This idea is not new

I'm not really sure how dedications work, but if this blog should be dedicated to anyone, it's Mary Oliver. Many have written about the value of Mary Oliver’s poetry: most are favorable, and the rest, I think, are off-put by her candor. I am not a literary critic and I cannot give any insight that they haven’t already. I can say that I am always drawn back to Oliver’s poems during the first few months of the year; maybe because her poetry is a comfort during the short days, or maybe because of some strange cycle of taste that causes us to return periodically to things we have always loved but have temporarily forgotten. I also seem to revert to eating entirely tortilla-based meals around this time of year.

Here is a poem that I wrote in midwinter a few years ago, one that I am miraculously still proud of. I can’t remember if I was reading her poems before writing this, but I give credit to Mary Oliver for the inspiration.



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This idea is not new.
I stole it from the mouths of other poets
          experts
          teachers
          my mother
although I felt the thrill of invention as it flitted through my mind.

I wish I felt like writing whenever I picked up a pencil.
But it’s moments like these
          mind trapped in the cadence of a favorite author
          unwrapping their perfectly packaged thoughts
          running after another’s brilliance
when my words align into beautiful sentences.

My children do not have my genes, but the genes of my ancestors.
Even so—I call them mine because I hold them
          carefully
          lovingly
          briefly
after they are born.

Great Blue Heron - Budd Inlet, Olympia, WA - January 2015