are blooming and finding their labor

no adversity to the spirit.

Upward, old legs! There are the roses, and there is the sea

shining like a song, like a body

I want to touch

though I'm not twenty

and won't be again by ah! sevennty. And still

in love with life. And still

full of beans.

And now two poems from Dog Songs (2013)

Little Dog's Rhapsody in the Night (Percy Three)

He puts his cheek against mine

and makes small, expressive sounds.

And when I'm awake, or awake enough

he turns upside down, his four paws

  in the air

an his eyes dark and fervent.

Tell me you love me, he says.

Tell me again.

Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Ove and over

he gets to ask it.

I get to tell.

The First Time Percy Came Back

The first time Percy cane back

he was not sailing on a cloud.

He was loping along the sand as though

he cad come a great way.

"Percy," I cried out, and reached to him -

   those white curls -

but he was unreachable. As music

is present yet you can't touch it.

"Yes, it's all different," he said.

"You're going to be very surprised."

But I wasn't thinking of that. I only

wanted to hold him. "Listen," he said,

"I miss that too.

And now you'll be telling stories

   of my coming back

and they won't be false, and they won't be true,

but they'll be real."

And then, as he used to, he said, "Let's go!"

And we walked down the beach together.

... sometimes poems do work, eh?