{"id":316,"date":"2004-04-14T17:39:26","date_gmt":"2004-04-15T00:39:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/wp2\/uncategorized\/mary-oliver-and-barbara-kingsolver\/"},"modified":"2012-02-20T15:22:10","modified_gmt":"2012-02-20T21:22:10","slug":"mary-oliver-and-barbara-kingsolver","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/poetry\/mary-oliver-and-barbara-kingsolver\/","title":{"rendered":"Mary Oliver and Barbara Kingsolver"},"content":{"rendered":"

Many years ago I first encountered Mary Oliver through an essay of hers — it was in something like a book-of-the-month club newsletter. I was stunned, as I often have been since, by her ability to speak, not just to me, but for me, to say things that are in my heart but may never come out of me so brilliantly. She’s a gem.<\/p>\n

A friend once said she’d like to be listening to classical music as she lay dying. I had never considered the matter but immediately realized it is rain I want to hear last. mjh<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Poem: “Marengo,” by Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems (Beacon Press). <\/p>\n

Marengo<\/p>\n

Out of the sump rise the marigolds.
\nFrom the rim of the marsh, muslin with mosquitoes,
\nrises the egret, in his cloud-cloth.
\nThrough the soft rain, like mist, and mica,
\nthe withered acres of moss begin again.<\/p>\n

When I have to die, I would like to die
\non a day of rain–
\nlong rain, slow rain, the kind you think will never end. <\/p>\n

And I would like to
\nhave whatever little ceremony there might be
\ntake place while the rain is shoveled and shoveled out of the sky,<\/p>\n

and anyone who comes
\nmust travel, slowly and with thought,
\nas around the edges of the great swamp.
\n—–
\nMPR’s The Writer’s Almanac<\/a><\/p>\n

The Writer’s Almanac\u00ae, a daily program of poetry and history hosted by Garrison Keillor, can be heard each day on public radio stations throughout the country. Each day’s program is about five minutes long
\n—–<\/p>\n

I might say many of the same things about Barbara Kingsolver, another brilliant writer. mjh<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

1044,
\nby Barbara Kingsolver<\/p>\n

This is all that happened.
\nIn the pollen heat of August,
\none of those days when the <\/p>\n

sun
\nfills your skin like a leaf,
\nI was in my yard,
\nvisiting the trees.
\nA man in a clean blue shirt
\nstood waiting, suddenly,
\nfor me <\/p>\n

to notice,
\nwaiting as if forever.
\nPolite enough, in trouble,
\nsaid his car broke down.
\nHis mouth was a pale cave.
\nHe needed to get in <\/p>\n

out of the sun.
\nHe asked if he could
\nask me for a favor.
\nIn those days it was my habit
\nto say I would,
\neven before I asked
\nwhat do <\/p>\n

you want?
\nHe followed me in.
\nI poured water in a china cup,
\nchina, a wreath of antique roses,
\nand then he asked
\nif I would do just <\/p>\n

one more thing.
\nI felt, before I saw
\nthe stainless point between my ribs
\ndead center on the heartbeat,
\na treasure in a cage
\nso <\/p>\n

easily opened.
\nNothing at all to the lock.
\nI said, “Yes I will.”
\nI didn’t ask, “What is it
\nthat you want?”
\nIt was the last time.<\/p>\n

That knife was mine, I’d used it
\non a hundred days to peel
\nmy vegetables, and with that exact
\nregard for me he used it, peeled off <\/p>\n

what there was
\nof faith.<\/p>\n

The officers came promptly
\nas if they had been waiting.
\nFingerprinted everything including me
\nand stated <\/p>\n

endlessly into their open radios
\nthat there had be a ten forty-four on 8th street.
\nThat’s what they called it.
\nThese men who carry <\/p>\n

guns
\ncouldn’t bring themselves to call by name
\nwhat had been done to me. Instead
\nthey gathered traces
\nfrom my body,
\nfrom the broken <\/p>\n

cup, things
\nthat could not have been more empty.
\nA trace of hair or blood or sperm
\nto bring him down.
\nA scent
\nfor the hunt.<\/p>\n

They <\/p>\n

didn’t
\never find him. And
\nI don’t expect him back,
\nhe’s finished here. No silver
\nunder the bed,
\nno trust.
\nI keep it in a locked <\/p>\n

drawer with my kitchen knives
\nand other things of mine that have used against me.
\n—–
\n[thanks to NewMexiKen<\/a> for returning me to this path.]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Many years ago I first encountered Mary Oliver through an essay of hers — it was in something like a book-of-the-month club newsletter. I was stunned, as I often have been since, by her ability to speak, not just to me, but for me, to say things that are in my heart but may never … Continue reading Mary Oliver and Barbara Kingsolver<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-316","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=316"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4584,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316\/revisions\/4584"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=316"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=316"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.edgewiseblog.com\/mjh\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=316"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}