Can you believe that Mary Oliver has been gone from us for three long years? I devoured her poetry in college. I still remember finding Our World while looking for font type catalogs at my college library: I plonked myself on the floor, right in the aisle, and finished the entire short book in one sitting.
I've since wandered my way through many of her poetry collections, and added a copy of Devotions to my collection a few years ago. I prefer to check out books from the library now, but it just felt right to own such a dense book. I still revisit it from time to time. She retreads familiar territory, but there's an earnestness to each poem that makes it feel fresh. I could read about sand dunes all day if Oliver told me about them.
Poetry does still have a bit of cringe factor attached to it. I think many of us imagine brooding, rhyming texts written by a guy in high school. But if there could be a place to start, Oliver's poetry is so accessible and touches on many of the simplest yet most inscrutable emotions we could experience. And I'm sure you've read at least one.
Above, one of my favorite poems. It's the final poem in Our World, a book of prose and poetry written by Oliver with photographs by Molly Malone Cook, her longtime partner.
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