New Mary Oliver Poem

There are any number of poems I love, poets I admire. But none that I hold in higher regard than Mary Oliver. I believe among living poets she has no peer. She is a giant among mortals. And the only proof I can offer is a poem like this one: “Starlings in Winter“–another exquisite walk through the park of her dark soul.  And the fact that her work is grounded in three things I find singularly unsympathetic: Nature, God & Love Poems. Honestly. I have read more awful poetry in those metaphorical landscapes than anywhere else. I am admitting to you that she has conquered me wholly on my most well-defended flank.

In fairness I ought to add I have a weakness for birds which, to me, encompass all of the mysterious attraction of those great vortices.


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