Mary Oliver was an American poet who won both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize for poetry. She died in January 2019 at the age of 83. She wrote mainly of nature and the natural world, so the poem I’ve chosen here is a bit unusual for her typical style. It is, however, not abnormal for her commentary. She was described as a plain-spoken Midwestern woman who is quoted as having said “tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” and “Listen, are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?” Those are not the thoughts of a quiet, simply observant person. Those are the musings of someone who is an active participant. How would we answer her? Something to reflect on.
When thinking about her own death, she naturally wrote a poem, which includes these lines:
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
As we move into Autumn, my favorite season of the year, the poem I’ve selected for this month is about a transition, a migration---and it seems it’s one that has been hard fought. So, I say it deserves a celebration! Many of us have wrestled with our particular dragons and have fought hard to become the person we know we can be; the person we truly want to be. But it’s so comfortable to slip back into that familiar although not self-affirming place. But when we finally get to “know what we have to do” and really DO IT----that’s a very special day for a celebration. I hope you take away something valuable from Mary Oliver’s poem, or perhaps see something special in her comments or find something in her life that speaks to you.
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.