MARY OLIVER

I've been reading psychology like crazy all summer and most of the books have been dense and some have been out-there and there isn't much I feel is interesting enough to pass onto you. I did listen to a 7-hour CD lecture about Neurobiology, Mindfulness, and Relationships which was fascinating and I can't condense it into a newsletter. What I learned will just go right into my work, instead. Which brings me to Mary Oliver....

She was at Campbell Hall last Saturday evening. I bought my tickets months in advance. This was my literary highlight of October.

Many of you know her. Those of you who don't would really like her because her poetry is accessible to everyone. Her poems are simple yet profound with beauty and lyricism and often, very funny.

Campbell Hall was packed. She is like a rock-star. When she came out people were cheering! Did I tell you how much I love Santa Barbara? She is a small woman, doesn't dye her hair, and in her mid-70's. What comes out of the mouth and mind of this petite person is a miracle.

Her themes often have to do with her deep and abiding love of nature, She won the Pulitzer Prize for her fifth collection of poetry, American Primitive.

One of her most well-loved poems, Wild Geese, brings me to tears every time I read it.
When she read it to us on Saturday night, the cheering audience was silenced.

“Wild Geese”

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
(Dream Work, 1986)

There are Canadian honkers living permanently now at the Deveraux slough. They do circle around and announce themselves loudly and proudly at least twice a day. And every time I hear them, my heart is momentarily uplifted

She has had a series of small dogs she calls “Percy,” as in Percy #1,#2, etc. She has a series of poems called, The Percy10.

“I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life”
Love, love, love, says Percy
And hurry as fast as you can
along the shining beach, or rubble, or the dust.

Then, go to sleep.
Give up your body heat, your beating heart.
Then, trust.
(The Truro Bear and Other Adventures, 2008)

“Percy”
(one)
Our new dog, named for the beloved poet
ate a book, which unfortunately we had
left unguarded.
Fortunately it was the Bhagavad Gita,
of which many copies are available.
Every day now, as Percy grows
into the beauty of his life, we touch
his wild, curly head and say,
“Oh, wisest of little dogs.”

(two)
I have a little dog who likes to nap with me.
He climbs on my body and puts his face in my neck.
He is sweeter than soap.
He is more wonderful than a diamond necklace,
which can't even bark.
I would like to take him to Kashmir and the Ukraine,
and Jerusalem and Palestine and Iraq and Darfur,
that the sorrowing thousands might see his laughing mouth.
I would like to take him to Washington, right into
the oval office
where Donald Rumsfeld would crawl out of the president's
armpit
and kneel down on the carpet and romp like a boy.
For once, for a moment, a rational man.

(New and Selected Poems, Volume II, 2005)